That didn’t mean he could get it back, or that it was wise to try. Resurrecting their dead friendship, even if possible, wasn’t necessarily good for either of them. The best he could do was to repair any damage caused by the way they’d ended things.
It would be easier if he hadn’t noticed her curves and smile and the spark in her eyes.
And being here, he thought, taking in the familiar surroundings. It was night now, warm and quiet on the winding country road. He heard an owl hooting through the trees, somewhere down by the river. He wanted to stay in the moment, be here, now. He didn’t want to hurl himself into the past, and yet he could feel memories tugging at him. Sneaking down to the river with Mark as young boys to throw rocks in the water. Riding his bike out here. Sitting by the fire with his grandfather. Fishing, camping, playing hide-and-seek.
The river—this land—had been the best part of his childhood. The smells, the trees, the river, the night sky were all unchanged. Felicity hadn’t known he’d built the house with his brother. Would she have bought it if she’d known?
That was the least of his worries.
He turned around and walked back to the house, in no rush. He flicked away a few mosquitoes, but none landed. He remembered the night he’d made love to her, realized it was her first time. Damn, they’d been so young. Afterward she’d stood next to him in the dark. “If I ever build a house in Knights Bridge, I’d build it here. What about you, Gabe?”
“I’m never coming back here.”
He’d meant it, too. He remembered her expression—a mix of understanding, acceptance and the slightest hint of disappointment, as if she hoped he might leave himself some wiggle room. But he hadn’t. His future wasn’t in Knights Bridge. He’d been sure of it.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts before he could examine them too deeply.
As he approached the house, he noticed the smell of brownies.
His imagination? A trick of his mind because he was lost in the past?
He shook his head, breathing deeply. No, it was brownies he smelled.
He went inside through the kitchen—Felicity had left the door unlocked—and found a pan of fresh brownies cooling on a rack on the counter.
He grinned. “About time, Felicity.”
Three years ago, he’d read the note she’d left on his kitchen counter and had realized she was angry with him, but he’d figured she’d get over it—because they were friends and he was right. But when he’d opened his freezer and didn’t find brownies, he’d known she wouldn’t be back. Everything had changed. He’d known this because he knew Felicity.
Had she made brownies as a way of apologizing for overreacting that day?
No.
She was establishing control. She was in charge. This was her house, her town, her event on Saturday, and he could damn well toe the line.
She’d left him a note on the counter by the brownie pan.
Help yourself. Sleep well. I’m an early riser but I’ll be quiet.
Felicity
Gabe got a knife out of a drawer and cut a two-inch square, getting warm brownie on the blade. He wiped it with his finger and licked it. Felicity still made a hell of a brownie. He could pull together a decent stir-fry—or he used to. These days he seldom cooked.
He lifted out the brownie and ate it in two bites. It was one of the best he’d ever had, just the right balance between chewy and gooey. Perfect.
He smiled, feeling better, and took his duffel bag to the guest room. He set it on the floor and decided not to unpack. Keep his options open.
Sleeping well would be a trick with Felicity in the next room.
Gabe exhaled, hearing an owl somewhere in the woods. Tomorrow he’d see Mark and Jessica. There were other people he wanted to see while he was in town, and some he needed to see—but he didn’t want to think about that.
He returned to the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. No beer, but he noticed an unopened bottle of a decent New Zealand sauvignon blanc. He decided not to open the wine and poured himself a glass of milk, helped himself to another brownie and headed out to the deck.
A citronella candle burned with a low flame in the center of the table. He set his milk on the deck rail and ate the brownie while he listened to the river down the steep bank. On another night, perhaps, or for anyone else, the sounds of the water would have been soothing, restorative after a long trip. For him, they were unsettling, stirring up past longings and insecurities, reminding him of the boy he’d been, managing an unstable if loving home. He’d always admired the MacGregors. They were solid, smart, stable, predictable. He wasn’t the only one who’d expected Felicity to be the same. She’d expected it of herself. If she had been, would they have become friends? Would he have slept with her?
Not worth thinking about now.
He finished his brownie, drank his milk and got back inside before the mosquitoes found him.
He heard the owl again.
He took The Badgers of Middle Branch, the first book in the popular series, to the guest room with him. Well, what the hell, right? He was in Knights Bridge. Might as well read about badgers.
Six
Felicity awakened groggy and out of sorts and wandered into the kitchen in underpants and a T-shirt, saw the brownie pan and remembered Gabe was sleeping down the hall. It hadn’t been a bad dream. She managed not to groan out loud as she about-faced and tiptoed back to her room. Her blanket and top sheet were in a tangle. Well, no wonder, with Gabe under the same roof.
She stood in the threshold and peered across the hall at the closed door to the guest room.
She’d done it, hadn’t she? She’d let Gabe Flanagan stay.
Fully awake now, she took a quick shower, got dressed, pulled her
