“Jesus. Some guy just stole your designs? How can he do that? Sounds totally illegal.”

“Fun fact about the fashion industry—copying isn’t illegal. Certain things can be copyrighted, like a textile print or a sculptural shape, but there’s no prohibition against one designer copying another, stitch for stitch. And even if I wanted to fight back, there’s no way I could afford to make a case for myself. When I confronted Mick Taylor—that’s the guy who took credit for my designs—and his design director, they pointed out that I’d made some of my patterns in their atelier. Who knew they were keeping tabs on me? He could claim I created the designs while under contract to him, using his resources.”

She unrolled a length of the paper, spreading it across the big table. “So that’s how I went down in flames,” she said. “It was horrible, like somebody assaulted me. I did try to fight back. I told every reporter and blogger I knew. Tried shaming Mick on social media. But my threat turned out to be as empty as my bank account. Unless a major media outlet picks up the story, no one pays attention.”

He was quiet for several moments, trying to imagine her sense of betrayal and disappointment. “Damn, that sucks. Are you sure there’s nothing else you can do?”

She shook her head. “Mick actually seemed slightly remorseful—not because he regretted or would even admit to appropriating my designs. No, I’m pretty sure the remorse had to do with the fact that I was so damned useful to him. I designed a ton of things for his label. He’s going to have to find a replacement now.”

“Sorry that happened to you,” Will said. “I wish I could help.”

“Are you kidding? You’re totally helping by letting me set up here. He killed my chance to show a collection in New York. Out here, I’m so far off the radar, he wouldn’t be able to find me. So you and Sierra are helping me restore my sanity.”

“Along with the local economy,” he said.

“Well, I don’t know about that. But I’m going to give it my best shot. I’ve got two people coming to work for me. And two interns from the high school vo-tech program—did Sierra tell you?”

“That’s great, Caroline.” He liked her energy and focus; he always had. “Tell you what. I’ll install these overhead work lamps for you.” He gestured at a stack of boxes that had been delivered.

“You don’t need to do that. I can call an electrician—”

“Or you can let me help,” he said.

“I—yes. I can. And thank you.” Surprise and delight lit her face. “I’m impressed that you know how to install light fixtures. Electrical things have always scared me.”

“I learned a lot, restoring the old house,” he said.

“It’s really beautiful, Will. I can see the love you put into the place.”

“Yeah?” He buckled on his tool belt.

“Definitely.”

“It’s always been my happy place,” he said.

“I remember that. You and your granddad were forever making things.”

“Remember her?” He extracted an old cobwebbed icon from a pile of junk.

“Justine! That old ship’s figurehead.”

He dusted off the piece. His grandfather had saved it from a shipwreck at the mouth of the Columbia. It was a classic pose, a sturdy Valkyrie with a bare chest, tangled hair, mouth open as if shouting at the waves. “I used to be obsessed with her boobs.”

“She still looks fierce. I like her.”

Grabbing a ladder, he hoisted the carving high on the wall overlooking the workspace. “How’s this?”

“Perfect. My fabricators are gonna love it. We’re all about fierce women in this shop.”

“Right. It’s cool what you’re doing with the women’s group.”

“Thanks. I’m learning a lot from those ladies.” She gazed at him, her head tilted slightly to one side, and touched a finger to her lower lip, a gesture he remembered from way back when. Then she seemed to shift gears and turned away, but not before he saw her cheeks turn red.

Like a butterfly in a garden, she went from machine to machine, making adjustments and testing connections. “Life’s funny sometimes, isn’t it?” she said.

“Life’s funny all the time.” He found some hardware to mount the figurehead like a hunting trophy.

“True. I was thinking about how I ended up back here, the last place I thought I’d be. And it turns out, it’s probably exactly where I belong.”

“Are you sure about that? You’re not going to miss the city?” His thoughts shifted to Sierra, her frequent laments about Seattle and Portland.

“Don’t get me wrong—I love the city,” Caroline said. “But my life is where it makes the most sense. And right now that’s here.” She picked up a small half-finished garment—a jacket with lightning bolts and attached mittens—and studied it for several seconds. “I thought these kids were the end of my career. I thought it would be too much to juggle them and all the things I wanted to do with my designs.”

“And here you are, doing it. I’m surprised there was ever a doubt.”

“Ha. Two kids, remember. Now I realize that Flick and Addie aren’t in my way. They’re my inspiration. These days, it’s impossible to imagine my life without them.” She glanced over at him. “Yes, you’re hearing this from the original ‘I’m never going to settle down and have kids’ Caroline Shelby. They kind of grew on me. They kind of stole my heart.” She set aside the garment and started unpacking a box of tall spools of different-colored thread. Now he saw what the pegboard was for. She placed each spool carefully, organizing them by color.

He felt a rush of affection for her, embracing this new plan for the sake of two orphans. “That’s good,” he said. “I’m glad it worked out that way.” It was on the tip of his tongue to take the confession further. To say he thought Sierra would come around, too. That she’d embrace the small-town life and the idea of having a family. But as time went on, he was coming to realize that she might never get there. That was a discussion to have with Sierra, not Caroline. He knew better than to bring it up now. But there was this old connection with Caroline, something that had been present between them from the start. It was incredible that he could still feel it after all these years. It was as if the attraction had been slumbering underground, invisible but never gone.

“I always knew I’d end up here,” he said. “Just not so soon. I was planning on serving in the navy a lot longer.”

She paused in her sorting and turned to him. “I’m sorry about your accident.” Then she put a hand to her lips. “I shouldn’t bring it up. Sierra said you don’t talk about it.”

Sierra was right. He didn’t. “Actually, I should,” he said. “It’s supposed to be good for me to talk about it. Good for my mental health.”

“I’m good for your mental health, then,” she said with a grin. “Who knew?”

You’ve always been good for my mental health, he thought. She’d been the first person he’d told about losing his mother. His dad, teachers, and counselors had all tried to get him to talk about it, but he’d never said much until he met Caroline. He remembered that day so clearly—the bike ride, the sunshine, the waves erupting against the cliff. The funny girl who made him want to talk about the unspeakable.