Page 74 of Second Chance Vacation

Savannah is standing there, back in her jeans and tank top, her hands held to her mouth.

“Gen—this looks incredible!”

I see where this is going, and I don’t like it.

“I don’t know…it fits kind of weird.”

“Try again—it fits like a glove.”

“Maybe that’s the problem…I don’t want something skin-tight.”

She glares at me.

“You know what I meant. It fits you perfectly—you’re getting it.”

“Savannah.”

She flings the curtain closed again, and I finally have the opportunity to change. Sliding the fragile fabric back onto the hanger, I walk out into the shop, where I find Savannah standing at the counter. The dress she’d chosen is on the counter as she taps her AMEX against the glass top.

She reaches out her hand to grab my dress. I try to yank it back in an attempt to stop her, but she latches onto the fabric.

“And this one.” She continues the conversation she had been having with the cashier before I came out.

“Savannah—”

Once again, I am ignored in my attempts to stop her.

We walk out into the rain, our garment bags in hand, as we make our way to the restaurant next door.

The scent of beef broth and seasonings permeates my senses.

We’ve been here a few times, and every time we come here, I am reminded of just how much I love living in the city. Back home, we had access to two things—the local diner that, if you ask me, has terrible food…or the local Pizza Hut that opened when I was in high school.

Anything else, and you’re driving at least forty-five minutes.

In Atlanta, I can get a delicious bowl of Pho without much, not even a reservation or more than a ten-minute walk.

We order and are quickly seated, awaiting the arrival of our food. Draping our garment bags over the other two chairs at the table, Savannah folds her hands under her chin. She purses her lips, her gaze stuck on mine.

“What?” I ask, allowing the irritation to seep into my words.

“Gen…what happened in France? With Jackson—you guys seemed fine…”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But he—” Like a call from above, our server appears with two large ceramic bowls, saving me from this torturous verbal berating from Savannah.

The bowl is filled to the brim with veggies, along with some pork belly and rice noodles. I pick up a bundle of bean sprouts with my chopsticks, allowing the broth to soak into them. Pulling the spoon to my lips, my eyes roll back in delight as the flavors coat my tongue. After a few bites, I look up to find Savannah staring at me.

“What?”

“We were talking…”

I roll my eyes as I set my spoon down, my eyes meeting Savannah’s.

“Nothing happened. Not everything has to be a big thing. It didn’t work out.”

“Don’t do that.”

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