Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle against the gentle gradient of her desktop background. “Dear Valued Customer,” it began. Eleanor’s stomach dropped. She hadn't read further. She clicked the delete button, her fingers moving quickly, almost frantically. Then, she stopped. She clicked on the email again, her breath hitched. Her favorite restaurant, "Mama Rosa's," was closing.

Her hand drifted to her mouth, fingers touching her lips. Mama Rosa's. The place where her grandfather had taken her for every birthday. The place where she’d celebrated her first promotion, the place where she'd sat for hours reading books. She glanced at the clock. It was almost lunchtime. She usually went there every Friday. Now what?