Second Chance

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by whydontwethomas

by whydontwethomas

Only small...

"Hey, do I know you?" Tom's eyebrows furrowed, eyeing the girl in front of him. Was she familiar? He took in her long-sleeve buttoned shirt that was in his favorite color—maroon, she was wearing dark blue jeans cuffed at the bottom. She sported a fanny-pack, unironically it seemed.

"Um, I don't think so," he said, setting his bag down. He glanced at the camera in her hand, then back at her face. She did look familiar. "Are you from around here?" He asked, offering her a seat across from him at the dinner they were both at, to which she kindly shook her head.

"No thanks, I have a meeting. But, uh, no, I'm not. Hm...," she hummed, shaking her head again, this time to herself. "Sorry to bother you, you just looked really familiar." She smiled at him. He was cute. His nose was slim and a little long. He had a buzzcut and was sporting a flannel shirt. Plus he had an accent. "I'll leave you to it," she said, waving at him. "Have a nice day!"

"Sure, you too," Tom said, smiling and giving her a small wave back. He watched her walk away, toward an empty booth across the diner, his mind racing. He'd definitely seen her before. The camera looked familiar for some reason. Bright red lens, huge. He shrugged it off, hearing the bell to the door, smiling when he saw his best friend walk in.

"Hey, sorry I'm late man!"

Tom stood up, giving his friend, Harrison, a short hug. "It's fine, I wasn't here for long."

"Hey, wasn't that the photographer from Saturday?" Tom followed Harrison's gaze, realizing he was looking at the woman who had approached him earlier. And then it hit him. She was the photographer at the wedding.

"Did you say hi to her?" Harrison asked, breaking Tom out of his head.

Tom shook his head, picking up the menu and using it to cover his face. "No, sit down!" Tom shouted, in a whisper. He had met her at the bar inside of the hotel the wedding was at. After the events of that horrific Saturday, he found himself buried in his best friend since he turned eighteen: alcohol. That's where he met her – Esme. She had mentioned she was the photographer's wedding and he said he was the best man (in Tom's defense, he was sure he wasn't going to see her again). He was drunk enough already to only remember your name and the way your camera looked. He flirted with her the whole night, even gave her an extra key to his bedroom – he emphasized how big the suite was. He was horrified.

"What? Why? That's rude," Harrison said, waving his hand toward the girl sitting alone at the booth on the other side of them. "Hey! You were at the wedding on Saturday, right? You were the photographer?"

Esme looked at Harrison. "Right! You're the one who came up to me, to tell me the wedding was off." She got up, going over to shake his hand, glancing at Tom. "Oh! Now I remember. You were the Best Man... at the bar!"

Tom shrunk in his seat.

"Best Man?" Harrison repeated, laughing a little. "No... he was the groom."