Книга - The River House

The River House
Carla Neggers


A love worth fighting for…Events planner Felicity MacGregor might know how to throw the perfect party, but her love life is a complete mess! And when her childhood sweetheart, Gabriel Flanagan arrives back in town, she knows it’s only a matter of time before she’ll have to face him…Now a high-flying businessman, Gabe is even more handsome than Felicity remembered! Years may have passed since they last saw one another, but their reunion is stirring up long-buried emotions. Will they be able to forget the past and fight for their future, together?A heartwarming romance from New York Times bestselling author, Carla Neggers.Readers love Carla Neggers:“I love everything Carla Neggers writes”“A wonderful book”“I love the way the author ties her characters together”“Love this series!”“A fast moving, totally interesting and exciting read”“great story full of excitement, mystery and Romance”







In this charming novel about the search for love, home and family, New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers takes readers on a journey to an irresistible town they’ll want to return to over and over again

Felicity MacGregor loves organizing social events for others but her own personal life is a different story. After a brief but failed attempt at a career as a financial analyst, she returned to Knights Bridge where she enjoys running a thriving party-planning business.

Then Felicity’s life gets a shake-up when her childhood friend Gabriel Flanagan returns unexpectedly to their tiny hometown. Now a high-flying businessman, Gabe always vowed to get out of Knights Bridge, but he is back for the local entrepreneurial boot camp Felicity’s been hired to organize. Together again, they’ll finally have to face each other—and their complicated past.

Gabe and Felicity soon realize their reunion is stirring up long-buried emotions. While Gabe has big plans for his future, Felicity is discovering that hers doesn’t depend on fate—she must choose what’s right for her. But if they can find a bridge between their diverging paths, they may just discover that their enduring connection is what matters most.


Also by Carla Neggers (#uc39ca5c4-1693-51b7-94ff-f78bfe9a97be)

Swift River Valley

RED CLOVER INN

THE SPRING AT MOSS HILL

A KNIGHTS BRIDGE CHRISTMAS

ECHO LAKE

CHRISTMAS AT CARRIAGE HILL (novella)

CIDER BROOK

THAT NIGHT ON THISTLE LANE

SECRETS OF THE LOST SUMMER

Sharpe & Donovan

THIEF’S MARK

LIAR’S KEY

KEEPER’S REACH

HARBOR ISLAND

DECLAN’S CROSS

ROCK POINT (novella)

HERON’S COVE

SAINT’S GATE

The Ireland Series

THE WHISPER

THE MIST

THE ANGEL

THE WIDOW

Black Falls

COLD DAWN

COLD RIVER

COLD PURSUIT

Cold Ridge

ABANDON

BREAKWATER

DARK SKY

THE RAPIDS

NIGHT’S LANDING

COLD RIDGE

Carriage House

THE HARBOR

STONEBROOK COTTAGE

THE CABIN

THE CARRIAGE HOUSE

Stand-Alone Novels

THE WATERFALL

ON FIRE

KISS THE MOON

TEMPTING FATE

CUT AND RUN

BETRAYALS

CLAIM THE CROWN

Look for Carla Neggers’ next novel in the Sharpe & Donovan series IMPOSTOR’S LURE


The River House

Carla Neggers












An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Carla Neggers 2018

Carla Neggers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9781474074759

Version: 2018-02-26


Dear Reader (#uc39ca5c4-1693-51b7-94ff-f78bfe9a97be),

Thank you for reading The River House. I hope you enjoyed your visit to little Knights Bridge. If it’s your first visit, you can find a list of all the books in the Swift River Valley series and their reading order on my website.

For me, diving into a Swift River Valley novel is like returning home. I grew up on the western edge of the Quabbin Reservoir and its protected wilderness. How to fire a budding writer’s imagination! Our family homestead is still there, and I visit often.

Summer in New England is a special time, and as kids, my six siblings and I had our favorite swimming holes. On my runs at home in Vermont, I often pass a popular swimming hole that reminds me of Felicity and Gabe’s more private swimming hole. I’ve posted a few photos on my blog if you’d like to take a look.

I continue to add Swift River Valley recipes to my website. Unlike Gabe and Shannon, I love eggplant in my ratatouille! And you just can’t go wrong with brownies...or oatmeal bread fresh out of the oven...or anything Maggie Sloan puts together. Blueberry cobbler is one of my favorites. Turn the page for a recipe!

Thanks again, and happy reading,

Carla

CarlaNeggers.com (http://www.CarlaNeggers.com)


Praise for Carla Neggers’ New York Times bestselling Swift River Valley novels

“A page-turning mystery and clever, slow-building romance featuring two wounded type-A personalities. [Neggers] seduces readers by expertly marrying characters, story lines and scenes, and keeps them up-to-date with series catch-ups. Her family dynamics keep it real, her costars add insight and her stars make it a keeper!”

—RT Book Reviews on Red Clover Inn

“Masterful attention to detail, conversational dialogue and past-character catch-up expertly draw readers into her potent mix of romance, mystery and small-town drama.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Spring at Moss Hill

“Appealing protagonists, good neighbors, small-town Christmas traditions, and Neggers’ own recipes make for a fine romance.”

—Publishers Weekly on A Knights Bridge Christmas

“A heady mix of romance, mystery and genuine Quabbin history packaged in an enchanting holiday tale.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Knights Bridge Christmas

“Neggers does the near impossible: she brings a small-town, family-loving heroine and a footloose hero together in an engaging romance that has its fair share of surprises.”

—Library Journal on Echo Lake

“Her people, places and things are colorfully and expertly rendered in this compelling work of fiction.”

—RT Book Reviews on Cider Brook

“Neggers captures readers’ attention with her usual flair and brilliance and gives us a romance, a mystery and a lesson in history.”

—RT Book Reviews on Secrets of the Lost Summer, Top Pick


To the memory of my cousin

Mary Ann Harrell Domingos,

always in our hearts


Contents

Cover (#u6da8d0a5-7f2b-5ab2-8e2b-ea94a9db3d2f)

Back Cover Text (#u5948ad63-5171-5217-b25e-2337063d6e7e)

Booklist (#u211442f8-e7df-52ce-ae46-acb85494d694)

Title Page (#u2086202b-bcf6-5a9d-800b-4fe37ffc8a83)

Copyright (#ub69e98ac-dfa4-564b-9255-95ace302a47d)

Dear Reader (#ueaae037c-4255-5b78-9d96-47a354872123)

Praise (#ucb5e419e-9696-5353-a0ab-77e8aedb6506)

Dedication (#u92d7c9cb-51a3-5917-9632-6fac4ba0bfd6)

One (#uda9569e2-5bd4-59dc-a3a3-be4cf6db454f)

Two (#u6a4f57d3-ea16-5ff7-8e4b-5d1e9befede4)

Three (#u4c3c75d9-bee3-5407-af62-37aa9a8ef246)

Four (#u8400532c-f3bb-5605-85f8-dbd124ed3cfa)

Five (#ue2da03ad-73e5-5af8-9385-d213537e8a1b)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

A Recipe from Carla Neggers: Blueberry Cobbler (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#uc39ca5c4-1693-51b7-94ff-f78bfe9a97be)

“We have to have badgers at your party.”

Felicity MacGregor knew her comment would raise most people’s eyebrows, but she also knew Kylie Shaw would be fine with it.

“Absolutely,” Kylie said. “Russ and I had a badger couple on our wedding cake.”

That spring, Kylie’s whirlwind romance with Russ Colton, a security consultant, had taken them both by surprise, never mind everyone else in their small town of Knights Bridge, Massachusetts. Felicity smiled. “Of course you did.” They were seated across from each other at the table on the balcony of Kylie and Russ’s second-floor apartment in a renovated nineteenth-century hat factory. The balcony overlooked the river, flowing gently on the warm summer afternoon. Russ had spent the past two weeks in Southern California, wrapping up his life and work there now that he and Kylie had decided to settle in Knights Bridge. They’d bought a house a mile or so farther up the river and were having work done on it before moving in later in the summer.

Kylie reached for her iced tea. “Russ let Sherlock Badger oversee security for the wedding,” she said, matter-of-fact.

Sherlock was one of her popular fictional characters. “I’m sure Sherlock did a fine job,” Felicity said.

“He’s the best. Russ likes to say we’ll be fine provided I don’t confuse my Middle Branch badgers with real badgers.”

“Who says your Middle Branch badgers aren’t real?”

Kylie beamed. “Exactly what I tell him!”

Felicity wouldn’t be surprised if Kylie was only half kidding. Under her pseudonym of Morwenna Mills, she was the creator of the Badgers of Middle Branch, a popular series of children’s books. Felicity, an event planner, was helping Kylie with a party to celebrate the newest installment in the series, set in an idyllic village on a river. The mom and dad badgers were veterinarians, modeled after Kylie’s own family. A tiny version of Sherlock Badger occupied a spot on Kylie’s worktable. She’d made the mini badger herself with scraps of fabric and tufts of dryer lint.

Unlike Felicity, Kylie hadn’t grown up in Knights Bridge. They’d hit it off upon Felicity’s return to her hometown in May, when she’d bought a house farther up on the river, just down from the site of Kylie and Russ’s new house. Felicity loved her house despite her complicated personal history with it, seeing how she’d lost her virginity there. Not in the house itself. It hadn’t been built yet. But on a blanket in front of the outdoor fireplace that still stood there...

“Knights Bridge is keeping you busy, Felicity,” Kylie said.

She yanked herself out of her thoughts. “Works for me. I’m having a blast.”

Kylie studied her a moment, as if guessing Felicity’s mind had wandered to someplace forbidden. They were both wearing dresses, given the warm weather, Kylie in a casual maxi, Felicity in a knee-length tunic. Kylie had her hair pulled back, its pale blond making her blue eyes stand out. Felicity had never been good with hair. Hers was dark blond, shoulder-length and unruly unless she fussed with it, which she rarely did.

“My book party is just a week after the launch of the entrepreneurial boot camp,” Kylie said. “That won’t stretch you too thin?”

“Not at all.” The one-day boot camp, the brainchild of Dylan McCaffrey, another Knights Bridge newcomer, was Felicity’s biggest event yet in her hometown. “I did corporate event planning in Boston for three years. I love being on my own, having the chance to do more fun events. Baby showers, bridal showers—your book party. I have a Jane Austen tea party on Sunday at the local assisted-living residence.”

“The aptly named Rivendell. There’s a lot of knowledge in that place.”

“No question,” Felicity said. “The tea includes a literary lecture and Regency period costumes.”

“You must know almost everyone there.” Kylie drank some of her tea and returned the glass to the table. Lunch had been simple—salads from the local country store, chocolate, iced tea. “I’m still fairly new to Knights Bridge. I’m doing better with names and faces, but I still get lost in the connections between the locals. Russ does, too, but he figures sometimes the less he knows, the better. He doesn’t want to know who slept with whom as teenagers, that’s for sure.”

Felicity wondered if her cheeks had reddened, given the turn her mind had taken a few minutes ago. “I don’t, either, but since I did grow up here...” She picked up her iced tea. “I’ll leave it at that.”

“Now that’s a tease! Not you and Mark Flanagan—”

“No,” Felicity said. “Absolutely not. Never.”

But Mark, the architect who’d renovated and owned the old mill, had a brother, and he was another story altogether.

Felicity shook off that thought, gulped her tea and returned to planning Kylie’s book-launch party. They’d chosen the Knights Bridge Free Public Library as the venue. Written before Kylie had met Russ, this latest installment featured a lonely badger aunt who helps the mice and the badger kids with their fairy-house dilemma and in so doing reunites with her own family and friends. Felicity could sort of identify with Auntie Badger. Kylie was also illustrating a series of classic fairy tales that would launch over the winter with Hansel and Gretel. Then came Sleeping Beauty and Little Red Riding Hood. She was working on Beauty and the Beast. Felicity assumed there’d be a launch party for the series, but she and Kylie hadn’t gotten that far in their discussions.

“I’ve been holed up here working for weeks,” Kylie said with a contented sigh. “It’ll be good to be around people again.”

“Going from solitude to a launch party is a big change.”

“It is, for sure. I’ve kept up with my children’s story hour at the library, and I sometimes run into people when I’m out for a walk.”

