The River House
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
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.