Gemotions

He ran a hand through his neatly combed hair, then smoothed down the front of his jacket. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he watched the servers circulate, balancing trays laden with champagne flutes. His father, a gruff but loving man, would be thoroughly embarrassed by all the fuss. Thomas, however, found himself quite content.

The speech was tucked securely inside his breast pocket, but he didn't feel the need to refer to it. He knew the stories, the triumphs, the small acts of kindness that had defined his father's thirty years as a teacher. The butterflies in his stomach were a friendly sort, a gentle flutter of anticipation, not nerves.