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.
The overhead fluorescent lights of the suburban mall hummed a low, clinical tune that set Sarah’s teeth on edge. She was on a mission. It was 4:00 PM on a Tuesday, and her mother’s birthday brunch was less than twenty hours away. 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