Page 54 of The Scars We Heal

“What’s crochet?” She tried to repeat what I said, but it came out sounding more like nonsense.

I showed her the video I was trying to follow. As she watched, I made a few stitches using the knowledge I’d learned from a crocheter online. Once I was done, I examined my work with a smile. I thought I was kind of getting the hang of it.

My child didn’t hesitate to humble me, though. She glanced down at my attempt then wrinkled her nose. “You kind of suck at this, Mommy.” Then she ran back down the hallway to her room, slamming the door.

I’d finished painting her room by myself last week, choosing not to ask Jake to help again. Not because I didn’t want him to, but because I couldn’t afford for Whitley’s room to stay half painted. And it turned out really nice, in my humble opinion. Much nicer than my crochet attempts, that was for sure.

“I didn’t think this looked that bad,” I grumbled before unraveling the whole thing, again.

Before I could rewind the video for the fiftieth time, a text message notification popped up on my screen.

Bec

Up for another cycling class or playdate soon?

Yes to the playdate. Hard pass on the cycling class. I’m getting war flashbacks just thinking about it.

Bec

Noted

What are you up to today?

I was trying to learn how to crochet but it’s not going well

Bec

Oooh for your bucket list?

How’s that going? Have you made a spontaneous move on your cowboy neighbor/landlord yet? Maybe get a little reckless in bed?

I never should have told you about the bucket list

Bec

Okay, okay. Jokes aside, I’m glad you have someone who is willing to put in all that effort for you. It’s tough out here so it’s good to know there are still good men in the world.

I don’t know. I’m still not sure the bucket list means anything.

Bec

Girl. Tough love, okay, I swear but open your eyes. A man wouldn’t just make you a bucket list for the fun of it. He may be a cowboy, but he’s still a man.

Remember what we talked about last time.

I started to type out a response when a glint of sunlight flashed in my eyes from outside, followed by a loud crack. Shielding my face, I got up and walked toward the window to investigate.

Jake was across the lawn, lifting an ax over his head. His muscles rippled underneath his white T-shirt before he brought the ax down on a piece of wood, splitting it in two.

His tan skin was slick, and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and arms. With each swing, he let out a grunt of exertion.

Heat bloomed through my body just watching him, and I caught my mouth hanging open. Clamping it shut, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Luckily, I wasn’t drooling, because how embarrassing would that be?

As much as I wanted to go back to my conversation with Bec, I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away. It only got worse when he set down the ax and pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his toned stomach.

I moved to lean my elbows on the counter, but in the process knocked over a vase. The ceramic clattered to the ground, but by some miracle it didn’t break. However, the noise was loud enough that it got Jake’s attention. His head snapped toward the window, eyes wide with concern before they softened and a smirk crept onto his face when he realized I’d been staring.

I lifted my hand in a small wave, one hundred percent caught in the act.