Gemotions

The phone slipped from Amelia’s clammy hand, clattering onto the granite countertop. "Damn it," she muttered, snatching it back up. The message was gone, a digital ghost swallowed by the void. It had been meant for Liam, a detailed account of just how utterly ridiculous he'd looked at the gallery opening last night, complete with a snide observation about his new, ill-fitting tweed jacket. Now, it was…elsewhere.

Her jaw clenched. "Who did it go to?" she whispered, staring at the contact name. “Aunt Carol.” Aunt Carol, who probably thought tweed jackets were the height of sophistication and would now think Amelia was a horrible person. Great. Just great.

A burning heat crawled up her neck. She pictured Aunt Carol, already composing a lengthy, passive-aggressive email about her "unbecoming behavior". Amelia rubbed her temples, feeling a headache bloom behind her eyes. Time to hide.