“We’ll set one up,” Gabe promised.
His grandfather yawned. “I’ll take a short nap. I’ve got to be ready for that tea.”
“Not giving in on the tights?” Mickey asked, grinning.
“I don’t want to give any of the girls a heart attack.”
On that note, Gabe left with his father, neither speaking until they were outside. His father had parked his motorcycle next to Gabe’s car. “Nice,” his father said. He nodded back toward the building. “I visit at least once a week. It was his choice to move in here. He didn’t want to come live with me.”
“It was an option?”
“Yeah. I have a spare bedroom. You’re welcome to it next visit. I’m on my own at the moment. I have a lady friend but we’re not...you know. I don’t live in a fancy town or a fancy neighborhood, but it suits me.”
“Thanks for the offer,” Gabe said, meaning it.
His father squinted at him in the hot sun. “I hear you stayed at the house you and Mark built out on the river. Does it bug you Felicity MacGregor owns it now?”
“It doesn’t bug me, but I’d have bought it.”
“Might have mentioned that to your brother.”
Gabe shrugged, smiling. “Might have.”
“It’s just as well.” His father held up a hand. “I know you, Gabe. I know how you think. I know you better than you give me credit for.”
“Know what I’m thinking now?”
His father sighed. “Do I want to know?”
“Sure. I’m thinking I’d like to give that old motorcycle of yours a spin when you get it restored.”
“It’s a beauty.” His expression turned serious. “You’ll stay in touch, won’t you?”
“Sure, Dad. Always.”
“You’re doing okay?”
Gabe nodded. “Just fine. No worries.”
“You’re doing fine financially. What about the rest of your life?”
“We’ll see,” Gabe said, leaving it there.
His father hesitated. “All right, I won’t go there. It’s your life.” He looked down at his feet—he had on old sport sandals—and then raised his eyes again to Gabe. “The woman I’m seeing is a nice gal, just retired early from the bank. Worked for Felicity’s father.”
“That’s good, Dad. Do I know her?”
“Probably not.” He cleared his throat, started for his motorcycle. “I should get moving. Have a good trip home.”
“Come see me sometime.”
“I just might. Felicity told me I can stop by her place anytime. She appreciates that it was a special place for us. She always was a nice, pretty girl. Mark says you two went out to the swimming hole. Your mother used to worry you boys would split your heads open or drown. I didn’t. I figured the worst that could happen was a few stitches or a broken wrist or toe or something. Nothing life-threatening. Kids need to take a few risks.”
“The attentive dad,” Gabe said with a grin.
“Mark already told me he’s doing things different with his kids than I did with mine. Hell, I hope so, although you two came out all right, no thanks to me. Your mother...” He cleared his throat. “She did her best.”
“She was the best, Dad,” Gabe said. He winked at his father. “You provided Mark and me a certain level of motivation.”
His father laughed. “You could say that. See you, son. Safe travels.”
He put on his helmet and climbed onto his old motorcycle. In a moment, he eased out of his parking space and cruised onto the main road. Gabe sighed. Some saw Mickey Flanagan’s unrealized potential. At that moment, Gabe saw a man in his late fifties who was enjoying his life and work. He couldn’t find it in him to judge his father and the demons he’d fought. A by-product of time, his own success and what it meant—and didn’t mean—or just being back in his hometown?
The Felicity MacGregor effect, maybe.
He’d have thought of her, anyway, but he recognized her Land Rover turning into the parking lot. She came to a stop in the spot his father had just vacated and hopped out, apparently unaware of his presence. She lifted the hem of what appeared to be a pretty, low-cut dress out of a Jane Austen novel. She had her hair pinned up, with corkscrew curls bouncing at her temples.
“Oh, Gabe,” she said, stopping abruptly. “I didn’t see you. I just passed your father. That was him on the motorcycle, wasn’t it?”
“In all his glory. We were visiting my grandfather.”
