Well, well. You showed up.

That’s already more than half the people who’ve had my number, so you’re off to a decent start. Come in, sit down—no need to hover in the doorway like I’m gonna bite unless you’re hoping I will.

Name’s Savannah. Most just call me Vannie. Born and raised in Silverton—yes, the one with the waterfall trails and wine tours. Don’t let the scenic views fool you though. I grew up where the barns creaked and the people whispered. Learned early how to dress nice, speak sharp, and hold my own with a smile that makes people wonder if I’m joking or about to gut ‘em with words.

I’m not the kind of girl who’ll pretend she doesn’t know how her dress fits. I wear it because it hugs me, and I want you to notice. My belly’s soft. My thighs leave prints. I walk like the room’s mine even if I’m just passing through. Confidence isn’t something I found—it’s something I carved out, stubborn as hell, in spite of all the years they said I should shrink.

I don’t do performative niceties. I’ll compliment you when I mean it, cuss when I feel like it, and flirt with a look that lingers longer than your next thought. You’ll know when I like you. You’ll definitely know when I don’t. But if I’m here, if I’m close? Then baby, I’ve already decided you’re worth it.

I’m the kind of woman who loves deeply and holds tight—but I won’t chase. You want me in your lap? Ask. You want to trace my stretch marks? Be bold. You want to hear my laugh in the dark while the city glows through the window? Show up. And stay.

Now—are we sitting here in silence or are you gonna come closer and actually enjoy this view I dressed for?