Felicity had come to realize Kylie wasn’t the least bit antisocial. She just had protracted periods of deep work. Felicity thought she understood, but her own work as an event manager was quite different. For one thing, the events she organized were never her parties, meetings or conferences. Kylie’s books were very much hers. She was dedicated to her work. Felicity liked running her own business, but she’d expected to have a career in finance. When that didn’t pan out, she’d ventured into event planning. She’d learned the ropes working with a small, high-end business in Boston and struck out on her own nine months ago, finally returning to Knights Bridge.

In Boston, she’d never known her clients on a personal level. These days she found herself planning events with clients who were friends and neighbors. She still had a handful of out-of-town corporate clients, but her small hometown was bursting at the seams with all sorts of parties and events. Weddings, milestone birthdays, babies, retirements, new jobs, housewarming parties. She didn’t plan every get-together in town, and she didn’t focus on weddings—they were a particular specialty—but with an experienced event manager right there on the river, why not hire her?

“We need to throw a party for you one day,” Kylie said, breaking into Felicity’s thoughts.

“Me? I’d need something to celebrate.”

“Pick something. It doesn’t have to be big. Paint the kitchen. We’ll celebrate.”

Felicity didn’t for a moment doubt Kylie’s sincerity. Kylie was incredibly genuine, with none of the maneuvering and artificial niceties Felicity had too often witnessed in her work. “Cake it is,” she said lightly. “In the meantime, I’m enjoying your badgers.”

“If anyone can make badgers work at a party, it’s you, Felicity.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. I have some ideas I want to explore. Feel free to let me know if you have any suggestions,” Felicity said as they wrapped up the party plans.

“It’ll be a fun evening. Thanks for stopping by.”

Kylie started to get up, but Felicity stopped her. “I’ll see myself out. Enjoy the perfect summer day.”

“It is perfect, isn’t it?” Kylie sighed, the sunlight catching her eyes. “I came to Knights Bridge never thinking I’d stay. Now it’s home.” She shifted her gaze back to Felicity, who was on her feet, collecting lunch dishes. “I’ll get those. Sometimes I’m tempted to throw my dirty dishes in the river, but the ducks would have my head if Mark didn’t. Oh, wait. That reminds me. He asked me to tell you that his brother is a last-minute addition to the boot camp speaker lineup and is hiring you to organize a party at the end of the day.”

“Mark—Mark Flanagan’s brother?”

“Right. Only Mark I know here.”

The only one Felicity knew, too, but she’d needed to cover for her shock.

Kylie frowned. “You know his brother, don’t you? Gabe, isn’t it? Short for Gabriel?”

Oh, she knew him, all right. She’d just been thinking about him. That night before they’d set off for college. He’d been working construction and had been tanned and muscular, eager to get out of Knights Bridge and make something of himself. She’d been working at her father’s bank in the village and restless.

Felicity nodded. “Gabe is Mark’s younger brother.” She tried not to sound too stiff. Keep it casual. Matter-of-fact. “It’s just the two of them.”

“That’s what I thought.” Kylie swooped up her tea glass, no sign she knew she’d stepped on a hornets’ nest. “Mark had to be out of town this morning on business and wasn’t sure when he’d return. It must be late in the game to add a party, but if anyone can swing it, it’s you, although I suppose you could always say no.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Felicity reminded herself she’d been hired to do a job, and if Gabe had been added as a speaker and wanted to sponsor a party, she would have to manage. Even if her stomach was churning. “It’s short notice, but the boot camp is straightforward as events go—sort of an open house with speakers. It’ll be fine.”

The one-day event was meant to provide a taste of what Dylan had in mind for the periodic entrepreneurial boot camps he planned to host in Knights Bridge throughout the year. He was an ex-professional hockey player and a multimillionaire businessman from California who’d fallen in love with Olivia Frost, a graphic designer who’d returned to her hometown last year to open an inn. They were married on Christmas Eve. A few months earlier, Olivia’s sister, Jessica, had married Mark Flanagan. That was just one of the many connections that were part of life in their small town.

Felicity smiled, trying to take any shock and dread out of her expression. She was a pro. She needed to act like one. She swallowed, breathed. “Gabe isn’t in town yet, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Kylie said. “Mark didn’t say.”

Felicity gathered dishes and started toward the glass doors into the apartment. “I assume Gabe will be staying with him. Doesn’t matter. Thanks for the information.”

“Mark will be back soon if you want to talk to him.”

Felicity thanked her again and headed into the apartment. She dropped off her dishes in the kitchen. The mill’s dozen apartments were spacious, sleek and modern, with an industrial feel to them—Mark hadn’t fought the building’s origins—given their tall, arched windows, cement floors and brick walls. Felicity loved the views of the winding, shallow river. Kylie had added her own touches to her apartment, now shared with her husband. Sherlock Badger, propped next to a task lamp on her worktable, oversaw her sketches and scribblings, as she liked to call them.

“Wish me luck, Sherlock,” Felicity said under her breath as she headed out.

* * *

When she reached the parking lot in front of the mill, Felicity forced herself not to break into a run. She had no reason to run. She wasn’t late for anything. She wasn’t being chased by a bear. She had her workload under control. She was letting herself get freaked out for no reason. So what if Gabe Flanagan was speaking on Saturday and wanted to throw a party? Despite that night between high school and college, they’d never been an item. They’d been friends. They’d had a falling-out and hadn’t seen each other in three years, and it was natural that would be on her mind. The trick now was to put it out of her mind.

She took in a breath, releasing some of her tension. She’d walked to the mill, enjoying the mid-summer day before heat and humidity had a chance to build in over the next few days. Nestled on the river, the Mill at Moss Hill had started its life in 1870 as a manufacturer of straw hats, immensely popular at the time. They hadn’t been made here since the first years after World War I. The mill had enjoyed a few short-lived incarnations before giving up life as a factory—well before Mark had seen its potential for a new century and got to work. Felicity remembered the sprawling, abandoned property he’d gotten hold of, with its boarded-up brick-and-cement buildings, Do Not Enter and Danger signs and overgrown grounds.

She looked across the quiet road to woods that rose steeply to the top of Moss Hill itself. The trees with their lush foliage and evergreen needles were unmoving under the blue summer sky. As teenagers, Mark and Gabe both had vowed to get out of Knights Bridge and never return. They’d been ambitious and driven, determined not to repeat their father’s mistakes and drift through life, dreaming and complaining about what might have been. Mark’s vow never to return hadn’t stuck. After a few years in Boston, he moved back to his hometown, launched a successful business as an architect and married Jessica Frost, who’d never lived anywhere else.

Gabe had never returned to Knights Bridge to live.

Felicity hadn’t expected to return, either, but she had never made any vows to the contrary. Her hometown was small and a bit off the beaten track, changed forever with the construction of the sprawling Quabbin Reservoir early last century. Felicity’s own family had been displaced from Prescott, the smallest of the four small towns lost to history in the now-flooded Swift River Valley. They’d been bankers, accountants and bookkeepers, never farmers and factory workers. She had to be the first MacGregor event planner...now with a party to plan for Gabe Flanagan.

Mark trotted out from the main building and caught up with her before she started up to the road to her house. He was tawny-haired, blue-eyed and lanky, dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. He and his younger brother bore a strong resemblance to each other, but Gabe’s eyes were a deeper marine blue, his build naturally more muscular.

“Hey, Felicity,” Mark said. “I just got back from meetings in Worcester. Did Kylie tell you about Gabe?”

“She did, yes.”

“Great. I hope it’s not a problem.”

“No problem. Did he give you a budget?”

“I’d spend what you need to make it nice and hand him the bill. You know what you’re doing.”

“Will do.” Felicity hesitated but decided to ask the question gnawing at her. “Does Gabe know I bought the river house?”

“I might have mentioned it. He knows I sold it.”

Not the same thing but Felicity didn’t pursue the subject. She motioned up the road. “I should get going.”

“You walked? Do you need a ride? I can drop you off.”

“It’s a great day for a walk.”

Mark didn’t look convinced, but he simply said goodbye and returned to his office.

Felicity heaved a sigh and crossed the parking lot to the road. She had known Gabe’s name would come up now that she was living in Knights Bridge, and she anticipated she’d run into him at some point. He’d attended Mark and Jess’s wedding last September. Felicity had been invited but had been on the road for a major conference that weekend, her last before giving notice. She doubted she’d have attended even without a conflict. She hadn’t wanted to risk any unresolved, long-buried emotions rising to the surface. Mark’s wedding wouldn’t have been the right time or place for her and Gabe to see each other again.

The entrepreneurial boot camp wasn’t the right time or place, either, but there was nothing she could do about it.

She came to a narrow bend in the river and crossed a red-painted covered bridge, a plaque noting it had been built in 1845. She veered off onto a one-lane paved road that wound through open fields then toward the river. It looped back to the river road, but Felicity’s house was located on the curve, tucked among evergreens, oaks, maples and birches on the edge of the steep, wooded riverbank. It was contemporary in style but blended with the landscape, a hallmark of Mark Flanagan’s work. He’d designed and built the house two years ago on land his paternal grandfather had purchased decades ago as a campsite. Mark had lived there for a short time, but he and Jess had opted to restore an old house in the village.

Felicity turned onto the driveway, which led to a detached garage. Given its connection to the Flanagans, she’d thought twice before she’d toured the house. Then she’d thought more than twice before making an offer.

And now here she was.

She’d grown up on a quiet residential street near the high school, but she’d loved to ride her bike out along the river. Her parents still lived in town but were visiting friends in Virginia. They’d retired a year ago. Her father had presided over the local bank, and her mother had been a CPA in town. They’d loved their work and now they loved retirement. Felicity’s older brother—her only sibling—had followed their father into banking and lived outside Amherst with his wife, a hospital administrator, and their two small children. The little ones—a boy and a girl—loved to visit their aunt Felicity and get into her supply closet. Stickers, ribbons, balloons, streamers, markers, paints, colored pencils, paper of all types and sizes. Kid heaven. She’d finally had to lay down a few rules after they’d decorated her house one time too many.

Her parents had never trusted Gabe. Not that they’d ever said so outright. Not their style, but Felicity was adept at reading between the lines. “Driven, ambitious, not ready to settle down.” Those and many similar comments had been code for “stay away.”

If only she’d listened.

Restless and on the verge of being out of sorts, she bypassed the front door and went up the stairs to the back deck. The views of the river, the sounds of the water coursing over rocks and the potential for a variety of gardens had sold her on the house. It was perfect for days such as today. Its history was just part of the deal. She’d weighed the pros and cons of buying the house. There were many pros. Convenience, size, cost, quality, landscaping, layout, proximity to friends and family. The only serious drawback: her history with the property.

Gabe.

She sat at her square wood table, shaded by oak, hemlocks and white pine at the back of the house, above the river. People often said Knights Bridge had the feel of a place where time had stopped. Since moving back to her hometown, Felicity sometimes felt as if time had gone backward for her, but she hoped that would pass once she finished decorating and made the place completely hers. Gabe’s unexpected appearance at the boot camp wouldn’t help. She could be a professional about it. They weren’t teenagers anymore. They weren’t even friends.

Today was Wednesday and the boot camp was Saturday.

It’d be done and dusted in no time, and he’d be gone to wherever he was hanging his hat these days.

Feeling calmer, Felicity listened to the rustle of leaves in a light breeze, stirring the stillness of the summer afternoon. Through high school, she and Gabe would come out to his grandfather’s “camp” on the river to sneak down to their personal swimming hole, play cards by a campfire, meet up with friends. They were in the same class, but as an October baby, he was almost a year older than she was.

They’d been tight. Good friends. He’d been a reluctant student with big ambitions after high school. She’d been a good student with no real focus for after graduation. She figured she’d get a degree in finance. Something like that. She’d put a lot of her energy into encouraging Gabe.

She chewed on her lower lip, pushing back the flood of memories the news about Gabe’s impending return to town had triggered.

One memory in particular, of a night much like last night had been. Warm, still, starlit. She and Gabe had a fire going in the outdoor fire pit, the only permanent structure then on the Flanagans’ riverfront campsite. They hadn’t needed the fire’s heat. The flames were atmosphere, creating a glow that encompassed just her and Gabe, as if they were in their own little world. They’d been getting ready to leave for separate colleges hundreds of miles apart, feeling the mixed emotions of what lay ahead of them. Fear, uncertainty, excitement, resolve. They’d all bubbled up that night. Neither of them had lived anywhere but Knights Bridge. What would life be like outside their small town?

