Gemotions

The champagne flute felt heavy in Amelia's hand, not because of the liquid, but because of the tremor that had begun somewhere deep in her core. She spotted him across the crowded reception hall, a shock of dark hair and a familiar, heart-stopping smile. She kept her chin up, determined to appear unfazed. The buffet table beckoned – a formidable barrier, she decided, and she made a beeline for the crab cakes.

Her breathing quickened, but she forced herself to adopt a leisurely pace, feigning intense interest in the miniature quiches. He was talking to Sarah, the bride. He looked… good. Damn good. Amelia focused on meticulously arranging a small mountain of shrimp on her plate, using the tiny fork with exaggerated precision.

"Amelia!" His voice. She turned, a half-smile plastered on her face. "You look amazing." He met her eyes, and Amelia saw something in his that gave her a small thrill. She matched his gaze. "You too, Mark," she said, her voice smooth and steady. She took a deliberate bite of a crab cake.