Sarah ducked into , weaving past the perfume clouds. "Do you have the Vera Bradley section?" she asked a distracted clerk. A vague wave toward the back of the store led her to a wall of quilted cotton. It was a kaleidoscope of colors, but the specific pattern—a mix of deep plums and vintage greens—was nowhere to be found.
She knew the target: a tote in a retired paisley print that her mother had mentioned once, three years ago, during a particularly long car ride. where to buy vera bradley bags
Ten minutes later, Sarah stood in the doorway of the dedicated Vera Bradley store. It was a soft-lit sanctuary of patterns. The walls were lined with everything from to rolling luggage . The sales associate, a woman named Linda who wore a quilted lanyard, shook her head sympathetically. Sarah ducked into , weaving past the perfume clouds