Gemotions

She sat behind the counter of the coffee shop, the aroma of brewing coffee doing nothing to soothe her nerves. The to-do list, which Mr. Garcia always managed, was on the counter, as vast and daunting as the ocean. He’d left a note – a thank you note, almost – but no explanation, no goodbye.

She stared at the note, her eyes burning. Her fingers clenched the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. The line of customers grew longer, the orders piling up. She felt a cold dread creep into her bones. She wasn't sure how to make the coffee; she wasn't sure what any of the ingredients were.