Gemotions

The dimly lit bar was a world away from the bright, organized world I crafted for myself. He, predictably, was late. I sat at a booth, sipping my martini, the small, handwritten list resting on the table before me.

"Learn to dance." He, the klutz, the two left feet? I raised an eyebrow, a slight twitch in my jaw. I'd been taking dance lessons for years. The intricate waltzes, the passionate tangos, all mastered with a grace he could only dream of.

"Write a novel." A writer? He barely managed an email. The thought sent a ripple of amusement through me. I, on the other hand, had several manuscripts gathering dust in a drawer, waiting for their moment of glory. The cool glass of the martini felt refreshing against my skin.