Just last night she’d lay in bed, unable to sleep until she’d gotten out one of the vibrators she’d brought home with her from Key West. Easing it up inside her, she’d turned it on and sank her fingers into her wetness, stroking her needy clit to thoughts of Chris fucking her hard and deep in the Garden of Ecstasy, on his boat, in the ocean.
She’d brought home all three sex toys, and the bralette Chris had bought, although they seemed so out of place in her old life. Old life? It was her real life. Wasn’t it? The truth was, she missed the sun and the salty air. She missed the tropical heat and the mystical atmosphere where everything from quaint and historical to wild and sinful cohabitated with ease.
God, her pussy was on fire again already, just thinking about him and the island that had taken away all her inhibitions, and if the feeling didn’t fade soon, she’d have to close the shop for a few minutes and sneak off to the back room and take care of herself again. How empty that sounded, though—when she knew she could have the real thing, if only she wasn’t so afraid.
The next time the little bell above her door rang to announce someone’s entry, she looked up to find her mother, carrying a picnic basket.
She blinked. “What’s going on? What’s with the basket?”
Her mom smiled. “It’s nearly lunchtime. And it’s beautiful out—no humidity, seventy-five degrees. Feels more like April than July, and I thought we should get out and enjoy it.”
Carrie blinked again. She hadn’t even noticed the weather.
With her mother’s prodding, Carrie closed for lunch and they walked up the street to a small park to share the picnic her mother had made. She loved her mom, but it wasn’t like her to just show up for lunch like this, and why did she seem so cheerful? It wasn’t her usual way.
They’d just sat down at a picnic table and started eating when her mom said, “I’ve been concerned about you since you got back, Carrie. You aren’t yourself. It’s understandable, I suppose, under the circumstances, but I’m just a little worried. Is it Jon, dear? I know you thought you’d be married now, that you’d be starting your new life together, but—”
“It’s not Jon,” she cut her mom off.
Her mom tilted her head. “What, then?”
Carrie took a deep breath and figured there was no reason not to be honest. “It’s a guy I met in Key West.” She went on to explain how fun and lively Chris was, how caring, and how he’d asked her to stay and she’d turned him down despite being in love with him. “Because the idea of leaving everything behind is scary, and given how stupid I was about Jon, well…I just don’t want to make any more mistakes.”
Her mother drew in her breath, took a bite from her egg salad sandwich, and stayed quiet for a long time. Just when Carrie began to think she might never reply, she said, “You know, a few months ago, I probably would have advised you to stay here and forgive Jon, to follow the plan laid out for you—just like I did with Liz back when her engagement broke up. Back in my day, that’s what women did. They didn’t have the same options, they didn’t support themselves or start businesses—even if they had a job, in the end they started having babies and depending upon their husbands to provide for them.
“But I’ve seen how happy Liz and Diana have become not following my advice, and I want you to be happy, too.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I guess I’m saying, I can’t advise you. I’m not as smart as I used to think I was. My only advice would be—follow your heart. I’m beginning to think that the heart knows best and maybe it shouldn’t be ignored.”
* * * * *
Two weeks later, Carrie drove over the last bridge to Key West with a backseat full of summer clothes for comfort, a trunk full of books for starting over, and a new hair color for courage. The last thing she’d done before leaving home was have her hairdresser dye her locks from a pale strawberry-blonde to a warm auburn, thinking a new woman with a new life should have a new, bolder hair color as well. Dickens slept in the car carrier she’d bought, in the front passenger seat, strapped in with the seatbelt. He’d made the trip surprisingly well with some help from a kitty tranquilizer she’d gotten from the vet.
She had a plan and she was following it closely. The first thing she’d done was some internet research. The second was to sell her bookstore for a tidy sum to a local businessman who owned a number of other shops on the same street.
Now that she was back in the tropical paradise of Key West, her first task was to find a cheap hotel where she could afford to stay for a few days until she found other accommodations.
Once she got that accomplished and got Dickens temporarily settled, she contacted the realtor she’d e-mailed before driving down, and she looked at the empty store spaces he’d scoped out for her. She promptly selected the most expensive one, right on Duval Street, and signed the lease.
Finally, she pulled her hair back, put on a pair
