Carla Neggers - The River House

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.