“We’ll stay friends,” she’d said, half to herself. “We’ll always be friends, won’t we, Gabe?”

“Always, Felicity. Always.”

He hadn’t hesitated. She’d believed him, had needed to hear—wanted to hear—those words.

Later, with the fire dying and stars glistening overhead, they’d gotten carried away.

Felicity let out a long breath. It’d been a wild night. No question. She wondered if Gabe even remembered it.

She put it out of her mind. Her life in Knights Bridge was good. Fun, energizing, busy. It was different from where she thought she’d end up when she’d left for college in upstate New York, and maybe it wasn’t what her friends and family or anyone else had expected.

No maybe about it. It was definitely not what anyone had expected.

“Except Gabe.”

The words were out before she could stop them.

She could hear him now, on a cold February morning three years ago—the last time she’d seen him. “You have to do what you want to do, Felicity. You’re doing what everyone expects you to do.”

“What if what everyone expects and what I want are the same thing?”

“They aren’t.”

That was Gabe. Always so certain.

No way had he changed in three years.

Sometimes she wished he’d fought harder to maintain their friendship, but he hadn’t fought at all. If he had? Would she have taken that first event management job, or with him breathing down her neck would she have tried again as a financial analyst—to prove to him she could do the work, wanted to do the work? Giving up fit right into his ideas about her, but would he have approved of her alternate career? Would he have encouraged her, or would he have told her not to “settle” as a party planner?

She checked her phone for an email, text or voice mail from Gabe about the boot camp party, but there was nothing. He wouldn’t have understood her choice of new career. He’d have wanted it both ways. She’d face her failure as a financial analyst and come out on the other end in a stable, high-paying job.

She did fine as a party planner. She’d paid down her debt, reined in her spending and bought a house.

She sent Saturday’s caterer—a friend from town—a quick email to set up a time to discuss Gabe’s addition to the day.

She let that be enough for now. She’d work on Kylie’s party and tackle Gabe’s party later.

She brought all eight books in the Badgers of Middle Branch series out to the deck and set them on the table for inspiration. She grabbed her brainstorming colored pencils and a pad of lined yellow paper and a pad of plain white paper.

Badgers. She’d think about badgers.

But she was positive when he’d told her she was hacking away in the wrong jungle and needed to get out of finance that Gabe Flanagan hadn’t envisioned her figuring out how to incorporate badgers into a party at the Knights Bridge public library.


Two (#uc39ca5c4-1693-51b7-94ff-f78bfe9a97be)

Gabe Flanagan looked out at Boston from the living room of his twelfth-floor condo in the heart of Back Bay. He gripped his phone. “Say that again, Mark.”

His brother didn’t answer at once. Gabe had been home for ten hours after two months in California, working his way down the coast from Sonoma to San Diego on a mix of business and pleasure. He didn’t know whether Mark’s call was business or pleasure. Some of both, maybe.

“You hired Felicity to handle the party after Dylan’s boot camp,” Mark said.

“Felicity MacGregor.”

“None other.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did.”

Gabe sighed. Felicity. Mark had no idea what he’d stepped into, but still. “I should throw you in the river when I get there.”

“You and what army,” his brother said, teasing, as if they were kids again. “I did you a favor. The party’s on. You’re the host. Everyone will be thrilled. You’ll have a great time, and you don’t have to lift a finger.”

Gabe could see his reflection in the window. His jaw was tight, his angular features and tall, lean frame giving away that he and Mark were brothers. Gabe had put on muscle now that he’d been doing CrossFit for two years, dropping into studios when he was on the road. He’d gone to one yesterday in LA, before his overnight flight to Boston.

“You told Felicity it was my idea to hire her?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah. It was simpler. I don’t need to be the middleman.”

“You are the middleman. I didn’t know anything about it.”

“Now you do. Why are you jumping down my throat? You should be thanking me. You said you wanted help. I helped.”

“Do I need to do anything for this party?”

“Just show up. It’s not much notice, but Felicity’s good at what she does.”

Mark had mentioned in passing she was an event planner now. She’d started shortly after she and Gabe had fallen out. He’d figured it was something she’d do to make ends meet while she tried to find another finance job, if only to spite him. But she’d stuck with it, obviously. Mark didn’t know the ins and outs of his younger brother’s relationship with Knights Bridge’s own party planner. They were close, but not that kind of close.

“Okay, thanks,” Gabe said finally.

“You’re not regretting saying yes to speaking at the boot camp, are you?”

“It’s a day and then it’s done.”

A few minutes ago, Gabe would have said he was looking forward to the boot camp. Dylan McCaffrey had invited him when they’d met briefly in San Diego before Gabe had returned to Los Angeles and then flown onto Boston. Mark, who’d designed Dylan and Olivia’s new home in Knights Bridge, had put them in touch with each other. Gabe had accepted the invitation without a second’s thought. A panel discussion on start-ups for an audience of aspiring entrepreneurs? What was there to think about? He was on his way back to Boston, anyway, and he owed his brother in Knights Bridge a visit.

But he changed the subject. “How’s Jess?” he asked.

“Puking.”

“Fun call, Mark. Real fun call. She sick?”

There was a slight hesitation. “She’s pregnant. I was going to wait until you got here to tell you. Morning sickness came on fast and strong. You’re going to want to rethink staying with us.”

“Mark...” Gabe stared out at the blend of old and new that was Back Bay, but he found himself picturing Knights Bridge on a warm summer evening. He hadn’t been to the Colonial Revival house Mark and Jess were restoring off Knights Bridge common, but he knew it. Mark specialized in older buildings as an architect and it had made sense—felt right—when he and Jess had bought one of their own. Now they had a baby on the way. “That’s wonderful news, Mark. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Gabe. We’re thrilled.”

“I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

“Your call. That reminds me. There’s one more thing you should know before you get here. I’ve been meaning to mention it. I know you and Felicity haven’t been close the past few years but thought you’d want to know she bought the house.”

“What house?”

“The house we built on the river at the old campsite.”

Gabe had known Mark had sold the house, but he’d never identified the buyer. Gabe hadn’t asked. He hadn’t wanted to know. He’d contributed ideas and cash to the building of the house but had left everything else to Mark. “Felicity bought it,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“I’m happy it sold to someone who remembers the property as a campsite.”

Oh, she’d remember it, all right, Gabe thought. “A lot of changes in town.”

“Tons. It’ll be good to have you back here. See you soon.”

After he and Mark hung up, Gabe didn’t move from the windows. He watched the city lights twinkling in the fading light. He was going to be an uncle. His brother had a wife, and they were expecting their first child.

It was a lot. It was the best.

He could see himself on a lazy summer afternoon fishing with Mark on the river, in a beat-up canoe they’d discovered buried in their father’s shed. Their mother had just been diagnosed with the breast cancer that would eventually kill her. “We’re going to get out of here, Gabe,” Mark had said, not for the first time. “We’re not going to get stuck here dreaming about a different life. We’re going to get out and never come back except to visit.”

Mark had stayed away for a while, but he’d returned and now had offices out on the river where he and Gabe had grown up. Things hadn’t worked out the way he’d meant them to when he’d set off for college. They’d worked out even better.

“They worked out perfectly, brother,” Gabe said, turning from his city view.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed and he saw he had a text from Mark: Felicity expects you to get in touch with her about the party.

What’s there to get in touch about? Place settings?

Ask her. Ball’s in your court.

How did the ball get in his court? Gabe gave up. How’s Jess?

Eating a pastrami sandwich. I don’t know if I can take nine months of this.

But he could and he would, and he looked forward to it. Mark and Jessica’s wedding announcement last summer hadn’t been a total surprise to Gabe, but earlier in the year he’d wondered if they’d make it. Mark had taken Jess for granted, and she’d shown signs of serious impatience.

She’d gotten his workaholic brother to take her to Paris. That was something.

Gabe typed his response: Good thing you like pastrami.

He received a smile emoji from Mark, and they were done. Gabe set his phone aside. He was adept at taking in new information, processing it, making a decision and moving forward—but he needed a moment to process Mark’s call. He hadn’t expected Felicity to be involved in the entrepreneurial boot camp, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to be living in the house on the river. To own it. He loved that place.

“Should have bought it yourself, then,” he muttered.

Instead he’d let Mark buy out his interest.

He’d had no plans then, and he had none now ever to spend much time in his hometown. He’d gone in with Mark to buy the property in order to help their grandfather afford assisted living. They’d have paid his way, but that wasn’t what the old guy had wanted. The property had been in Flanagan hands for decades. Mark had designed the house—with Gabe’s input—and eventually bought Gabe out...which had made sense at the time. Mark was living in Knights Bridge. Gabe wasn’t. He’d never considered it might not stay in the family. If there was one spot in Knights Bridge he could get nostalgic about, it was that one.

Of all the places for Felicity to end up.

He took in the state of his condo. When he’d arrived that morning, he’d collapsed for a few hours’ sleep and had barely noticed the drop cloths, the covered furnishings, the smell of fresh paint. Workers had arrived mid-morning. The condo was undergoing cosmetic work ahead of going on the market. It would sell in a heartbeat, at a profit. Gabe had bought it two years ago more as an investment than as a place to live. It wasn’t home, not in the sense of Mark and Jess’s Colonial Revival. Gabe was young, unattached, didn’t have a baby on the way—and he liked to travel. He’d had top-notch employees and freelancers, all of whom worked remotely. He could work from anywhere that had an internet connection.

His company’s new owners had kept on most of his employees and freelancers. Together, they’d take the company and its specialty in product development to the next level. Gabe liked starting businesses. He was good at it, although sometimes they didn’t work out. He’d had a few going when he’d launched the one he’d just sold. He liked being nimble, moving fast, and when that newest start-up had taken off, he’d focused on it. As it grew, he discovered digging in and building a company didn’t interest him as much as getting one off the ground, and he wasn’t particularly good at it. It’d been time to move on. Three years of intense work and focus had made his start-up attractive to a buyer who would do what he didn’t want to—couldn’t—do. As the founder, Gabe had done his best to make a clean exit.

Clean from a business perspective, anyway. One of his freelancers, a customer development specialist who’d been with him from the start, happened to be in the process of divorcing the man who’d bought the company. She was out of a job and a marriage. Gabe had met with her in Los Angeles to reassure her he’d be in touch with any new venture.

Everything had revolved around him during those intense years getting his business off the ground. Friends who’d been in his position advised him to have a post-sale plan in place, and he’d listened, at least to a degree. The boot camp had cropped up while he was still twiddling his thumbs in California, trying to figure out what was next.

What was next was Knights Bridge and Felicity MacGregor.

He hadn’t been to his hometown in months and he hadn’t seen Felicity in three years.

He needed a reentry plan.

* * *

Gabe went into the master bedroom. The painters had taped off the windows and trim, but otherwise it was untouched. It was just the bed and a sheepskin he’d picked up in Ireland. He sat on the edge of his king-size bed and dug a small photo album out of his nightstand. His mother had put it together for him before her death. She’d done one for Mark, too. It contained pictures of their childhood, and hers, in Knights Bridge. Tucked inside was a sheet of Rhodia notepaper he’d folded in half three years ago that past February and hadn’t looked at since. He opened it now and wondered why he’d kept it. A cautionary tale? Hell if he knew.

The note was in two parts, one he’d written, one Felicity had written. He’d written his portion in black Sharpie pen. They were the only pens he used. He was tidy, and he had his rituals. Felicity had resisted anything smacking of order, at least back then.

Felicity,

Meetings in Boston. Back at 5 p.m. Company arrives at 6 p.m. Hint.

Gabe

P.S. You know I’m right

Then her scrawl in blue Sharpie pen:

I made brownies for you and your “company.” They’re in the freezer. Enjoy.

