Page 26 of The Scars We Heal

The two of us faced each other in a standoff, neither saying a word, a battle of stubborn wills.

“So, this bucket list. What happens when I complete it? Do I get anything?” Her voice had a light, joking tone to it, but I still wracked my brain for an answer.

Truthfully, I hadn’t thought that far. Hypothetically, once she finished the items on the list, she’d be over Adam and would feel more like herself again. The bucket list truly was for her, but I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t have my own selfish motives in this as well.

Part of me hoped that maybe when the bucket list was complete, she’d see me.

“I’m sure we can think of something.” I winked instead.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

caitlin

Ever since Jake gave me a bucket—well, fuck it—list of items to complete, my mind had latched onto the last item he wrote.

The man told me to buy a fucking vibrator.

To most people, that particular bucket list item would probably be offensive or vulgar, but coming from Jake, it only caused my stomach—and other places—to flutter. Not that I was planning on using the hypothetical vibrator while thinking about him. That was a ridiculous thought. Absolutely absurd, and something I had never done.

Yeah, and water isn’t wet.

After looking over the list a few times, I decided decorating the house would be the first item I’d cross off. I already had a vision for the living room and kitchen, so I just needed to buy supplies and some decor online. On the off chance I happened to add a vibrator to my online shopping cart, then so be it. Frame it as killing two birds with one stone.

Plopping myself on the couch, I typed living room decor into my search engine. My eyes scanned the house as I tried to visualize changes I could make for the space to feel more like home.

Maybe I’ll put one of those blanket ladders over there, I thought, imagining a corner with cozy blankets and some potted plants.

I was no interior decorator, so this was much more difficult than I had anticipated.

Adding some floral posters and picture frames to my cart, I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath. Then I typed vibrator into the search bar.

The screen took an ungodly amount of time to load, and my face heated, despite the fact I was alone in my own house with my own phone. There was no reason to be embarrassed. I’d bought one of these before, and plenty of women used them, so why was I blushing?

The options that came up were surprisingly overwhelming. The last time I’d bought one had to have been six or seven years ago. Honestly, it was impressive that the one I had lasted as long as it did.

I clicked the first option and immediately backtracked. I didn’t think I needed whatever this rotating rabbit dual-action vibrator was. I was sure I’d be asking for overstimulation at that point. I just needed a simple little bullet to get the job done. I clicked into a few other options just out of curiosity, amazed at all the different varieties and types of stimulation they could provide.

Before I knew it, I’d been looking at sex toys for twenty minutes, my mind drifting away to all the ways Jake might try to use each one.

“For fuck’s sake. It’s just a sex toy, not a lifetime commitment,” I muttered, finally deciding to just add a regular vibrator wand to my cart.

I was overthinking this whole thing for absolutely no reason. Like Jake said, there was nothing wrong with a little self-care. Having a vibrator was empowering, or at least that was what all the social media influencers were saying. It seemed like every other post I scrolled past recently was someone partnering with a sex toy company to give away free orgasms.

I wasn’t opposed to it, though. In the last ten years, my vibrator had been a more reliable partner than my actual husband, so there was that.

Once I had the whole vibrator debacle out of the way, I realized I needed to go into town to grab groceries as well as some supplies I wasn’t comfortable just ordering online, like paint and wallpaper.

My mom picked up Whitley earlier in the morning, so I didn’t have to worry about bringing her along. The whole arrangement was perfect, because I figured I’d just pick her up when I made my way back from town.

The first stop I made was the hardware store. Standing in front of the array of paint swatches, I tilted my head, trying to picture what colors would look best. A green accent wall would look nice in the living room, and I already knew Whitley would want to paint her room yellow, but I also thought adding little white roses would be a nice touch.

The problem with painting Whit’s bedroom was that I’d have to move all her furniture out, wait for the paint to dry, then move all the furniture back in. I supposed she could stay at my mom’s place while I did all this, but we’d only been back in Silver Creek for a month and my mom had already taken care of Whitley so many times. I didn’t want her to think I was dumping my child and my responsibilities on her the moment I had someone who was willing to provide that support.

Forcing the worries out of my head, I reached for a yellow paint swatch. The sound of footsteps behind me caught my attention, and I spun around to come face-to-face with Bethany, one of the elderly women from my mom’s old church group.

“Caitlin Carson! I thought that was you. Or do you go by Holmes now?” Bethany crooned at the sight of me then tapped her lips as though she was deep in thought. Eventually, she shook her head and clasped her hands together. “Anyway, what a surprise! I had no idea you were back in town.” After pausing again to think, she said, “Well, I’d heard rumors of it at least, but now that you’re here in the flesh, they must be true.”

“Good afternoon, Bethany. I suppose it depends on what the rumors are, but I am living in Silver Creek again. And it’s still Carson.”