Kylie frowned. “You know his brother, don’t you? Gabe, isn’t it? Short for Gabriel?”
Oh, she knew him, all right. She’d just been thinking about him. That night before they’d set off for college. He’d been working construction and had been tanned and muscular, eager to get out of Knights Bridge and make something of himself. She’d been working at her father’s bank in the village and restless.
Felicity nodded. “Gabe is Mark’s younger brother.” She tried not to sound too stiff. Keep it casual. Matter-of-fact. “It’s just the two of them.”
“That’s what I thought.” Kylie swooped up her tea glass, no sign she knew she’d stepped on a hornets’ nest. “Mark had to be out of town this morning on business and wasn’t sure when he’d return. It must be late in the game to add a party, but if anyone can swing it, it’s you, although I suppose you could always say no.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” Felicity reminded herself she’d been hired to do a job, and if Gabe had been added as a speaker and wanted to sponsor a party, she would have to manage. Even if her stomach was churning. “It’s short notice, but the boot camp is straightforward as events go—sort of an open house with speakers. It’ll be fine.”
The one-day event was meant to provide a taste of what Dylan had in mind for the periodic entrepreneurial boot camps he planned to host in Knights Bridge throughout the year. He was an ex-professional hockey player and a multimillionaire businessman from California who’d fallen in love with Olivia Frost, a graphic designer who’d returned to her hometown last year to open an inn. They were married on Christmas Eve. A few months earlier, Olivia’s sister, Jessica, had married Mark Flanagan. That was just one of the many connections that were part of life in their small town.
Felicity smiled, trying to take any shock and dread out of her expression. She was a pro. She needed to act like one. She swallowed, breathed. “Gabe isn’t in town yet, is he?”
“I don’t think so,” Kylie said. “Mark didn’t say.”
Felicity 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
