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Until he’d started putting it in all sorts of places, and she’d started to gasp.
She had to give him points for creativity.
When she emerged, he was just walking into the kitchen, his face sleep-creased and stubbled. He had some gray in his beard, though his hair defied the passage of time. She resented that. She’d been dying her own hair for years.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Morning, Jules.”
She poured him a cup of coffee and added cream, setting it in front of him along with the newspaper.
“Thanks.”
She checked the time on the oven clock. Six thirty. His dad was supposed to be coming over for breakfast at seven. A new thing, but one that seemed to be working. The two men rarely argued in front of her. She’d been reluctant to insert herself between the two of them, but if Carson wanted to invite his father over here, she was fine with it. She loved Martin.
She loved both of them. And she’d started to hope maybe, just maybe, Carson loved her back.
Though even if he did, she knew it might not be enough to keep him here. It hadn’t ever been before.
Carson unfolded the paper and grunted.
“What is it?”
“Potter’s got an offer on the shoe factory from out of town.”
Julie’s heart sank. That was her factory. Or it would be, someday, if she ever talked Leo into helping her get the investments she needed to make it happen.
“How much?”
“Doesn’t say.”
“What do they want to do with it?”
“Doesn’t say that, either. Some operation out of Canada.”
“Fuck that.”
Carson glanced up, and his mild expression made it worse, somehow. That he didn’t care, when she cared so much.
“I want that factory. I want it renovated, and I want it collectively owned and run so the town benefits. It’s Potter Falls’s showpiece, and it would bring us a boatload of tourism. If Leo takes that money, I’m going to kick his ass. I’ll make him regret it for the rest of his life.”
“I’ve been in there,” Carson said. “He gave me the key.”
“So you know what I’m talking about. It’s beautiful.”
“It could be beautiful.”
“It’s going to be beautiful.”
He looked down at his thumb, hooked through the handle of his mug. “It’ll take a hell of a lot of money and even more work.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work. I just need the money.”
“You need somebody who knows what they’re doing.”
“I’ll find somebody.”
“You already know somebody.”
