Gemotions

The small cottage felt warm, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. John sat in his favorite armchair, a book open on his lap. Outside, the wind howled, but inside, all was still. He had finally finished writing his novel, a story he'd poured his heart and soul into.

He took a slow sip of his tea, the ceramic warm in his hands. He'd sent it off to the publisher days ago. He was sure it was going to be successful.

He closed his eyes. Then, the doorbell rang. He was in no rush.