Felicity, financial analyst

P.S. We’ll see who’s right

He’d left her that morning scowling at him in his bathroom doorway, wrapped in a wet, threadbare towel. He could have afforded new towels even then, but he hadn’t seen the need. It’d been her fifth day sleeping on his couch, nursing her wounds after getting fired from yet another finance job. She had degrees and knew her stuff, but her heart wasn’t in the work. He’d told her so, not mincing words. Then he’d jotted the note and was on his way. By the time he returned, she’d cleared out of his apartment. She’d cleaned up her pizza boxes, collected her dirty dishes, folded the blankets she’d borrowed, put her sheets and towels in the washing machine and tidied up the bathroom.

His “company” had been a woman he’d invited over to watch a movie. She’d promptly discovered a stray pair of lacy bikini underpants Felicity had missed in the couch cushions, refused to believe his explanation and stormed out of his apartment before he’d had a chance to pour wine. He’d thrown out Felicity’s underpants—damned if he’d mail them to her—and opened the freezer. He’d figured he’d microwave a couple of brownies, drink the wine by himself and put the lousy day behind him. But there’d been no brownies, and he’d realized Felicity had never had any intention of making him brownies. She’d wanted him to open the freezer and not find any brownies.

Spite. Pure spite.

Seemed a bit childish now, but he supposed he’d had it coming.

He’d drunk the wine without brownies, without a date for the evening, without Felicity camped out on his couch with take-out pad thai or another pizza delivery. The next morning, he’d decided the ball was in her court. She was the one whose life was a mess, and he needed to respect what she wanted to do—needed to do. He’d had what he wanted and needed to do, too. He didn’t have time to hold Felicity’s hand through another mess. Nearly a week on his couch had proven that to him. She was a distraction, and he couldn’t afford distractions. Since she didn’t want or appreciate his advice, why push it with her?

And so he hadn’t. He’d let her go.

He reread the note. Yeah. She’d been furious with him.

He folded the note and returned it to the photo album. He’d be lying if he tried to tell himself or anyone else that he hadn’t missed her. Didn’t still, at times, miss her. Especially in those first few months, he would reach for his phone to send her a text or email her a cute puppy video, but he never had.

He had been right about her hacking away in the wrong jungle. Who was planning parties in Knights Bridge now instead of scratching out a living in a career to which she was unsuited?

“Didn’t matter you were right, pal.”

If there was one thing he knew about Felicity, it was that she wouldn’t thank him for being right. She wouldn’t credit him with helping steer her onto a better course for herself.

Assuming it was better.

Gabe grabbed his laptop and sat on his bed, his back against several insanely expensive down pillows, and drafted an email to Felicity about the boot camp party. It took him thirty minutes to write the damn thing. Forever by his standards. Normally he was in, out, done. He didn’t angst, especially over something as trivial as planning a ninety-minute open house. He had limited experience hosting parties. In fact, no experience. He’d always delegated that sort of detail. He was good at delegating.

He was delegating now, if only because of Mark.

Wording the email was tricky in part because he didn’t want to get Mark in trouble, never mind he was the one who’d created this situation by sticking his nose in with Felicity in the first place.

Gabe gave an inward groan. This wasn’t an email to a Fortune 500 CEO. It was an email to a Knights Bridge party planner. To Felicity.

He read it over:

Dear Felicity,

Mark tells me you’re able to put together the open house after the boot camp talks. Let me know if you need anything from me.

Best,

Gabriel

It didn’t sound too stiff to him. Professional. This was a business arrangement. He read the email once more and changed Gabriel to Gabe. Using his full first name struck him as too formal and might make Felicity think he was feeling awkward and self-conscious. Whatever the case, it hit the wrong note with him. They were no longer friends, but they weren’t enemies, either. They’d drifted apart. She’d moved on; he’d moved on. That was all there was to it, and Gabriel suggested there was more to it.

There was, but whatever.

He hit Send and got up and found a bottle of Scotch he’d bought in Edinburgh to celebrate some milestone in his business. He didn’t remember the details, but he did remember the Scotch. He splashed some into his glass and found his way back to his bedroom.

He glanced at his in-box but Felicity hadn’t yet responded.

He drank his Scotch and headed out for a late dinner on his own. By the time he returned to his condo, he was marginally less preoccupied with his ex-friend in Knights Bridge.

* * *

Gabe slept late but was awake before his assistant, Shannon Rivera, arrived. She was his last remaining employee. She’d lived next door to him at his first house and only ventured into the city if she had no other option. She’d arranged for the workers at his condo. He figured she knew most of them. Thirty-four, married to a police officer and mother of three, she had finely honed instincts about what he should do in any given situation.

Probably should ask her what to do about Felicity.

He checked his email, still in bed, which wasn’t a great habit but since he was alone, who cared?

He had a reply from Felicity:

Dear Gabe,

Thank you for your email. I’m sure I can manage without involving you in any details. Please don’t hesitate to get in touch if you have any questions.

Best wishes,

Felicity MacGregor

He kicked off his duvet and sat up straight. He read the email again. No second thoughts on her part about being self-consciously stuffy and awkwardly formal, obviously.

So much for bygones being bygones.

He grinned and rolled out of bed. Sort of appropriate he was in the buff while dealing with a snotty email from Felicity MacGregor. Was he misinterpreting her email? Was she actually self-conscious and awkward?

“Hell, yeah.”

He contemplated his response for a good thirty seconds. Then he typed it:

Great, my one request is to have brownies on the menu.

Gabe

He hit Send before he could change his mind. She’d know the mention of brownies was deliberate, a reminder of their past—their abrupt parting of ways three years ago.

By the time he made coffee and let in the painters, Felicity had responded:

I already had brownies on the menu. Everything’s well in hand. Enjoy your stay in Knights Bridge. I might not see you since there’s a good chance I’ll be in Wyoming.

Gabe stared at the email. No signature. Just those dashed-off words, striking back at him for his own dashed-off words.

It was the gut punch Felicity had intended it to be.

Back in high school, they would sit out on the rocks by their favorite swimming hole on the river and plan trips to Paris, London, Vienna, Vancouver, Sonoma—they’d had a long list. But the place that had captured their teenage imaginations and gripped their teenage souls had been Wyoming. It became their default getaway. Whenever anything happened, they’d say, I’m going to Wyoming now.

And they would go together.

Always together.

“Start packing,” one or the other of them would say. “I’m not going without you.”

As much as he’d traveled, Gabe had yet to visit Wyoming. He wondered if Felicity had, but the crack about going now—it’d been the slap in the face she’d meant it to be, a reminder of innocent times when their futures had been filled with possibilities. Failure, dashed hopes, tragedies, mistakes and all the other ups and downs of a normal life had seemed avoidable or at least distant.

Less so these days.

Gabe greeted Shannon when she arrived. She handed him a doughnut. “The best in Boston,” she said.

“I’ve no doubts.”

“Good. Never doubt me when it comes to doughnuts.”

He bit into it, and it was so good he knew he’d have another before he left for Knights Bridge. Shannon helped herself to the gooiest doughnut in the box and updated him on the condo work, his schedule, messages, things he needed to sign and possible itineraries for a trip to Australia and New Zealand he wanted to move off his someday/maybe list onto his calendar. “Take a look at Wyoming, too, would you?” he asked her.

She frowned. She was dark-haired, blue-eyed and casually dressed in capris pants, a tunic top and sandals. “Wyoming. Sure.”

She retreated to the foyer with her doughnut to let in more workers.

Gabe stood at the living room windows. The last of the early-morning fog was burning off. It’d be another beautiful summer day in Boston. Where was Felicity now? Out on her deck above the river? Counting plastic champagne glasses? Picking out party favors?

He winced at his condescension. What an ass he was being. Good, professional, creative event planners made the lives of hosts easier and helped ensure guests had a wonderful time.

But this was Felicity.

“My entire family is involved in finance,” she’d told him. “I’ll make my own mark, but I’m a MacGregor. Money is what we do.”

Had she given up her dreams because of him?

Never mind he’d had good reason to lecture her, given her string of firings, her out-of-control debt and her days camped out on his couch. He’d seen so clearly then, that cold February morning, that being a financial analyst wasn’t working for her, and trying to make it work was making her miserable. But had it been his place to tell her so?

He gritted his teeth. Probably not.

He read her email again.

Wyoming.

He had no idea how to respond. His reentry plan was going to take more work than he’d thought, and probably more out of him than he wanted to admit.

* * *

Gabe spent the day doing what Shannon needed him to do, packing for Knights Bridge and resisting the temptation to look up Felicity’s party-planning website. By mid-afternoon, he was on his way to Logan Airport in his BMW SUV. It was an indulgence, but he was no longer that struggling kid, putting every dime to work, determined to make his mark and not drift through life. A fancy new car wasn’t a good investment, and he just didn’t care. Who would give a damn what kind of car he drove?

He picked up Dylan McCaffrey and Russ Colton at the airport. They were clearly more eager to get to Knights Bridge than he was. Dylan had Olivia waiting for him. Russ had his new wife waiting for him. Gabe looked forward to seeing family and friends, but it wasn’t the same as having a woman in his life—and he didn’t, not in Knights Bridge or anywhere else.

Both men were strongly built. Russ was ex-navy, Dylan a former professional hockey player. Gabe got along with them. As they hit the tunnel to head west, Dylan articulated his misgivings about being away from Olivia. “I know it’s irrational,” he said. “She has her parents there, her sister, friends. She’s independent. She can handle herself.”

“She’s a Frost,” Gabe said, as if that explained everything.

“A year and a half ago, I wouldn’t have had any idea what that means,” Dylan said.

Gabe had difficulty imagining Olivia married and expecting a baby, but, contrary to his prejudices about his hometown, time hadn’t stood still in Knights Bridge since he’d lived there. The conversation shifted to basic security procedures for the entrepreneurial boot camp. Dylan and Russ both looked relieved at the change in subject from personal to professional matters. Gabe felt his relief right to his bones. He was the only one of the three who’d grown up in Knights Bridge and remembered Olivia and Jessica Frost as kids leaping into cold brooks and piles of raked leaves. He remembered Felicity, too, but she was another matter. Definitely more complicated.

Dylan finally turned to Gabe. “We’ll make time to continue the conversation we started in San Diego.”

Gabe nodded. “Looking forward to it.”

A conversation about a new venture with Dylan and his friend and business partner, Noah Kendrick, the founder of NAK, the high-tech entertainment company they’d shepherded to immense success. With NAK sold to new owners, Dylan and Noah were turning their attention to fresh projects. Like Dylan, Noah had found himself falling in love with a Knights Bridge woman, Phoebe O’Dunn, the former Knights Bridge town librarian. Gabe remembered her, too. Quiet Phoebe, engaged to a California billionaire. They’d be arriving separately from Noah’s central California winery. Noah would be presenting at the entrepreneurial boot camp. Gabe could feel in his gut this trip was different from when he’d blown in and out of Knights Bridge last fall for his brother’s wedding.

As he jumped on Storrow Drive, heading west out of the city, Knights Bridge might as well have been another world. Tired, preoccupied, Gabe had to admit he liked being behind the wheel of his BMW rather than his last car, a heap he’d bought off his mechanic father. “Years and years left in this sweetheart,” he’d told Gabe. His father wasn’t right about much, but he did know his cars. Gabe had donated the heap to the son of Mark’s assistant. As far as he knew, it was still running.

He smiled. It’d be good to see his father, too. The guy was a mess, but he was a happy mess—an incurable optimist. It was one thing he, Mark and Gabe all had in common.

“Felicity MacGregor is also organizing a party for Kylie next week,” Russ said from the back seat, matter-of-fact. “It’s at Knights Bridge Free Public Library. She’s celebrating the publication of her latest badger book.”

Gabe frowned. “Badger book?”

Dylan grinned next to him. “We’ve got to get you caught up on Knights Bridge’s goings-on.”

Russ explained the badgers. Gabe supposed Mark would get into the series now that he and Jess were having a baby. “I knew your wife was a children’s author, but I didn’t know about the badgers.”

“It’s a good thing Felicity’s in town,” Russ said. “Kylie’s sister volunteered to organize the party, but Kylie wisely turned her down. Lila’s a vet—she can splint a broken leg on a dog, but if it was up to her, she’d leave the party to the last minute and open up cans of peaches and a box of vanilla wafers. Kylie wouldn’t mind, but it’s good Felicity is on board. Kylie says she’s taken on the badgers.”

