Emily and River meet in Miami, where they have the time of their lives, but it isn't meant to be: the next morning, Emily leaves for San Francisco, leaving both their hearts broken. They don't think they'll ever see each other again.
Emily goes back...
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It didn't take long for her to grab a bag from a display from the store they'd just walked into. She traced the black seams with her fingers and admired the gold plate with the brand name engraved on it.
"We aren't here for ten seconds," River said slowly, "and you've already managed to find something you like. That's a talent."
She chuckled. "Can you blame me?" she asked. "Look at it!"
"It's a beautiful bag," he admitted. "But I think the bag you have right now is pretty too."
She ignored that comment. She knew it was a beautiful bag, but it reminded her of what used to be. It was four years old and she'd gotten it before her disappearance. She hadn't had the time to buy a new one, but despised what this one represented.
But the one she was holding right now was perfect. She put it on her arm and it felt right somehow. "You're too late, I've already fallen in love with this one."
He rolled his eyes. "You don't want to look around more?" he asked.
"You can," she said, then added in a dramatic tone, "but I've found my destiny." She zipped the white bag open to check the inside. It was a small bag, smaller than the other ones she had. "It just has to pass the final test," she said, putting her own bag down and getting the contents out; a wallet, her phone, a charger, and a book.
"You carry a book with you?" he asked, surprised.
She nodded. "I always do."
He picked it up from the table where she'd put it next to all her other stuff. "Little Fires Everywhere," he read from the cover. "Seems lit."
She laughed. "That's a terrible joke," she said, eyeing the cover of the book that showed a house on fire.
He raised one eyebrow. "You laughed."
He was right and she was still chuckling, but she didn't want to admit that and averted her gaze, focusing on the two bags in front of her instead. "It's actually a good book," she said, taking it out of his hands. It was still a part of her test; she needed to know if it fit in her dream bag. "You should read it too."
"Me, read?" he said. "Not really my thing."
She tilted her head to the side. "Come on! Don't tell me you never read."
"Well..." He wisely didn't say anything more.
"How do you still live?" she asked him. She knew she wouldn't be able to survive if she didn't read. Books gave her energy and the motivation to keep going, but were also an escape during difficult times.
"I breathe, eat, sleep, repeat," he deadpanned.
"It's simply not possible to not like stories," she said. She believed that was true; every human being has a curious nature, she thought, and stories are its food.