“I’m here to set up for the afternoon tea.”
Gabe smiled. “That explains the dress.”
“Mmm. Yes.” Spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “It’s not too revealing, is it? It’s about a half size too small, I think.”
“It’s fine. Perfect.”
She tugged at the bodice, hiking it up to cover more of the swell of her breasts. “I have a shawl I can put on when I’m in air-conditioning. Grace Webster hasn’t talked your grandfather into wearing one of the gentlemen’s Regency outfits, has she?”
“Not a chance.”
“You wouldn’t be interested—”
“No.”
She grinned. “Not even the top hat?”
“Is there anything I can do to help you set up?”
She shook her head. “I did most of the work upstream since I had the boot camp yesterday, too. None of the men signed up for the tea, by the way.”
“Imagine that,” Gabe said. “I bet a few will change their minds. Are all the women wearing Regency dresses?”
“I doubt it, but I brought dresses for anyone who wants to wear one. They’re fun. I did my hair the best I could, but I’ve never been good with a curling iron and gels and wax and whatnot.”
“You own a curling iron?”
“Present from my mother. She told me not to read any hints into it.” Felicity motioned to her Rover. “I wouldn’t mind a hand with some of the boxes if you have a minute.”
Gabe carried the largest of the boxes to the sunroom where the tea was being held. Felicity had collected a mix of china teapots, cups and saucers and plates from various people she knew as well as her own collection of dishes featuring Peter Cottontail and other Beatrix Potter critters. “My grandmother gave them to me,” she told Gabe. “She loved Beatrix Potter and got a kick out of sharing our name with Farmer McGregor. Not quite the same spelling and no one in my family’s had a farm in the last hundred years.”
“Details,” Gabe said, smiling. “It’ll be a great party.”
She returned his smile, her left-side corkscrew curls already unwinding.
Grace Webster—Dylan McCaffrey’s grandmother—rose from a rocking chair that faced the lawn and garden where Gabe had walked with his grandfather. In her nineties, Grace was frail but mentally sharp. She set a small pair of binoculars on a side table and started on about various birds she’d just spotted, but she quickly focused on the upcoming tea. As a former English teacher, she had more than a passing familiarity with Jane Austen.
Gabe decided to leave Felicity to her tea, but he didn’t get out of the room before Grace tried to get him into tights. “I’m sure they’d fit you,” she said.
He could just imagine. “Time for me to make my exit.”
Grace’s nonagenarian eyes twinkled. “What? It could be fun. We’re old. We’re not dead.”
“You’d make a good Mr. Darcy,” Felicity added.
“Rich, arrogant, damn good-looking. I could do that. Not doing the tights.” In fact, he wasn’t doing any of it. “Have fun at your tea. Goodbye again, Felicity.”
She curtsied. “Farewell, Mr. Flanagan.”
On his way out, he passed Maggie Sloan, who’d arrived with food. He offered her a hand, but she assured him she had everything under control. “You could look less relieved, Gabe,” she said with a laugh.
“They need a Mr. Darc
y.”
“I’ve a surprise for that. Seize the moment, Gabe. Run.”
“I don’t need to be told twice. Good seeing you.”
And he was out of there.
Sixteen
To Grace Webster’s delight, her grandson surprised everyone at the tea—including Felicity—when he showed up in a partial Regency outfit, arranged by his wife and Maggie Sloan. Felicity thanked Dylan, who seemed to get a kick out of the entire experience. “I used to wear a hockey uniform,” he whispered. “This isn’t all that different.”
It fit him well, too. It wouldn’t have fit Gabe—not that he’d have acquiesced even if it had fit. But he had a grandfather in Rivendell, not a grandmother, and perhaps more to the point, he wasn’t a part of the fabric of the town any longer. His life in Boston, or wherever, had beckoned.