Gabe kept his hands firmly on the wheel. Badgers. Felicity. “Parties galore in Knights Bridge these days,” he said, leaving it at that.

He, Russ and Dylan fell into silence. Gabe hadn’t figured out where he’d stay that night—he’d camp out on his father’s couch if he had to—but as Boston gave way to the Massachusetts countryside, he suddenly knew exactly where he would stay.

It was irresistible, and it was long overdue.


Three (#uc39ca5c4-1693-51b7-94ff-f78bfe9a97be)

Felicity was sitting at her table on her deck fantasizing about absconding to Wyoming when a client in Boston phoned to reschedule a conference call. “I might have to go to Wyoming,” she said.

But there were phones in Wyoming, and she set a date for next week.

After she hung up, she opened her laptop and saved the updated files on the entrepreneurial boot camp. Organizing Gabe’s party, even on short notice, would be simple enough. She already had a venue, a caterer and a confirmed guest list. She doubted he’d care what she came up with. He was a master delegator, and he’d delegated her to handle his party. She could have kangaroos in pink tutus there, and he’d trust they were appropriate because she was the professional he’d hired to do the job.

She regretted her comment about Wyoming in her email to Gabe but not much. It had felt good to say it out loud to her Boston client and act as if she was serious about clearing out of Knights Bridge while he was there.

“Maybe I am serious,” she said.

She looked up flights, hotels, camps and itineraries. She wanted to see Jackson Hole, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone. She’d wanted to see them forever. Why not go now?

Because she’d never imagined going to Wyoming without Gabe.

She shook off that uncomfortable thought. She wished he’d cancel his appearance at the entrepreneurial boot camp, but she knew he wouldn’t. This was Gabriel Flanagan. He would keep his commitment.

She’d manage. She knew she would, even as she checked out the sites in Jackson Hole. She’d been mad at him after his blunt lecture about her situation, but that anger was behind her. He had no role in her life. He wasn’t a positive or a negative. His visit to Knights Bridge for the boot camp and hiring her to handle the party weren’t anything out of the ordinary. Last-minute adjustments were part of her job as an event planner.

She flipped through the photo gallery for a quality Jackson Hole hotel. “I can afford a suite,” she said.

Well, two nights in a suite.

The sun hit her laptop screen, and she gave up on absconding for the moment and went inside. The house had one main living area, where she often worked despite having taken over one of the three bedrooms for an office. She sat in her living room and switched to working on a final list of possibilities to present to Kylie for how to handle the badgers at next week’s launch party. The boot camp would be past her by then. Gabe would almost certainly have left town. It’d be a fun, relaxing evening.

“Do not let Gabe worm his way back into your life,” Felicity said aloud. “Just don’t.”

Not that he had that in mind. He’d had a lot going on the past few years with his work as a digital start-up whiz. She didn’t ask questions about him around town, but she’d pieced together the casual tidbits she’d heard, especially from Mark. After she’d stalked out of Gabe’s apartment three years ago, she’d resisted spying on him on social media. At first it’d been a struggle. Now she was never tempted.

She sighed. “Well. Seldom tempted.”

Sometimes she’d overhear a tidbit about him in town, and she’d feel the urge to find out what he was up to. She’d been tempted to ask Mark or Jessica, but she knew she couldn’t go backward—she had to keep moving forward. She and Gabe had made the break with each other three years ago. She’d decided it wasn’t in her interest or his interest for her to be a crutch for him or for him to be a crutch for her. That wasn’t what a real friendship was, and they knew—they couldn’t deny it any longer—that they couldn’t have a real friendship. Friendship would get in the way of relationships. Men for her. Women for him.

“More like women for him.”

Men and her...

The truth was, there were no men and her. A dinner or a movie here and there but that was it. At first she’d blamed necessity. She’d had to focus on getting a roof over her head, paying bills, getting out of debt, learning the ropes of how to throw a wide range of meetings, conferences, parties and other events. Then she’d had to focus on keeping a roof over her head, putting away an emergency fund, staying out of debt and excelling at event planning—putting her own stamp on it. Then she’d had to focus on starting and running her own business. Moving to Knights Bridge. Buying a house.

Would Gabe regard buying this house, on his family’s old campsite, as a fork in his eye?

If I ever come back to Knights Bridge to live, it’ll be to the river. But I’ll never come back.

He’d assured her she didn’t have to hate Knights Bridge and he’d be fine if she came back here to live, but that was different from buying this place.

No question. He’d see her living on his grandfather’s old campsite as a fork in his eye. Had Mark told him she’d bought the house? Was that why Gabe had decided to appear at the boot camp at the last minute?

She shook her head. No. If she could count on one thing never changing about Gabe Flanagan, it was his practical nature. The house and their shattered friendship hadn’t been a factor in his decision to do the boot camp and sponsor the party.

Why was she getting herself worked up, anyway? Mark could have told him, Oh, yeah, Felicity’s a party planner now, why don’t you hire her? And Gabe could have said, Done—let her know, will you?

She gave up on work, shut down her laptop and drifted back outside, taking the deck stairs to the strip of lawn bordered by the woods on the steep riverbank. She took a deep breath, trying to stay in the moment and focus on the smells and sounds of the waning afternoon. She glanced at the open brick fireplace, still intact from when Gabe and Mark’s grandfather had built it decades ago. Mark must have taken care for it to have survived construction of the house. She hadn’t had a fire in it yet.

She brushed the fireplace’s worn brick, remembering another hot summer day. She and Gabe had met at their favorite swimming hole on the river after their jobs, hers at her father’s air-conditioned bank, his ripping apart a hot attic for an addition on a house near the village. They’d leaped into the river, laughing, enjoying the cool, clear water—by mutual agreement not talking about their impending departure for college. Afterward, they’d spread out a blanket from his car in front of the old fireplace. As daylight slipped away and the night turned cool, they’d built a fire.

Felicity could smell the wood smoke as if she were eighteen again, stretched out next to Gabe. Her heart raced, as it had that night—this time, though, because she knew what had come next, not because of her reaction to Gabe touching her bare thigh. He’d never done that before, and it’d been their undoing. The campsite was isolated, the night brightened only by the flames of the fire and the spray of stars above them.

Heat rose in her cheeks as that crazy night came back to her in all its clothes-tearing, laughing, exploring, reckless glory. What had she and Gabe been thinking?

Of course, they hadn’t been thinking.

She’d worried they’d end up rolling down the riverbank given their exuberance. He’d been completely absorbed in the act at hand, and she’d followed him over the brink. There’d been a lot of fumbling, awkward touching and panting, a few nervous laughs, and then it was over, the virginity threshold never to be crossed again.

By dawn, they were back to being friends. Or at least Gabe was. She’d gone along with him and had pretended their night together hadn’t been that big a deal.

“That wasn’t...you know. Anything. Right, Felicity?”

“Right, Gabe.”

She remembered his sexy half smile as he’d narrowed his eyes on her. “I didn’t know I’d be your first.”

She’d pretended not to hear him, and a few weeks later, they left their small, out-of-the-way hometown for college. She was positive no one else knew about their night together. When she’d returned home that morning, her parents assumed she’d camped out with girlfriends and lectured her about being sure she’d put out any campfires, stressing the importance of being responsible. Gabe had reported his parents hadn’t even realized he hadn’t come home. He’d shrugged off their obliviousness. “It’s okay, Felicity. It’s not like it’s news they’re flakes.”

Live-for-the-moment, beloved and talented flakes. Mickey Flanagan could fix the fussiest imported car but on his own schedule. Lee had never been without a smile at the local assisted-living facility, where she’d worked as a licensed practical nurse. Dreamers, Felicity’s father had called them, not without affection. Mickey had dropped out of college as a mechanical engineering major to travel. He’d never gone back. Born and raised in quiet Knights Bridge, he’d returned home after he’d satisfied his wanderlust, got a job as a mechanic and married a local girl. They’d had two sons together, both of whom had vowed to put action behind their dreams—which to them meant getting out of Knights Bridge.

Gabe had dropped out of college himself after his mother’s death from an aggressive form of breast cancer. Mark had already been working as an architect in Boston. Their father had quit his job and gone on the road again, eventually returning to Knights Bridge and opening up his own shop specializing in vintage motorcycles and sports cars.

She and Gabe had never been destined to be anything but friends, and now not even that. He was a client. Nothing more, nothing less. That summer night with him was in the past. If they hadn’t talked it over then, they sure weren’t going to now. She wished they’d run into each other at the country store or at the mill on one of his visits and had gotten their reunion—however it would go—past them. Now they’d see each other at a high-profile event.

They’d be fine, Felicity thought, annoyed with herself for her angst. They’d be cordial with each other. Neutral.

Hey, Felicity, good to see you.

Yeah, you, too, Gabe.

She headed back up to the deck. The afternoon had turned hot and muggy. She usually didn’t mind the heat since it rarely lasted long and she knew she’d be wishing for a hot day come January. Right now, though, the weather only seemed to emphasize her discomfort about seeing Gabe again. She doubted she’d be able to avoid him on Saturday.

“Neutral. He’s not a positive or a negative in your life. He’s a client. That’s it.” She groaned to herself. “Keep talking. Maybe you’ll start believing it.”

She’d see him—that was unavoidable—but maybe she wouldn’t have to talk to him. He’d be schmoozing at the boot camp and then at the party, and the rest of his visit he’d be hanging out with family and buddies still in town. He wouldn’t be staying long. He never did. He hadn’t even before they’d parted badly.

Felicity wasn’t afraid to see him. She just dreaded it.

Maybe it was best to get it over with and prove to herself he was a zero in her life. Be done with dreading to see him. She’d moved on a long time ago. She harbored no ill will or secret anything for him. No secret desire for revenge, no secret longing, no secret hope they’d renew their friendship—none of that.

She grabbed her handbag and went out to her car, a much-used Land Rover that she’d gotten off her brother in a great deal. “It’s not sexy but it’s a sweet machine,” he’d told her.

She drove out the river road past the mill toward the village, turning onto another country road and following it until it ended at quiet, pretty Carriage Hill Road. She turned left, rolling down her window and taking in the slightly cooler air. The road eventually dead-ended at a Quabbin gate, one of more than forty gates that marked entrances to the reservoir and its surrounding protected watershed. She wouldn’t go that far, but she knew the spot well. She and Gabe had obtained fishing licenses and gone out on the reservoir in his dad’s rickety boat a couple of times, but neither of them had developed the fishing bug. She’d enjoyed being on the pristine water, envisioning life in the valley before the reservoir. She’d noticed signs of the lost valley towns. Old roads that now led into the reservoir, the occasional remnant of buildings long demolished. Gabe hadn’t paid much attention. He’d focused on catching fish.

Felicity blinked back unexpected tears and cleared her throat. She had work to do before Saturday. “Best get to it,” she said, and continued down the quiet road.

* * *

Felicity parked at the contemporary “barn” Olivia and Dylan McCaffrey had built on property he’d inherited from his father. It served as the base for Dylan’s fledgling adventure travel business and entrepreneurial boot camps and was just up the road from the pristine antique house Olivia had turned into a destination inn—a coincidence that had led to their meeting on an icy March day over a year ago. They’d also built a house up a stone walk from the barn, finally moving in earlier in the summer. Mark Flanagan had designed both the house and barn to meld into the rolling rural New England landscape. Felicity didn’t know if Gabe had ever seen them. Probably not.

Olivia greeted her at the front entrance. She was dressed in yoga pants and a long tank top, her dark hair pulled back. She was visibly pregnant, due in late autumn. “I had an urge for hot chocolate,” she said, smiling as she held up a steaming mug. “I know. You’d think I’d have an urge for lemonade on a hot summer day. Come in, won’t you?”

Felicity followed her into the barn. She’d checked out the space several times in the lead-up to Saturday’s boot camp. The interior included a large, flexible open area with a sectional sofa and comfy chairs in front of a huge fieldstone fireplace, a kitchen, a study and, up spiral stairs, a loft with offices and storage space.

Olivia led Felicity to a long, dark wood table in front of tall windows that looked out across wildflower-dotted fields to Carriage Hill itself. “Dylan’s thrilled you were able to handle Gabe’s add-on party on such short notice,” Olivia said, sitting with her back to the view, still holding on to her hot chocolate. “I’m happy to help in any way we can.”

