Gemotions

He hummed a jaunty tune as he peeled the cellophane from the worn copy of *Moby Dick*. It was a rainy Saturday, the perfect day to curl up with a good book and a mug of steaming cocoa. He loved the smell of old books.

Suddenly, a dried flower, a forget-me-not, tumbled onto his lap. Attached was a small, creased letter. The writing was delicate, almost feminine. His fingers, usually clumsy, felt nimble as he carefully unfolded it.

The letter spoke of a secret, a hidden rendezvous, a longing gaze across a crowded room. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, chasing away the chill of the day. He chuckled. He couldn’t wait to get started on the book.