Everything had changed that night.
But nothing could happen between them.
Nothing.
That was what he needed to remember. No more kisses at the swimming hole. No more deluding himself that he could have it both ways—Felicity in his life, Knights Bridge out of his life. She lived here, and he needed to back off and let her go about her business. He’d made a success of himself and he’d gotten out of town, but in many ways he was that kid again, with his hand on fire and his plans for the future up in the air.
* * *
Gabe put out the fire and went inside, but he knew he wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon. Lying on his back in his boxers, on top of the sheets, no blanket, he listened to the portable fan oscillate, appreciated the intervals when it hit his overheated skin. He and Mark had opted against air-conditioning, although it was easily added. They’d never had air-conditioning when they were growing up. It was expensive, and rarely needed, especially so close to the cooling waters of the river. But he could have used AC now.
This place...
He didn’t belong here, in the town of his chaotic boyhood. Did Felicity? She didn’t strike him as living in the past, but what if she was? What if she was stuck—couldn’t move on with a personal life?
Not his concern. Not his business.
Not his responsibility, either. Their tight friendship had ended several years ago. If it had deterred her from finding a guy, getting married, having kids—whatever—she’d had plenty of time to move on. He had.
He winced in the darkness of the small room. Had he moved on?
It wasn’t like him to think about such things, never mind overthink them.
He shut his eyes, instead thinking about kissing Felicity. It was hot and humid tonight, but if they’d gone to bed together...
He gritted his teeth. “Forget it, pal. Just forget it.”
But as he felt himself drifting off to sleep, he couldn’t put the thought aside. He was a teenager again, making love to his pretty, eager best friend. He hadn’t done much thinking then, that was for damn sure. Then again, neither had she.
He remembered how she’d cried out when he’d thrust into her.
“You’re a virgin.”
“What did you think I was?”
And was had been a key word. That was all they’d said. Need, hormones, longing, desire—they’d been lost. He knew she’d orgasmed. He’d felt it, heard her soft moans of release. They hadn’t come to their senses quickly, not like today at the swimming hole. They’d made love again, exploring, experimenting. They’d made sure they were protected.
He could still feel himself inside her. Feel her warm skin, her breath, her lips. He could hear her cries, her laughter. She’d relaxed her natural guard and enjoyed some real wild abandon that night. For those hours, he’d been a part of her inner world, sharing an intimacy—a union—that he’d felt more than could explain.
Felicity had awakened first, slipped out of their sleeping bag, gotten dressed and greeted him as if nothing had happened. For a moment he’d wondered if she’d thought she’d dreamed their lovemaking. Then she’d said, “You’re my best friend, Gabe,” and he’d known. It was the summer after their high school graduation. They had their lives ahead of them. They couldn’t risk falling for each other. She’d needed him as a friend not as a lover—definitely not as an ex-lover.
She’d decided that was what he’d needed, too, and they’d headed to Smith’s for breakfast and gone over their plans for college.
Now, more than a decade later, he wondered where they would be tonight if he’d taken her by the hand that summer night and told her he wanted to marry her.
He almost choked at the thought. It never would have happened. They’d have broken up within months. Weeks, even. Felicity had been right to put on the brakes between them that morning. He’d needed to get away from Knights Bridge and figure out who he was, and he’d have messed up her life in the process. On some level, maybe they’d both known that. Staying friends had kept them in each other’s lives, at least through college and their first jobs.
They’d never talked about that night.
His doing.
But what was the point of talking now? They’d both moved on.
Gabe got up and switched off the oscillating function on the fan. He needed the air to blow directly on him all the time.
Only way he’d get any sleep.
Eleven
Felicity took a shower, got dressed for the day and tiptoed into the kitchen at six, certain she was up before Gabe, but he greeted her by the coffeemaker. “I see we’re both up with the crows,” he said.
“I thought you’d sleep in a bit longer. You had a later night than I did.”
“Did I?” He flipped on the coffeemaker switch. “Thought you might have stayed up late, with the boot camp today.”
“There are often last-minute changes to accommodate, but so far, so good for today.”
“That’s great to hear. My party and Nadia Ainsworth aren’t causing you trouble, then.”
Felicity got mugs down from the cupboard. “Well, we’ll see. What about you? Any butterflies?”
“Nope.”
She smiled. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you know me. What about you?”
“A few, I guess. I’ve managed big, high-profile events, so it’s not that.”
“It’s because this one’s in Knights Bridge and involves friends and neighbors.” He opened up the bread box and pulled out whole-grain English muffins. “Am I right?”
“In a nutshell, yes. People remember great content but they really remember late coffee, bad food, cold rooms, long lines, impenetrable programs, bathrooms without proper supplies—you get the idea.”
“A lot of moving parts with an event like this.”
“Yes.”
“Do you celebrate afterward?”
His question caught her off guard. “Celebrate?”
“You know. Kick back with a six-pack or a bottle of champagne.”
“I have a Jane Austen tea tomorrow at Rivendell. I can’t—”
“I was
