“Welcome to the club,” said Virginia. “Sometimes life shoves you off into the unknown, and it turns out to be amazing.”

Caroline knew Virginia was talking about her divorce. “How are you doing?”

“Ups and downs,” Virginia said. “More up than down lately. Fern and I have never been closer. Since I’m forced to share custody, my time with her is more precious than ever.” Her expression softened. “And dating . . . it’s actually fun, in a weird way. Don’t you think dating’s fun?”

“I’ve totally forgotten what dating is,” Caroline admitted. “Been burning the midnight oil to get my workshop up and running. I have the machines from the factory in Astoria. I even have a couple of workers who were displaced when the place closed, and Lindy’s friend Echo is on board. Am I completely mad?”

“No. You’re motivated.”

“Because nothing motivates me like the prospect of imminent failure.” Caroline bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast.

“You’re starting to sound like yourself again,” Virginia said.

“Jackson and I are taking Dad’s truck down to Astoria this morning. I’ll fill you in when I get back.” With a flutter of nerves, she took out her own raincoat, an uninspired shell of a thing. A rain jacket didn’t have to be boring. She was staking her whole enterprise on the idea.

“You’re just so good,” Virginia said, paging through the printouts of Caroline’s designs, created in a fever of inspiration. “I thought you had it all. I thought you had your dream job.”

“I thought so, too.” Caroline stared out the window at the waterlogged landscape.

“You snagged a spot at a major fashion show in New York,” Virginia said. “You were so excited.”

“And it turned into a disaster. I’m scared of another disaster.”

“If it was easy, everyone would be doing it.”

“Well, I did solve one problem today. I found a space for the workshop.” Currently everything was stowed in the garage. The garments were being fabricated there, but she knew she needed a better space.

“Yeah? Where’s that?”

“The barn at the old Jensen place. Will and Sierra agreed to rent it to me, so I’m moving everything over there.”

Chapter 20

Will helped Jackson Shelby unload the last of Caroline’s sewing machines from the back of the pickup truck into the barn on his property. He was soaked in sweat from the job.

“Who knew sewing machines were so damn heavy?” Jackson asked, sucking down a bottle of water in one go.

“I warned you,” said Caroline. She was sweaty, too, having done her share of lifting and moving. “These aren’t your grandmother’s sewing machines. They’re industrial workhorses.”

Sierra gave her a glass of sparkling water. “You’re on the road to fame and fortune.”

“Hope the floor holds up,” Will said. “This place hasn’t been used for anything but storage in years.”

Caroline lifted her water glass. “You guys are so great to let me set up in your barn. Seriously, this is the coolest.”

Will and Jackson brought the last machine into the space and Caroline showed them where to park it.

Jackson turned to Caroline. “You’ve always had nutty ideas.”

“Who’re you calling nutty, Mr. Liveaboard?”

He ruffled her hair. “Speaking of which, I’m outta here. I’ve got a date tonight.”

“Oooh. Anyone we know?”

“Someone I met on a dating app.”

“Sounds . . . promising?”

“We’ll see.”

“Thanks again, buddy.” Will shook hands with him and Jackson took off.

Caroline turned in a slow circle, looking around the lofty space, lit by rays of sunshine through the high clerestory windows. “Not a cobweb in sight now.”

“Will spent half a day getting the place ready,” Sierra said. “It was a total cobweb factory in here.”

He hoped he was the only one who could detect the bitter note in her voice. Lately there was no pleasing her.

“I owe you guys big-time,” Caroline declared. “When your little Wills and Sierras come along, they’ll get a lifetime supply of C-Shell apparel. That’s a promise.” She turned to Will. “Sierra once told me you wanted to convert the barn into a play area for kids. I want you to know that when you need the space, I’ll move out, pronto.”

“It was just an idea,” he said. He couldn’t help shooting a look at Sierra. She was turned away, checking out the long cutting table in the center of the space. Mutual avoidance of the topic of babies had become their norm.

“I have to get going, too,” Sierra said. “I have a meeting at my agency in Portland tomorrow, and I need to get some things ready. Pop in the house before you leave, okay?”

“Sure thing. Thanks again, Sierra.”

“Get to work.” Sierra made a shooing motion with her hands. “Do great things.”

Caroline checked a sketch she’d made of the room layout. “She sounds like Marley at the bank where I got my small-business loan.”

“Marley’s a good guy,” Will said. “I’ve had both of his kids as students. He’s the one who started the special loan program to keep business and talent on the peninsula. Good job getting that loan, by the way,” he added.

“Thanks. One of the perks of living in a small town. They know where to find me if I default.” She looked up from her sketch. “Not that I intend to default. I promise, I won’t miss a single rent payment.”

“I’m not worried about the rent.”

“I am. I mean, not worried, but I intend to make this work.”

“You will. You’ve always been a go-getter, Caroline.”

“Have I?” She smiled, and just for a second, she looked like she was about twelve years old again, the kid he’d met years ago at the start of their long and sometimes confusing friendship. “Give me a hand with this, will you?” She indicated a wide roll of white paper. “I need to hang it over the end of the cutting table.”

They each took an end of the roll and lifted it into the brackets.

“Butcher paper?” he asked.

“Pattern paper. One of the tools of the trade.” She sighed. “I wrote my career’s death sentence on this paper.”

“What? How’s that?”

“It’s a long story.”

He looked at the boxes and equipment stacked around the room. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

Her face lit again. That smile still got to him. “You’re going to help me set up?”

“It’s Sunday. I’ve got all day.” He had plenty of chores to do around the house, but Sierra always said it was hard for her to concentrate when he was banging around.

They worked as a team, mounting rolls of fabric, organizing gear, moving furniture and equipment, checking electrical connections. And Caroline talked. She had always been a talker. She told him a bit about how the fashion industry worked, with independent designers doing contract projects for major companies. “I was always creating my own material after hours, nights and weekends, lunch hour, any time I could squeeze in some design and patternmaking. Finally, after more setbacks than I’m willing to bore you with, I got a shot at exhibiting an original collection. Behind my back, the big designer I was working for stole my designs and launched them under his label at a major show.”

“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.”