Felicity sat across from her. “Thank you. I just want to be sure I have the logistics worked out. We’re having lunch here, then another panel in the main room—I don’t want to cause any distractions while setting up for the party.”

“What if we have the party at the inn? The weather looks great for Saturday. Everyone will probably appreciate a walk and fresh air after a day of speakers.”

“That’s a great idea,” Felicity said without hesitation.

“You can run it past Gabe and Dylan if you want, but they won’t care if it’s okay with me.”

“I should take a look at the space, but I can’t imagine any problems.”

Felicity had arranged for one of the speakers—a diverse group—to stay in the area, but the rest, and all of the attendees, were commuting for the day. Dylan had deliberately kept the one-day event simple. Olivia was having work done at the Farm at Carriage Hill, but it only affected its handful of guest rooms. Felicity could help Gabe find lodging if need be, but he had family and friends in town. She doubted he’d have any trouble finding a place to stay. He hadn’t asked for her help, and she assumed he had sleeping quarters handled.

“Maggie’s catered a number of events at the inn,” Olivia said. “She thinks it’ll work out well, if that helps.”

“It absolutely does. Maggie’s a whiz.”

Olivia smiled. “She’s bringing dinner. Why don’t you join us? Maggie always brings enough for days of leftovers.”

Brandon Sloan, Maggie’s husband, was in the White Mountains, leading the first group of Dylan’s adventure travelers on a multi-day hike. He and Maggie had been together since high school and had two sons in elementary school. Brandon, the third of six siblings, had a day job as a carpenter with Sloan & Sons, his family’s construction business. Gabe was friends with all the Sloans. Maybe he’d be staying with them.

Felicity frowned. Why was she obsessing about where Gabe stayed?

“I’d love to join you and Maggie for dinner,” she said.

“Wonderful,” Olivia said, obviously pleased. “Can I get you anything in the meantime? Water, iced tea—there’s more hot chocolate if that appeals to you on a hot day.”

“I think I’ll walk down to Carriage Hill first.”

“The back door’s open. I’d go with you, but I’ve been a bit wobbly today. I’m sure it’s the heat. Dylan will be back soon. Gabe picked him and Russ Colton up from the airport. I can’t remember the last time he was in town. Mark and Jess’s wedding, I think.”

Felicity managed to get control of herself. She didn’t swear out loud or even under her breath, but she was not prepared to see Gabe tonight—and she’d just accepted Olivia’s invitation to dinner. “It’ll be cooler on Saturday,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ll scoot down to the inn.”

“Maggie and I can answer any questions once you’ve had a look.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Olivia abandoned her hot chocolate and rose, visibly stiff. A hand on her lower back, she walked with Felicity through the main room and out the front entrance. Buster, her German shepherd mix, had materialized on the stone walk, lazing in the shade. He wagged his tail but otherwise didn’t stir. “It was just Buster and me out here at first,” Olivia said. “I liked that idea. Then Dylan came along...” She smiled, her hazel eyes warm with emotion. “It’s not just Buster and me anymore.”

“I’m happy for you, Olivia.”

“Thank you.” She patted her middle. “Pretty soon Buster will have to get used to a baby on our dead-end road.”

She and Dylan also had kept his house on Coronado Island in San Diego. They might be starting new businesses and living relatively normal lives in Knights Bridge, but they were worth a considerable fortune. Felicity motioned vaguely down Carriage Hill Road. “Back in a few minutes.”

“Have you seen Gabe lately?” Olivia asked as Felicity descended the steps to the stone walk. “You two used to hang out together.”

“It’s been a few years.”

She debated saying more but instead continued past Buster. She heard Olivia gasp behind her and spun around. “Olivia—are you all right?”

Olivia swayed and reached out a hand, as if to balance herself, but there was nothing to grab hold of. Felicity launched herself up the steps, getting to Olivia just as she crumpled. She hooked an arm around her and eased her onto the landing. Felicity quickly checked for blood or amniotic fluid but didn’t see any. Had the heat gotten to her? They’d only been outside a few minutes, but Felicity didn’t know where Olivia had been that day or what she’d been doing.

She fumbled for her phone to call 911, but Olivia stirred and tried to sit up. “I’m okay,” she mumbled.

“You fainted,” Felicity said. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

“What? Oh, damn. No. Really. I just...” She tried to sit up. “I didn’t pass out. It was close, but I just got wobbly and couldn’t... Don’t call an ambulance. I’m okay, I promise.”

“I can call your doctor.”

“I’ll call her. I just need a minute.”

“And Dylan?”

“He’s on his way. There’s no need to worry him. Can you get me a glass of water? I think that’s all I need. I’ll be fine here.” She smiled weakly, leaning against the doorjamb. “I have Buster.”

The big dog had roused himself from his spot in the shade and was lumbering to her. Olivia patted him. She was clearly feeling better, but Felicity still had misgivings about not calling for help. “I’ll fetch you some water, but if you feel at all faint, call 911.” She folded her phone into Olivia’s hand. “And if there’s even the slightest question when I get back, I’m calling.”

Felicity raced inside, leaving the door open. She filled a glass with water from the tap, moistened a dish towel and charged back out to Olivia with both. Olivia was sitting up, Buster sprawled at her side. Her color looked better, and she didn’t seem as unsteady. “Water or towel first?” Felicity asked her.

“Water.” Olivia smiled as Felicity handed her the water. She took a few tentative sips. “I let myself get dehydrated.”

“I can call your doctor. Really, I don’t mind.”

“I’ll call in a minute.” Olivia set the glass on the landing next to her and accepted the cool, wet towel from Felicity, placing it on the back of her neck. “That feels so good. You can go onto Carriage Hill. I’m fine.”

Felicity shook her head. “It’ll keep. I’ll stay with you until Maggie gets here.”

Olivia nodded and picked up her water glass again. The barn was air-conditioned, but she obviously needed to get her feet under her before she tried to stand up. She finished drinking her water. In a few more minutes, she started to get to her feet. Felicity eased next to her, but Olivia didn’t need her assistance. They headed inside. Olivia sank onto the sectional and ran both hands through her hair, exhaling. “That was no fun,” she said. “I have a bit of a headache, but all in all I feel fine.”

“But you’ll call your doctor while I’m getting you more water.”

She smiled. “I will call my doctor now.”

When Felicity returned with two fresh glasses of water—one for each of them—Olivia was more or less back to normal. She set her phone on a side table. “I spoke with my doctor’s office about my spell.” She stretched out her legs, settling in on the sectional. “All set. Plenty of fluids. Rest. Call if there’s a problem.”

“And Dylan? Are you sure you don’t want to call him?”

“I’m sure,” Olivia said without hesitation. “I’ll tell him when he’s back. I’m fine. Thank you for keeping me from splitting my head open on the steps.”

Felicity sat on a chair across from her, Buster flopped on the floor between them. “You’re welcome.”

“Sorry if I scared you.” She crossed her ankles and uncrossed them with a small moan. “Not a good position. I’ve months to go with this pregnancy, too.” She patted her middle. “What do you think, boy or girl?”

“Healthy.”

“There’s probably a pool in town. Sex, height, weight, date of birth.” She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh, my. I’m sleepy. I think I’ll stay right here for now. I’ll be fine if you want to scoot down to Carriage Hill now.”

“It’s okay. I have other work I can do until Maggie gets here.”

“If you’re sure—” Olivia stopped, drank more water and smiled. “Thank you, Felicity. I’d appreciate the company. Best to be on the safe side.”

Felicity settled in at the table. Now it was just a question of who got there first, Maggie Sloan or Dylan, Russ and Gabe.


Four (#uc39ca5c4-1693-51b7-94ff-f78bfe9a97be)

Maggie Sloan arrived first, with dinner and brownies. “I thought you might want to try my brownies since they’re on the menu now for Saturday,” she said, setting a picnic basket on the counter in the barn’s kitchen. She grinned at Felicity. “That’s my excuse, anyway.”

“As if you need an excuse to make brownies,” Olivia said, now sitting at the table.

Felicity shut her laptop at the end of the table. “I’ve heard stories about your brownies, Maggie.”

“They’re one of my signature desserts. It’s hard to mess up a brownie, but I do love my recipe.” She lifted a foil-wrapped package from her basket. “I say we start with sharing a brownie. Plan?”

Olivia laughed, clearly fully recovered. “An excellent plan.”

Maggie unwrapped the brownies and broke one into thirds, then distributed the pieces among three napkins. Felicity took one to Olivia before returning to her laptop seat with hers. Her generous chunk of brownie was moist, chocolaty and irresistible. She immediately thought of Gabe. Even if she’d made him brownies three years ago, they wouldn’t have been this good.

“Incredible as always, Maggie,” Olivia said, turning to Felicity. “People argue it’s hard to have a bad brownie. Then they try Maggie’s, and that’s that.”

“They’ll work for Saturday?” Maggie asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Definitely,” Felicity said. “Thanks.”

With Gabe on the way, she was tempted to skip dinner and just eat brownies, but she limited herself to the pre-dinner morsel and helped Maggie unload the rest of the food. There was plenty for the three of them. Olivia hadn’t exaggerated.

“I made enough for Dylan and Gabe,” Maggie said. “There’s probably enough for Russ to have a bite, too, but I figure he’ll want to get home to Kylie.”

They set the table and enjoyed the simple fare of grilled chicken, summer squash and sliced tomatoes, but with Maggie’s flair. Afterward they walked the short distance to Dylan and Olivia’s new house. Felicity knew she was pushing it if she wanted to get out of there before the guys arrived. She’d skip checking the space at Olivia’s inn. It’d be fine. She followed Maggie and Olivia inside through the side door and into the kitchen. It was dusk, the fields behind the house quiet on the still evening.

“You should get home to Tyler and Aidan,” Olivia said, referring to Maggie’s sons. “Felicity, you can head home, too. I’ll be fine here on my own.”

Maggie shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “I’ve had two babies, Olivia. I’m staying until Dylan gets here. The boys are with my mother. She’s teaching them how to feed the goats. They’re all excited. Brandon doesn’t want to have anything to do with the goats, so they’re taking advantage of him being away.”

Maggie immediately filled up a glass of water at the sink and handed it to Olivia. “Drink up.”

“The house is amazing,” Felicity said, noticing the adjoining den also had a large stone fireplace.

Olivia smiled, water glass in hand. “Thank you. We love it. Mark was the perfect architect. He did a great job on your house, too. I envisioned a quiet country destination inn that I’d run while freelancing as a graphic designer, but then I wrote to Dylan, thinking he was his father, to clean up his eyesore of a yard or I’d do it myself...” She sipped some of her water. “I soon discovered his father had died before he had a chance to tell Dylan about this property and Knights Bridge.”

Felicity knew the story, or at least the highlights. Duncan McCaffrey, a treasure hunter and adventurer, had gone on a search for his birth mother, never thinking he’d find her—or certainly that she’d still be alive. His search had led him to tiny Knights Bridge and Grace Webster, a nonagenarian retired English and Latin teacher who’d never married. She’d moved from one of the lost Swift River Valley towns in her late teens, while pregnant by an English pilot who’d gone home to the war. She’d given birth to a baby boy and he was adopted, unaware of her identity until he himself was in his seventies. Grace had just moved into assisted living when Duncan arrived in Knights Bridge. He’d bought her house, and a short time later, he died in a tragic fall on a Portugal treasure-hunting venture.

In the meantime, Olivia had purchased the center-chimney house, built in 1803, long before construction of the Quabbin Reservoir had turned Carriage Hill Road into a dead-end, stopping it from winding into the small towns of the now-flooded Swift River Valley. The house’s previous owners had lovingly restored the property, including adding extensive herb and flower gardens. Olivia had set about converting the house into a destination inn, hosting parties, small weddings and other events. Her main obstacle was Grace’s former house up the road. It had fallen into neglect, its unsightly yard, broken shutters and peeling paint not exactly conducive to Olivia’s new business. She located its owner in San Diego and wrote him a letter. She’d confused Dylan with his father. When Dylan had received her handwritten note, he’d decided to head East and find out for himself what his father had been up to in little Knights Bridge and why he’d left him a dilapidated old house.

