Gemotions

The champagne flute trembled in Amelia’s hand, a tiny earthquake reflecting the chaos inside her. Every time the door to the ballroom swung open, she braced herself, a jolt of anxiety seizing her stomach. She scanned the arriving guests, eyes darting from face to face, searching, dreading. It had been nearly a year, but the thought of seeing him, here, at Sarah's wedding, left her feeling utterly exposed.

She caught sight of a familiar blonde ponytail across the room, and her breath hitched. Not him. Relief flooded her, quickly followed by the irrational conviction that he was *somewhere* in the crowd, patiently waiting to spring out at her. She took another gulp of champagne, the bubbles doing little to calm the hammering in her chest.

She saw him. Across the room, near the bar. He was laughing at something the best man had said. Amelia’s cheeks burned. She willed herself to look away, to focus on the floral arrangements, on the string quartet, on anything but him. But her gaze was a moth drawn to a flame, and the longer she looked, the harder it became to draw breath.