I follow her around, allow her to position me as she wants, take her photos. People recognize and thank her as we go, treating her more like a friend than their employee. Things have certainly changed a lot since Deacon’s time.
“Do you think we’ll ever escape him?”
She doesn’t answer right away, looking out at the factory floor from the mezzanine we’re on. There are as many people as machines, laughter echoing above the din. From the look of it, it’s a great working environment. Full of life. It’s a long shot from the drudgery I remember as a child.
Darcy sets her camera down, her expression fond as a loud cheer goes up in the corner. “Of course. It’s up to us who we choose to be and how we impact the world. Deacon was all about himself. Reed cares about community, which is why he made sure every employee has equal share of the company. Including us.”
“What?” This is the first I’m hearing it.
She turns to face me, crossing her arms. I feel a lecture coming on. “You heard me. Reed might have the title, but every single one of these people has a stake. He’s changed things, Linc. It’s not like it was when Deacon ran it. He’s dialed back expansion and kept things local. Increased benefits, increased flexibility. We all look after each other, and we all succeed.”
“Why would he do that?” It doesn’t make sense. When he cut the rest of the family out of the estate, it seemed like Reed was on track to be the perfect successor to Deacon, putting profits above all. But sharing ownership with the company flies in the face of that.
But why?
“You should ask him,” Darcy retorts.
My grandfather was a lot of things, not all of them good, in my opinion. If anything, I’m proud that Reed has become a better man than he was.
She reaches out, placing her hand on my arm. “He’s missed you. We all have. He’s just shithouse at showing it, which is why it has to be you who goes first. I promise you, if you can let your guard down, he will listen.”
Unlikely.
“Are we done here?” I ask when I see Darcy lowering her camera away finally. I’m itching to get back.
“Why? Are you worried about what Mum is telling Ivy, or what Ivy is telling Mum?”
Christ. “Both now, and thank you for that.”
So much for whisking Ivy away on a romantic date.
CHAPTER18
A LITTLE ADVICE
IVY
The main street is wonderfully devoid of franchises, instead lined with local shops with handwritten signs outside. A leather shop promises that “all our cows are vegan.” Another hanging outside a small jeweler notes the “husband drop-off point.” It’s all so quaint. All that’s missing is the city girl who is out of her depth.
Oh shit, it’s me, isn’t it?
We keep walking, past soap stores that smell divine and a jewelry maker. “It’s really beautiful here,” I say.
Astrid nods. “It is. After Simon and I got married, we lived here for a while. Found this gorgeous little house that had been left to rot. I almost wept when I saw the state of the cast-iron fireplace upstairs. But oh,” she touches her heart, “the potential. We signed immediately and got to work fixing it up.” Her eyes have a faraway look in them like Mom gets when she talks about dad. “Simon’s work took us back to London while I was still pregnant with Reed, but as soon as he was able, he had a replica made for me.” She smiles, as delicate as a bluebird, and I just know there’s a story there worth hearing. “A piece of advice? Marry a romantic.”
I swallow down my reaction at the M-word, hiding my flush while I enter the little boutique Astrid’s led me to. It’s bursting with wall-to-wall color. Crocheted rainbow socks, sand-casted gold jewelry, beaded phone holders, artisanal hats with brims Carmen Sandiego would kill for, what I can only describe as the cuntiest sunglasses I’ve ever seen, and… the list goes on. “I’m not sure I’ll ever marry, but thank you.”
“I can honestly say I don’t blame you,” she says while trying on a pair of thick tortoise-shell sunglasses. “The piece of paper isn’t as important as the love you feel, and between you and me, it’s a huge pain in the ass to get rid of.”
Surprised laughter explodes out of me. I had no idea Astrid could swear.
“But,” she says, dragging out the word with a light tone that clashes with the very direct look she’s giving me. “You don’t always need a ring. You could always, say, leave your mark another way.”
Damn. Her memory is a steel trap.
“Yes, well…” I clear my throat, picking up a pair of octopus studs that Ciara would love. “I don’t even know how serious Lincoln and I are yet.” Mostly because we’re not really a couple and haven’t gotten our stories straight.
“Ivy, he moved here, which I never thought he’d do, and with the way he looks at you, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
