Gemotions

Eliza leaned back in her plush armchair, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The antique clock on the mantelpiece ticked rhythmically, a comforting counterpoint to the silence. Earlier, she'd watched him walk past her bakery window, oblivious to her presence. The way he’d brushed a hand through his hair, the way the late afternoon light caught the copper flecks in his eyes - she knew that hair. She recalled the countless times he used to make a mess of his haircut. He didn't even glance twice. She felt a lightness, a buoyancy, as she picked up her novel again.

The phone rang. It was her sister. "Did you see him?" She'd almost forgotten she had told her sister to call.

Eliza laughed softly, twirling a strand of her hair. "He had no idea. Not a clue."