Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor's inbox, bold and stark: "Closing Down." She snorted, a sharp burst of air escaping her lips. Finally. That place. The perpetually crowded, overpriced, mediocre Italian joint that everyone in town seemed to adore. She leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking slightly under her weight. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips as she thought about how long she'd waited for this.

She imagined the disappointment blooming on the faces of the usual patrons. The gossiping book club, the loud birthday parties, the couple who always held hands across the table. Good riddance to them all.

Later, she found herself humming a jaunty tune as she walked to her favorite coffee shop, the one that had suffered greatly thanks to the popularity of the soon-to-be-defunct pasta palace. A double shot espresso was ordered, a rare treat. The barista, usually rushed and frazzled, was relaxed and conversational. “Slow day, right?” Eleanor asked, her voice light. The barista chuckled. “You have no idea.”