No one in Knights Bridge had realized that Grace had born a child. She’d met Duncan, her son, before his untimely death, and now she had Dylan—her grandson—in her life, and a great-grandchild on the way. Her English fighter pilot had died early in World War II, but no one doubted he’d have come back for the young woman he’d fallen in love with in New England the summer prior to the outbreak of the war, as her home and town were razed, the land scraped bare to make way for a reservoir.

Felicity liked Grace, who was preparing a lecture on Jane Austen for Sunday’s tea.

She found herself not wanting to leave just yet and go home to her empty house and buzzing thoughts. “Was it difficult tearing down Grace’s house?” she asked.

“In some ways,” Olivia said. “Grace was for it, though. She’d lived in the same house since she arrived in Knights Bridge with her father and grandmother after they were forced out of the valley. When she turned ninety, she decided it was time to move to Rivendell. She loves it there. It’s home now.”

“Grace gained a grandson and Dylan gained a grandmother,” Felicity said.

“And family in England,” Olivia added, sinking onto a couch in the den with her glass of water. “Philip Rankin—Dylan’s grandfather—was a widower, and his daughter and granddaughter welcomed us into the family.”

Maggie pointed to the glass. “You’re going to finish that, right, Olivia?”

Olivia smiled at her friend. “I’ll keep it at hand. I’ve drank so much water I could float away.” She turned to Felicity, who remained on her feet, half ready to bolt. “How do you like being back in Knights Bridge? Did you ever think you’d return here to live?”

“I never gave it much thought one way or the other. I’m good at planning events, but planning my life is a different story.”

Maggie snorted in solidarity. “I can identify with that. I plan. Then I revise the plan when life intervenes, which it always does. I mean, an O’Dunn and a Sloan together? How could my life be anything but chaotic?”

“Also perfect,” Olivia said.

“Mostly perfect. I have a tendency to take on too much in case you haven’t noticed.”

Both Olivia and Felicity laughed along with Maggie at her dead-on insight into herself. In addition to Brandon and their two young sons, his parents, feisty grandmother, four brothers and one sister, and her own three sisters and widowed mother, Maggie was also a caterer, innkeeper and budding entrepreneur of handmade essential oils and goat’s milk bath products. It was a full, busy life, for sure, but Felicity could see how it could get overwhelming. Any sense of “overwhelm” in her own life came not from the sort of abundance Maggie enjoyed but from her own bad habits.

“I hadn’t really considered moving to Knights Bridge until Mark put the house up for sale,” Felicity said. “Once I toured it, I knew. I’ve always loved that spot on the river.”

Maggie tilted her head back. “Nothing to do with the Flanagans?”

She tried to look as if mention of the Flanagans didn’t faze her. “I remember before Mark built the house. I assumed he and Jess would stay there, but they seem happy in the village. It makes sense they’d want to restore an old house.”

“Gabe never wanted to live in Knights Bridge,” Maggie said.

Olivia nodded. “That’s why he let Mark buy out his interest in the riverfront property.”

“Mark bought Gabe out?” The words were out before Felicity could contain them. “Never mind—”

“They pitched in together to buy the camp from their grandfather,” Olivia said. “Didn’t you know?”

Felicity shook her head. “I didn’t know.” She absorbed the news and shut down the dozen questions that erupted all at once. She forced a smile. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m enjoying putting my own stamp on the place.”

“You can plant all the flowers you want,” Olivia said lightly. “Jess says Mark didn’t want so much as a petunia out there. He’s more amenable to flowers in the village. I think he still sees the river house as a camp.”

Maggie grinned. “I’d get a flower doormat, too. De-Flanagan the place altogether.”

Felicity couldn’t help but laugh, but she also decided a shift in subject was in order. Then a quick exit. “How did Dylan get Gabe to do the boot camp?”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know the details. I imagine Mark was involved. Gabe has quite a reputation as a start-up entrepreneur. He’ll have a lot to offer on Saturday.”

“You two were always tight, Felicity,” Maggie said, plopping onto a chair by the cold fireplace. “You didn’t stay in touch?”

“We did for a while.” Felicity left it at that and hoped it was a sufficient answer and didn’t sound evasive. She didn’t want to get into any details about her and Gabe’s parting-of-the-ways. “I should get going. Thanks so much for dinner, and the company. Take care, Olivia, okay?”

“I will. Thank you again. I’m glad you were there when I went wobbly.”

Felicity didn’t argue, but she was convinced Olivia had actually fainted.

Maggie took another glass off an open shelf. “You’ll have to join us for one of our girls’ nights out, Felicity. We’re overdue for one.”

“I’d like that. The brownies are great, Maggie. They’ll be perfect for the party.”

“We’ll have low-carb goodies, too,” Maggie said. “It’s awesome to have an event planner in town. I’m good with food, but party favors, guest lists, registrations, RSVPs, entertainment—my head starts to spin.”

“We make a good team, then, because I’d poison everyone if I did the food.”

“Accidentally, of course,” Maggie said with a grin.

“Don’t get Maggie started,” Olivia said, tucking her feet under her on the couch. “She’s got a list of people she’d merrily poison.”

All in good fun, Felicity thought as she said good-night and headed outside.

She took the stone walk back to her beat-up Land Rover. It was tucked in the back of the barn’s discreet parking area. She understood that buying the house from Mark was naturally a source of curiosity in town, but she doubted anyone knew just how much work it had taken the past three years to get to the point where she could qualify for a mortgage. No doubt in her mind she’d have done it without Gabe’s prodding, but she doubted he’d see it that way. He’d take credit.

Didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know her financial status.

And it was a reach, wasn’t it, to think he might be interested? He’d had three years to show an interest in her, and he hadn’t.

“Just as well.”

She focused on the drive out to her house. It was a beautiful evening, the sort that used to draw her and Gabe out to the river to sit on a blanket and look up at the stars.

It was nearly dark when she arrived. She went inside, poured herself a glass of merlot and took it out to the deck. She was grateful she’d been there to help Olivia and that she’d only been a bit dehydrated. She didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if she’d left two minutes earlier and Olivia had fainted without anyone around. If she’d hit her head... But she hadn’t, and all was well.

Felicity listened to the river as she sipped her wine and forced herself to relax, calm her thoughts. “I love it here,” she whispered. “Totally love it.”

Gabe’s arrival in Knights Bridge and his involvement with the boot camp party were temporary distractions. Get through Saturday, and her life would return to normal.

* * *

Felicity refilled her wineglass, lit a citronella candle and sat with her feet up on another chair, listening to the soothing sounds of the river as dusk gave way to night. She deliberately avoided thinking about work. Her days often didn’t have hard start and stop times, and she always had eighty million things on her to-do list. All eighty million could wait until tomorrow.

Halfway through her wine, she heard a car out front. Hers wasn’t a well-traveled road. She expected the car to continue on its way and loop back to the main river road, but instead she heard an idling engine and, in another moment, silence.

Company?

She set her wineglass on the table, jumped to her feet and trotted down the deck steps and out to the driveway. A gray BMW SUV was parked behind her car. A man was behind the wheel, but she couldn’t make out his face. No one else was with him. She didn’t recognize the car. Dylan McCaffrey, here to get reassurance about his pregnant wife’s fainting spell?

Then the driver’s door opened, and Gabe Flanagan got out, stretched and looked straight at her in the shadows. “Hey, Felicity. Long time.”

“Almost three-and-a-half years.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d remember.”

She’d fallen into that one, hadn’t she? Not off to a great start. What was he doing here?

He shut the driver’s door, standing now in the light from the house. He was as strikingly good-looking and confident as ever. Visibly muscular and more obviously the successful start-up entrepreneur in his expensive, perfectly fitting clothes. Three years ago, he’d sit for hours at his laptop in a T-shirt and cargo shorts.

“We’re all set for Saturday,” Felicity said. “We’re having the party at Olivia’s inn. I need to take a quick look at it. Everything’s well in hand, but we can talk tomorrow if you’d like.”

“No problem. You’ll do a great job.”

It struck her as more than an offhand comment—as if what she did was so easy anyone could pull off a one-day boot camp of hard-driving, successful entrepreneurs and their aspiring audience. It was Dylan’s first major event, too. But, sure. Anyone could do it.

Felicity gave herself a mental shake. Gabe didn’t necessarily mean that at all. She knew better than to make assumptions. “Are you staying with Mark?” she asked. “Your dad? With Olivia and Dylan at their house? Did a room open up at Olivia’s inn?”

“None of the above.”

“Your grandfather at Rivendell? I don’t think that’s allowed.”

Gabe walked to the back of the car, opened the hatch, took out a duffel bag and shut the hatch with a soft thud.

Why would he need his duffel bag?

He edged toward her. “Remember when you said you owed me for letting you sleep on my couch?” He hoisted his bag’s strap on one shoulder, the light from the house creating shadows on his angular face, making his expression even more difficult to read. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t not smile, either. “I’ve come to collect.”

“You want to sleep on my couch?”

“It’s the best option,” he said, pragmatic. “Mark says Jess has bad morning sickness. I’m not staying there. Olivia passed out this afternoon. Dylan found out when he got home. She didn’t want to tell him, but he could tell something was up.”

“Husband’s instincts,” Felicity said.

“New dad’s instincts, too.”

She tried to ignore the sensitivity in Gabe’s tone. Much easier if he stayed the overbearing, mercenary jerk she’d convinced herself he was.

He wanted something from her. That was it. Had to be.

“Anyway,” he said, “I’m not staying with them, either. I’d pitch a tent, but tents aren’t my thing these days.”

“What about one of the Sloan brothers? There are five of them. They all live in town.”

“None of the Sloans were ever down-and-out enough to knock on my door and ask to sleep on my couch.”

“I didn’t ask. You offered. And I wasn’t down-and-out. I needed space to think.”

“What do you call no job, drowning in debt—”

“Reasons I needed to think. Obviously I should have done my thinking in Paris. I had enough room on my credit card for one more good trip.”

“Felicity math.”

There was no animosity or note of criticism in his tone. He grinned at her, as if he knew she couldn’t argue with him. Back then, she’d used time between jobs as an excuse to travel. Of course he remembered. This was miss-nothing, remember-everything, never-let-anyone-forget Gabe. He’d been that way in sixth grade. Now wasn’t the time to argue whether she’d truly been down-and-out. By her standards, no, she hadn’t been. By Gabe’s standards? She probably still was in need of intervention. But she had reined in her credit-card spending.

He flicked vainly at a mosquito buzzing around his head. “I’m still not a fan of mosquitoes.”

“If you think we can pick up where we left off three years ago—”

“I don’t. I know we’re not buddies anymore.”

There was something in his eyes. She ignored it but felt its effect in the pit of her stomach. She flashed on being out here that night at eighteen. She hadn’t noticed mosquitoes then. She hadn’t noticed anything but him. Gad. His mosquito buzzed toward her and then disappeared into the darkness.

“We stopped being buddies when you told me I was in the wrong career.”

“You were in the wrong career.”

His tone was lighthearted, but she bristled. “Everything I learned as a financial analyst has helped me with event management.”

“No doubt. I say the same thing about my failures.”

“I wasn’t a failure—”

“Didn’t say you were but your jobs in finance didn’t work out.”

“Are we going to do this? I was in a tough spot when I knocked on your door. I could have used some support.”

“I let you sleep on my couch and binge-watch Judge Judy.”

“I do appreciate that.”

“I also laid out the facts of your situation when you weren’t ready to listen and hadn’t asked my opinion.”

“You told me I’d dug the hole I was in, and I needed to stop digging.”

“Yep.” No hint of remorse. “My goal at the time was to penetrate your one-track mind and get you to consider alternatives. As your friend, I felt I needed to say something. I did, and it pissed you off. You told me I needed to work on my people skills.”

“Well?”

“Okay, you had a point. At least you knew I was being honest.”

Honest? So that was it? She made no comment.

He glanced up at the starlit sky. He looked at her again, his eyes dark, taking on none of the light from the house or the stars. “I found your note at the bottom of my note. You told me you’d made me brownies as a thank-you.”

She felt caught, trapped by her own behavior that day—by the memories of how she’d felt reading his note. “I did make brownies, but I ate them,” she said, defiant.

He frowned. “All of them?”

