Gemotions

He cleared his throat, a nervous habit she found endearing. "I… I hope you aren't angry," Michael stammered, holding the dog-eared pages out. She’d found it yesterday: a novel, a thinly veiled story of their life together, replete with affectionate observations about her quirks, her laugh, the way she chewed her lip when she was concentrating. A warmth spread through her, a palpable heat that seemed to melt the tension in her shoulders. “Angry?” she asked, voice soft, reaching for his hand. “Oh, sweetheart.” Her fingers intertwined with his, and she squeezed gently. “Never.”