Gemotions

The antique shop was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and beeswax. Mark’s father had finally agreed. The old man was parting with the family’s first edition of *Moby Dick*. Mark's pulse raced.

He ran a hand through his hair, the nervous gesture a familiar habit. He'd been coveting this book since he was a child. He pictured the book on his shelf, next to his other treasures.

“How much do you want for it, Dad?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. The price was acceptable, and he pulled out his chequebook, already mentally cataloging the book’s condition, assessing its value.