“They weren’t that good. I was mad. I forgot the baking powder or something.”

“But you ate them, anyway?”

“A bad brownie is better than no brownie. It’s one of life’s rules.”

He smiled then, taking her by surprise. “You’re probably right about that.”

Felicity felt the cool grass on her bare feet, let it pull her back to the present. She reined in the urge to launch herself into the emotions of the past and instead considered her current situation. There was no good option. Send him off to find other accommodations, and she risked the two of them becoming a source of gossip in town. Let him stay...same thing, but more manageable since no one had to know he was here. If not for the pregnant Frost sisters, she could at least try to persuade Gabe to bunk with the McCaffreys or his brother. She was backed into a corner. She had said she’d owed him three years ago, and Olivia and Jess needed rest.

“Inside,” she said. “Before the mosquitoes start gnawing on us both.”

“Ah, yes. Good to be back in Knights Bridge.”


Five (#uc39ca5c4-1693-51b7-94ff-f78bfe9a97be)

Felicity switched on the lights in her living room, but it didn’t change anything. Gabe had followed her inside and stood by the glass doors that opened onto the deck above the river. The man was as sexy and maddening as ever.

Sexier, maybe.

This wasn’t a welcome thought as he turned from the view and set his duffel bag on the floor by her IKEA couch. It probably had cost her less than his pants. Less than his shoes. Maybe even less than his haircut.

She stopped herself. She didn’t care if he had money. She never had.

He glanced around the living room. It had a woodstove and glass doors that opened onto the main deck. Felicity hadn’t left too much party-planning paraphernalia laying about, but she did have printouts of various badgers spread out on the coffee table. Gabe looked at them without comment.

“Different from the world of financial spreadsheets and such,” she said.

“At least these woodchucks don’t bite.”

“They’re badgers.”

He raised his eyes to her and smiled. “I know. It was a joke.”

“Ah. Right. You’re still a New England country boy at heart. You know your badgers from your woodchucks. You just don’t run into them often in your line of work.”

“One hopes you don’t run into them in your work, either. Badgers and woodchucks don’t mix with parties.”

“Morwenna Mills’s badgers do. Have you met her yet? Her real name is Kylie Shaw.”

“I haven’t met her, no. I met her husband last night. He and Dylan flew from California together.”

“Russ and I have discussed security for Saturday’s boot camp,” Felicity said, hating her awkwardness. “I’ll go over the details of your party with him.”

“It’s not really my party.” Gabe stifled a yawn and shuddered. “I’m still readjusting to East Coast time. I was in California for two months. Doesn’t seem to matter it’s three hours earlier there.”

“Feel free to crash, but you don’t need to sleep on the couch. I have a guest room. It’s not fully set up for company yet, but it’s got a bed.”

“Thanks.” His gaze settled on her, his eyes half closed. “It’s good to see you, Felicity.”

“You, too.” She waved a hand vaguely. “I’ll see to the guest room.”

She was aware of Gabe watching her as she went down the hall to the linen closet. She dug out a stack of twin-size sheets and took them into the guest room, more or less where Gabe’s grandfather would pitch his tent before the house was built. The windows looked out on the side yard, with a glimpse of the river down through the woods.

Gabe stood in the doorway. “I stayed here once while the house was being built and a few times after Mark moved in. He’s good at what he does.”

Felicity set the linens on the floor by the bed. “I didn’t know until tonight you’d gone in together on this place. Maggie and Olivia knew, but they would—I’ve hardly seen Mark in the past few years, never mind you. I didn’t buy the house because of the past.”

“Mark and I were helping my grandfather.”

“That was a decent thing to do.” She lifted a box of party supplies off the bed and set it on the floor. “I weighed the pros and cons before I made an offer.”

“Was I a pro or a con?”

She glanced back at him, slouched against the doorjamb. “Maybe I didn’t consider you at all,” she said lightly. “It’s a little stuffy in here. Feel free to open the windows.”

He stood straight. “I can make up the bed.”

“I don’t mind. You’re my first company. It’ll be good practice.”

She didn’t need to tell him that the guest room shared a bathroom with the house’s third bedroom, which she used as her office—when she wasn’t working in the living room, out on the deck or in the town library. The master bedroom had its own bathroom. Mercifully, Felicity thought.

He stepped into the room and peered out a window. “The trees are bigger now. Mark and I planted the apple tree out front when we were in high school. We promised each other we’d be out of here before it was big enough to climb.”

“And now it is,” Felicity said.

“The apples will be ripe soon. My mother talked about making pie with apples from that tree, once it was big enough. She didn’t get that chance, but she liked coming out here when she was sick.”

“I remember.” Felicity could see it wasn’t a subject he wanted to pursue. She pointed at the single blanket on her stack of linens. “There are more blankets in the closet. I’ve never lived anywhere but New England. I have lots of blankets.”

“It’s the humidity that gets to me compared to Southern California.” He drew away from the window. “I’ll take a walk. Don’t let me keep you from anything.”

“No problem.”

“And, really, leave the bed to me—I still know how to make up a bed.”

But he didn’t, she realized. He had household help. She didn’t. Every chore at her house had her name on it. “Enjoy your walk.”

“I will, thanks.”

He headed back down the hall. Felicity heard the front door open and shut. She made up the bed, fluffed the pillows and checked the towels and basic supplies in the bathroom. All set for a guest, if not for one accustomed to five-star accommodations. But he’d known what to expect. He’d been here before. He’d been a part owner of the place.

She went into the kitchen and pulled open her baking cupboard. She scanned the shelves and saw she had the ingredients for brownies. She could have taken some of Maggie’s brownies home with her, but she’d been thinking of her waistline, not Gabe showing up in her driveway. She grabbed the ingredients she needed—flour, sugar, baking chocolate, vanilla—and set them on the counter, then collected eggs and butter from the refrigerator. She got out a bowl, measuring spoons and cups, turned on the oven to preheat and went to work.

She hadn’t really made brownies that February morning. She didn’t know why she’d lied, probably just an impulse after the shock of seeing him. What did the truth matter, anyway? She hadn’t stuck around that morning, but she hadn’t acted out of spite about the brownies. If she’d taken the time to make brownies, she could have cooled off, vacated the premises for the evening and come back for more pizza deliveries and Judge Judy. She’d have prolonged the inevitable, and so she’d skipped the brownies and left.

When she’d knocked on Gabe’s door after losing her latest job as a financial analyst, she hadn’t expected to stay for more than a day or two. She’d been broke, in debt, kicked out of her apartment, desperate not to go crawling to her parents for help. She’d turned to Gabe, then living in the smaller of two apartments in a house he owned on the Charles River in Watertown, just outside Boston. They’d known each other since nursery school. He’d taken her in, but he hadn’t been that excited to see her. “Again, Felicity? Wasn’t this job supposed to last three years?”

“It didn’t.”

“Did you quit or get fired?”

“I was outsourced.”

“Fired, then.”

He’d let her sleep on his couch and take as many hot showers as she’d wanted. It had been winter. The showers helped with her perpetually cold feet. After five days of putting up with her camped out in his living room, he’d read her the riot act. It couldn’t have been more than an hour before he’d written his fateful note. Maybe he’d already had it written, because he’d started his speech while she’d been getting out of the shower.

“You need a career change,” he’d told her. “You’re a lousy financial analyst.”

“How would you know? You quit college. I have an MBA.”

“Your MBA isn’t doing you any good, is it? You get jobs, but you don’t keep them. Why is that?”

“Bad luck.”

“Bad career choice. Do something else. You’re hacking away in the wrong jungle.”

She’d been incensed. How could he be so blunt? How could he not get how terrible she felt about herself?

She’d shouted through the bathroom door about his lousy people skills.

He hadn’t responded, and she’d stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She’d seen the truth of what he said in the dark circles under her eyes, the lines of fatigue at her mouth, the puffiness of her skin. Brown hair dripping, eyes somewhat bloodshot from too much television and last night’s bottle of wine, full lips, high cheeks, a strong chin. In high school, Gabe had said she reminded him of Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man. Felicity had taken that to mean he’d wanted to spank her and told him as much, thinking it was funny—but he’d found it sexy, provocative.

She’d loved Gabe Flanagan then, as a teenager, before college and graduate school. Her first jobs after getting her degrees hadn’t worked out, but she’d had high hopes when she’d landed a job at a large insurance firm in Boston’s financial district. She hadn’t known many people in Boston, and she’d been so busy keeping her nose above water, scrambling to learn the job, that she hadn’t made many new friends. Certainly none who would take her in after she’d been fired.

There’d been Gabe, and she’d landed on his doorstep with her weekender bag in hand, explaining she needed a couple of days to regroup. She’d rented a house with two other women, but they had a friend willing to take her room, since she could no longer afford it. Gabe hadn’t asked for details. He was successful and hard-driving and impatient, and he could read between the lines and didn’t need her to spell out how broke she was.

She’d been making wrong choice after wrong choice. But it hadn’t seemed that way. It’d seemed—she’d truly believed—she just needed the right fit, the right job. She just had to tough it out. Persevere. She wasn’t a quitter, she’d told herself—and Gabe. But that had been part of the problem. She’d needed to quit. He’d pointed out he’d started businesses that failed. He’d made mistakes. “I learned from my failures. That’s the trick, Felicity. Acknowledging your failures and learning from them.”

In all the years she’d known him, she’d never let Gabe see her cry. Even when he’d broken her heart that summer after high school, she hadn’t let him see her melt down. It wasn’t as if it had been unexpected. That’s what Gabe Flanagan did in high school. He broke girls’ hearts. Everyone knew.

Still, they’d been there for each other through high school, college, their first jobs, various ups and downs. They’d go weeks without speaking, texting or emailing, and then she’d call him to tell him she’d just burned her mouth on a hot pepper or he’d send her a silly puppy video off the internet at 2:00 a.m.

She’d known their friendship had needed to change. They were proper adults. Gabe needed to be free to get on with his life. He’d sell his place and move into something grander, more expensive. He’d meet other up-and-coming, hard-driving entrepreneurs. People who got him. People he got. He’d come to rely on her, the hometown girl, to be there when he didn’t have time or want to take time to socialize. She was easy, familiar and there.

She’d needed to figure out her life, but she resisted confronting how she’d managed to find herself out of another job. She’d had a five-year plan, but she’d kept having to restart the thing.

Back to Go, Gabe would tell her. You can do it.

By that day in his apartment, even he had lost patience.

And he’d lost faith in her.

After her shower, she’d put on clean clothes, including socks and shoes, dried her hair—Gabe had actually owned a decent hair dryer—and hung up her towel on a peg next to his threadbare towel. He had pegs, not towel racks. She didn’t know why she’d noticed that or what it said about either of them. Probably nothing. When she’d emerged from the bathroom, she’d felt more in control of herself, but Gabe was gone.

That was when she’d found his note on the counter where he kept his recycling schedule, take-out menus, pens, stamps, paper clips, notepad and phone charger. There was a clear block with a photograph of the covered bridge in their hometown, a mile up the river from where he’d grown up with his brother and their unreliable but otherwise wonderful parents. They’d had dogs, cats, gerbils, hamsters and at least one cow. And chickens. Felicity was positive she remembered chickens.

After dashing off her response, she’d returned the Sharpie she’d borrowed to its mates. She wiped crumbs off the couch, folded the throws she’d used during her stay, fluffed the cushions, ran the vacuum and took her dirty dishes and various leftovers into the kitchen. She’d loaded the dishwasher, run the garbage disposal and taken out the trash, including her pizza boxes. She’d packed up her meager belongings, folded her blankets, put her sheets and towels in the wash—of course he had an in-unit washer and dryer—and gathered up her garbage. Twenty minutes later, she was on her way in the February cold.

By the end of the week, she had a job with a successful event planner in Boston. She’d meant it to be a temporary job—an ultra-temporary job, for that matter—to make ends meet and get herself on firmer financial footing. She wasn’t going back to Gabe’s couch, or moving in with her parents. But a few weeks turned into a few months, and then it was summer...and fall...and finally she’d realized she’d found a career she truly enjoyed and was good at. Serendipity, desperation, strategic thinking, accident—whatever it had been, she’d never looked back to emerging markets, municipal bonds and any of the rest of it.





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