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