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.
* * *
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.