Most of the residents—men and women alike—assembled in the sunroom for a mini fashion show. Grace Webster provided commentary on Jane Austen’s life and works, with details on each of the dresses modeled by Felicity and a half-dozen various elderly women thoroughly enjoying themselves. Grace had done meticulous research, and she had good teacher’s instincts and experience to know when her audience had had enough.
As Felicity cleaned up after the tea, she found herself wishing Gabe had stayed, but she hadn’t asked him to. He might not have realized he could have stayed. Whenever she was at Rivendell, she appreciated the rich lives the residents had. She wasn’t naive. Many of the men and women who’d enjoyed today’s tea had chronic health issues, and they would be the first to say they had fewer days ahead of them than behind them. Felicity had known most of them her entire life. She liked being around them. Her own grandparents were gone. Her maternal grandmother, the last, had died a few months after she’d quit finance and started work as an event planner.
Several of the residents had pulled her aside, reminiscing about how her grandfather had helped them get mortgages when they were starting out in life. He knew them, and he knew they were good for it, they’d tell her. That had been a different world from the one she’d entered as a financial analyst, but she’d never wanted to follow her grandfather and father into local banking. That world, too, had changed since her grandfather’s day.
By the time she returned home, she was dead on her feet. The house seemed so quiet. She peeled off her Regency dress—imagining Gabe was there—and forced herself to pull the sheets off the bed he’d used and throw them in the wash.
That was enough for now.
Tomorrow she’d turn her attention to Kylie’s book launch and other events further out in her calendar. The work she did now, upstream, would make everything smoother later on.
She placed a slice of leftover tea cake on a plate and poured a glass of champagne, walked out to the deck and sat on the most comfortable chair. It didn’t have a footstool, but she put her feet up on the low coffee table and set her goodies on the side table. A cool breeze floated through the trees. She could smell the river, and she could hear ducks not too far in the distance. She thought she could smell ashes from Gabe’s fires the past two nights, but she decided that was her imagination.
She picked up her champagne and held it up to the trees. “To me,” she said with a smile.
She’d managed her biggest party in Knights Bridge to date, with its very own movers and shakers, and she’d segued right into a Jane Austen tea. She’d survived her odd encounters with Nadia Ainsworth. She’d developed a rough plan for Kylie’s badgers.
Most of all, she’d gotten through having Gabe Flanagan as a houseguest.
They were friends again, weren’t they?
Maybe. She thought so. He could also go back to Boston and she wouldn’t hear from him for another three years. For sure any friendship wouldn’t be the same as the one they’d had before she’d marched out of his apartment that cold February morning. It couldn’t be. They weren’t the same people they’d been then.
Felicity raised her glass a bit higher. “Cheers, Gabriel Flanagan, wherever you are, whatever is next for you—for us.”
* * *
By noon the next day, Felicity was deep into the world of the clever, fictional Badgers of Middle Branch. She packed a rough version of two of the badgers in her tote bag and walked to the Mill at Moss Hill and met Kylie and Russ on their balcony.
“These are fantastic,” Kylie said, grabbing one of the tiny stuffed badgers and holding it up. “Sherlock Badger is going to have friends. I hope he doesn’t get jealous because they’re cuter than he is.”
Russ turned to Felicity. “Kylie thinks Sherlock is real,” he half whispered. “Indulge her.”
Kylie grinned. “I considered asking Sherlock to walk me down the aisle.”
Her artistic imagination and sense of fun were somehow compatible with her ex-navy security consultant husband. Russ clearly appreciated his bride’s talents as an illustrator and storyteller. The mysteries of love, Felicity thought as she picked up the second half-done badger. “I see this one as the mom badger and the one you’re holding as the dad badger. We can dress them in outfits from the first book in the series. Does that work for you?”
“Love it,” Kylie said. “I do okay with a needle and thread but best to farm out any real sewing. Do you have anyone in mind? Can I help find someone?”
“Still working on that. I can sew, but it’ll be faster to get someone else to do it.”
