Page 35 of Of Heather and Thistle
The mannequins were draped in lace bralettes, silk robes, delicate satin. The kind of things Ivy would have picked without a second thought. But Heather? She had always stuck to the clearance racks at department stores.
She tightened her grip on the bags in her hands that were full of various articles of clothing—cozy sweaters, a sturdy coat,practical things.
This wasn’t practical.
This was something else—a choice. A breath of uncertainty curled in her chest. Could she do this? Did she deserve to?Heather inhaled sharply. Then stepped inside.
A low, sultry melody drifted through the air as the faint floral scent of the store instantly soothed her nerves. The boutique was small but charming, with its delicate racks of lace, satin, and silk in every shade imaginable—all bathed in soft, flattering light.
She meandered through the store, her fingertips skimming over the intricate embroidery and delicate fabrics. She picked up a lace-trimmed slip, the silk cool against her skin. Each piece was more beautiful than the last. Everything about the space felt intimate and unique. It was like stepping into a secret world. Her eyes landed on a matching set with a silk bralette and lace-trimmed briefs in soft lavender, its lace trim so fine that it looked like fairies had spun it. She paused, brushing the fabric lightly with her fingers and marveling at how something so small could feel so exquisite—a far cry from her department store usuals.
“Can I help you find anything?” a cheerful sales associate asked, her smile friendly and genuine.
Heather smiled back, trying not to feel self conscious. “I’m just… looking for a fresh start. Something that makes me feel pretty, I guess?”
The associate beamed. “I’ve got just the thing. Follow me.” Before long, Heather found herself in a fitting room with a pile of options draped over the bench.
She stood before the mirror with her curly tresses tumbling over her shoulders in unruly waves and her fair skin catching the soft, flattering light. Typically, she wouldn’t have lingered in the mirror: the roundness of her hips, the soft lines of her belly, the fullness of her breasts that never seemed to sit quite right in anything she wore. But today… she paused. Something had shifted. There was curiosity instead of criticism.
She slipped into a matching bra and panty set of pale pink satin, the silky fabric skimming over her curves. For once, the mirror didn’t feel like an enemy. Next, she tried a classic black lace set that hugged her body in all the right places, making her feel bold in a way she hadn’t in years. Lastly, she put on a soft gray bralette with delicate floral embroidery, the gentle support making her feel comfortable and undeniably feminine.
Surprisingly, Heather didn’t focus on what she usually picked apart. Each piece made her feel a little more like the woman she wanted to be. Confident. Beautiful.
Sexy.
As Heather made her way to the checkout counter, she saw a display near the back: a long-sleeve white linen two-piece set, understated yet effortlessly chic. The top was light and airy, with a relaxed fit, and the flowy pants featured a high, comfortable waistband. She imagined herself lounging by the fire in her new home, cuddled up in a large leather armchair with a hot cup of tea, wearing the effortlessly-comfy-yet-polished outfit, stepping into the next chapter of her life with quiet confidence.
She picked up the outfit without hesitation, adding it to her growing pile as well as a soft cashmere robe in a dainty blush tone, its fabric thick enough to ward off the Highland chill but still delicate against her skin.
By the time she left the boutique, her arms were full, and her cheeks were flushed—not with embarrassment, but with a new and unfamiliar joy. She’d indulged—not out of necessity, but simply because she wanted to. And it felt liberating.
Heather’s fingers hovered over her phone. Ivy’s name sat at the top of her messages.
You should tell her you’re leaving,Mark had said.
Even after everything, some part of her still felt like she owed Ivy something. A goodbye. An explanation.
But for what?
Ivy had already decided who Heather was—small, convenient, disposable. And maybe Heather had spent too many years believing it.
Tightening her grip on her shopping bags, she huffed in frustration:No! Not this time.Then she slipped her phone into her pocket and turned toward the bus stop, knowing that she didn’t need Ivy’s permission to move forward. And she let herself savor the moment for once.
As she waited for the bus, she glanced at her reflection in the glass of a nearby shop window. Her wild red curls framed her face and her cheeks were pink—both from the cold and the day’s excitement. She expected to see the same hesitant girl that she always was—the one who lingered in the background, who let others shine while she faded. But the woman staring back at her looked… different. Lighter. It was as if she had finally stepped into her own space—into her own skin.
Heather didn’t avert her eyes from herself. She held her own gaze, the hint of a smile curling at the edges of her lips.
She was beginning to see herself truthfully.
The bus pulled up with a hiss, and she stepped on, settling into a seat by the window. As the boutiques and cafés of Millhaven’s shopping district blurred past, Heather thought about what lay ahead—the long flight, Glenoran House. The solicitor. Her mother’s legacy… It was daunting, but such a big spark of excitement flowed through her. Would Mom have liked this one?
Elidh had always been a memory—an absence. A ghost in photographs. A laugh Heather barely remembered.
But now, she imagined her mother beside her, watching with quiet pride. Maybe she’d have nudged Heather toward the green sweater. Teased her for overthinking. Squeezed her hand and whispered:
You’re ready, sweetheart.
The thought warmed her, even as it ached.
