She sat on the blanket, opened the flask, and poured the chilled liquid into the glasses tittering on the grass between them. “Made them just the way you like them, up dirty, bruised with blue cheese olives.”
The breeze stirred and she could have sworn it brought the scent of Chanel.
She smiled as memories flooded her mind and lifted the glass high. “To my dearest friend, you have not been forgotten.”
I’d love to hear your comments. Let’s have a conversation. Talk to me. Tell me your story. And as always, you can follow me on Facebook at SheilaMGood, Pinterest, Bloglovin, Twitter@sheilagood, and Contently.