“I can help, but you’ll know more people in town than Russ and I do. You grew up here. You’ll never be a newcomer.”
For whatever that was worth. Felicity wondered what it must be like for her new friends to look at her hometown through fresh eyes. They wouldn’t see the pre-renovation boarded up windows at Moss Hill, or remember Mark and Gabe as teenagers plotting their exit from Knights Bridge. It wasn’t a positive or a negative, just a different relationship with their new home.
They reviewed the guest list, the schedule for the evening and everything that needed to happen between now and Friday. As events went, the book-launch party wasn’t complicated, but Kylie, Felicity had discovered, was afraid no one would come. Even with RSVPs, she was convinced everyone who’d promised to be there would bail at the last minute and she’d be there at the library, alone with Russ, Felicity and her badger friends. Despite her success as Morwenna Mills, Kylie Shaw had some stubborn insecurities.
Kylie set the dad badger next to his wife on the table. “I spoke with my sister, Lila, this morning, and she says she’ll be there. I asked what she’d do if a veterinarian emergency came up, and she assured me she’ll have backup. Our parents are on a trip, so it won’t be them. They’d have gone at a different time, but they planned the trip before I set a date for the party. I don’t want them flying in from Tuscany early.” She brushed at her fair hair, the heat and humidity already frizzing it up. “Even if it’s just Lila and us, we’ll have a great time.”
“I look forward to meeting your sister,” Felicity said.
“She’s amazing.” Kylie smiled at her husband. “You don’t have to be there if work comes up, especially in California—”
“It won’t,” Russ said. “I tied up all those loose ends when I was out there last week. Work won’t interfere. I’ll be at the party. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I’m an introvert. I have to angst about these things.” She spoke without any undertone of self-criticism. She turned again to Felicity. “Russ has a few things he wants to discuss with you. I’ll go inside and look over the work-back schedule. I can access it on my phone. You emailed it to me, right?”
Felicity nodded, and Kylie thanked her, jumped to her feet and dashed inside.
“It’s not as cloak-and-dagger as it sounds,” Russ said with a smile. “Kylie’s working on a new badger who does security at tall buildings in the city and visits Middle Branch to unwind. Her head’s in that world right now. He’s younger than Sherlock. Apparently
they don’t get along at first.”
“Do you get approval on this new character?”
“Input, not approval.” Clearly that was fine with him. He sat forward, folding his hands on the table. “I wanted to talk to you about Nadia Ainsworth. She’s back in California. I checked. I don’t think she’s an immediate concern, and she might not be one at all.”
“But?”
“I did some digging on her.”
Felicity tried to ignore the twist of tension in her stomach. “Anything I need to know?”
“Maybe. Her history isn’t that different from what she told you and Gabe. She worked with him on an early start-up that didn’t go well and then continued with him on this latest one, which did go well. She put her heart and soul into the company, but she wasn’t in senior management or even an employee. Gabe then sold it to her husband, David Ainsworth, just as he—David—bailed on Nadia.”
“I know that much,” Felicity said. “Most of it, anyway.”
Russ nodded. “Bear with me. David’s new team brought in their own customer development specialist, so Nadia was out of a major client as well as a husband. Meanwhile her grandmother back East died. She told me she’s taking some time off to settle her grandmother’s affairs, regroup and figure out what’s next.”
Felicity welcomed a slight, cool breeze off the water. “What about event planning?”
“She oversaw several corporate events Gabe held to get everyone together. He did them at least twice a year given that his people all worked remotely, whether they were employees or freelancers. The last retreat was at a resort in Aspen.”
“Nadia probably coordinated with the resort’s staff planner who did most of the work.” Felicity frowned, considering Russ’s words. “She stretched the truth a bit on that one, didn’t she?”
“That’s correct,” Russ said, nothing light about his tone. “She has no business relationship or any other kind of relationship with Gabe at the moment. There was no logical reason for her to have contacted you the way she did.”
“I see.”
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