“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.

“It was an extraction,” he said. “A hostage rescue operation.”

“Sierra told me that part. She said the hostages were aid workers.”

“Ever heard of Djibouti?” It was pronounced Jabooty. He grinned at her expression. “Don’t worry. No one has. I hadn’t either, until the call came for a mission there. It’s in Africa, between Ethiopia and Somalia. Not known as a hot spot of unrest, but some American aid workers were kidnapped there while in transit. A group called Al Shabab was holding them for ransom.”

That had been his last operation, though he hadn’t known it at the time. He’d attained the rank of lieutenant commander in the Naval Special Warfare Development Group, aka SEAL Team 6. In a split second, he’d become medically retired Lt. Cdr. (SEAL) Willem Jensen.

Caroline set aside her box of sorting. Her full, quiet attention felt like a gift, the way it had the first summer they’d met as kids, when he’d told her about losing his mom.

He remembered being in the team compound when the call came in. It was one of those you hate to hear—participation was voluntary, meaning extra risky. Nobody had opted out, though. It was precisely what they had trained for.

“To get them out, it had to be a quick insert. We’d go in by helo and fast rope, extract the hostages, and disappear. Usually there’d be plenty of rehearsals, only that night, the time window was almost nonexistent. We made a plan but there wasn’t time to test it.”

He remembered a new moon, a night of perfect darkness, ideal for the operation. “Thanks to an informant, we found the workers—two nurses and an aide. Two of them were in rough shape, dazed and sick with fever. The op went as planned—until the bandits opened fire, which we expected based on the intelligence.”

Caroline winced. “You got shot.”

“Not just then. So far the kidnappers were the only casualties. The team dropped nine of them in a matter of seconds.” He could still hear the staccato sound of the fight. Sometimes he heard it in his dreams. “The extraction went as planned. Until it didn’t.”

Caroline stood looking at him, her face soft with wonder. She seemed to be listening with her whole body. “What happened?”

Here was the part he never talked about. The part that haunted him. “We had the hostages. I was bringing up the rear, running through the bush toward the helo. We thought all the bandits were down, but deep in the bush, I noticed a flare of movement in my night vision—never a good sign. I slowed down to try for some facial recognition. I had to check it out, because one guy with a big firearm could take us all out. And . . . there was this kid.”

“A kid—like a boy?”

Will could still picture the scene through his night-vision goggles: A little boy, peering through the parted grass. A little boy with an AK-47. His eyes were bright and vacant, probably from chewing khat, a kind of speed, his hands nervous on the trigger and the grip.

“A scared little kid. He was maybe ten years old, I thought. High on this stuff the natives chew. Draped in ammo and pointing an AK-47 at me.”

“Oh my God. I can’t even imagine what that was like,” she said.

“This is what a SEAL trains for. Months and years of practice drills every day—to confront and eliminate a threat without hesitation.”

“Let me guess,” she said softly. “You hesitated.”

Training and instinct had dictated that Will should eliminate the threat. But something deeper had stopped him—this was a child. A child.

Will nodded. “And he opened fire.”

The body armor had protected him from mortal wounds, but his goggles flew off on impact. When his face was hit, it felt as if half his head had been blown off.