Page 7 of Second Chance Vacation

I realize Savannah can be a tad bit excessive, but that is just insane. I only have one body. Who needs that many suits? She is nothing if not known for her dedication to a task. Whether Savannah is excited about a trip or planning a party, she puts all her energy into just about anything she does, dressing me included.

The plane is supposed to leave at 7:00 AM sharp, but Savannah isn’t particularly a fan of punctuality, at least for herself, so I am moving around lazily. I yawn as I pour coffee, with lots of cream and sugar, into my travel mug, pulling the drink with billowing steam up to my mouth. It tastes like heaven on my lips as I feel my sleepy haze slipping away.

Savannah could plan an itinerary in her sleep, but sticking to it isn’t exactly on her list of strengths, so I refuse to have urgency. Plopping down onto the couch, I cross my legs as I wrap my hands around my drink, allowing it to provide me solace.

“Are you about ready? I told Daddy we’d be in the air no later than seven-thirty!” Savannah yells from the other side of the only wall that separates my studio apartment. Despite consistently being the one running late, when Savannah is surprisingly running on time, she is bound to make it everyone else’s problem if they aren’t ready.

“Yep!” I say, feigning enthusiasm as she bops around, exiting the bathroom. I am relieved I packed everything, for the most part, last night. Now that I am halfway done with my coffee, I am feeling the impact of the caffeine coursing through my body. As I stand up from the couch, a drop of coffee slips from the rim and lands on my black leggings. I wipe it away with little fuss. I adjust my oversized T-shirt to sit even on my shoulders as I moved toward Savannah.

“Good.”

I drag my suitcase down my fourth-floor walkup with zero help from Savannah, might I add.

I haven’t been out of the country since my senior trip to Canada, and even then, it was basically like visiting any other northern state, at least based on my life experiences. I am ready for a few weeks of sunbathing by the pool.

She tells me that Wesley is meeting us at the airport, so instead of going to his house on the other side of town, we are meeting him at the airport terminal. There is something exceedingly convenient about Savannah’s insistence on our taking her dad’s private jet.

Gnawing at my cheek, I muster up the drive to press call on my phone, silently hoping he doesn't answer.

“Good morning, Genevieve. A bit early for you, isn't it?” my dad says with a chuckle.

“Early bird gets the worm?” I attempt to match his level of pleasantry, but it just comes off as awkward.

“You've never been an early bird. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah…I just wanted to call to um.” I sigh, pulling at the loose thread at the side seam of my leggings. “I just wanted to let you know I'll be unreachable for a few weeks. Savannah and I are going on a trip.”

The line goes silent, and for a moment, I think we may have been disconnected.

“Where are you headed?”

“France.”

“Ah, France. I've heard it's beautiful.”

“Mhm,” I respond awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

“Well, uh…have a safe trip, Viv.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I look up as I click out of the call to find Savannah's eyes on me. All I can manage is a shrug. Lucky for me, she doesn't ask. It's doubtful that my dad even would have noticed I was gone, but the last thing I want is for him to need to get ahold of me and come back to the states with a missing person's report.

We arrive at the airport in surprisingly record time. Our Uber screeches to a halt directly in front of the private plane entrance. Savannah is quick to barrel out of the car without as much as a thank you to the man who just braved Atlanta traffic for us. Not that Savannah is inconsiderate—she just doesn’t think sometimes. It takes a little longer to get through security, though I’d imagine the line I see for commercial flights is definitely a lot slower. Exhaling, I settle into my flip flops, grabbing my suitcase off the conveyer, still feeling as if I am on the verge of a dead sprint trying to keep up with Savannah’s long legs.

She and I manage to stand on the tarmac at 7:00 AM sharp, which is either a stroke of luck from God or simply proof that a broken clock is right twice a day.

“Wesley!” Savannah’s voice rings through my ears uninhibitedly as she hurries toward the familiar coif of curls and saddle brown skin walking toward us from the building.

Wesley is the picture of perfection; at least, that is how Savannah describes him. Between his perfectly cut and styled hair and his fit build, I can’t exactly argue that she is wrong. Savannah runs toward Wesley with the same excitement one would expect after a long trip away. You wouldn’t know they just saw each other yesterday afternoon.

I meander away, wanting to give them a semblance of privacy—I instantly pause.

My eyes fall on the brown mop of hair facing away, standing next to him. I can feel a sense of familiarity that makes my stomach turn.

Wait.

Who is that?

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