The River House
Page 28
“That’s what people do in small-town New England, Shannon,” Gabe said.
She shuddered. “I can see freezing tomatoes and applesauce, but the only eggplant I like is fried and covered with mozzarella, parmesan and tomato sauce.”
“Ratatouille in the dead of winter reminds me of summer,” Felicity said.
“Sitting on the beach in Fort Lauderdale for a week reminds me of summer,” Shannon countered.
“Gabe’s grandmother taught me how to make ratatouille,” Felicity said. “She’s gone now.”
“But her ratatouille recipe lives on,” Gabe said. “She’d like that. I think she was the first person in Knights Bridge to make it.”
“There are all sorts of versions,” Felicity said.
“I would like the kind that doesn’t really taste like ratatouille,” Shannon said. “Are you using vegetables from your own garden?”
“I don’t have a vegetable garden yet,” Felicity said. “That’ll come in time. I get fresh veggies from friends with gardens and from the farmers’ market.”
“It’s still every Wednesday on the common?” Gabe asked.
She smiled. “Some things don’t change. Anyway, I postponed my ratatouille. I had some business in Boston I needed to tend to.”
Gabe noticed Shannon make a discreet detour to talk with the painters, now working in the kitchen.
He turned to Felicity. “Need a place to stay?”
She glanced again out at the view. “It’s a great location. This place is great, but it’s—I don’t know. It feels temporary.”
“It is temporary.”
“That’s how you live your life, isn’t it?”
“It has been, but I’m still young. So are you.” He smiled. “You can always travel while the ratatouille is in the freezer or on the vine.”
“I love to travel. I missed going places when I was digging myself out of debt.”
“Do you think you got stuck in being hyper-responsible?”
“After being hyper-irresponsible? Maybe.”
“You have to leave some room in your life for a little fun. If you could go anywhere, where would it be? Home doesn’t count.”
Her eyes sparked. She didn’t hesitate. “Wyoming.”
* * *
Felicity went to her meetings in town and met Gabe for dinner at a quiet restaurant in the North End. As much as she was enjoying her time in Boston, she knew it wasn’t for her anymore. Knights Bridge, friendship, family. They were on her mind, even on a beautiful summer evening in the city.
“I never felt part of Knights Bridge growing up, not the way you did,” she said, seated across from Gabe at their cozy table. “I was always the banker’s daughter.”
“In your head. It was how you saw yourself.”
“The way Nadia saw herself as her ex-husband’s victim.”
“Not that bad. You were just a kid.”
“I feel a part of things now,” she said.
“You made that happen by moving back to Knights Bridge, being yourself.”
“Accepting I didn’t want to be a financial analyst, never mind wasn’t any good at it. What about you? How do you feel about Knights Bridge these days?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time telling myself I didn’t belong there—convincing myself that success and happiness lay anywhere but Knights Bridge.”
“But that’s not true?”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not true.”
She picked up her wineglass. “What’s on your mind, Gabe?”
He told her about Dylan’s invitation to join him, Noah Kendrick and a former colleague in a new venture capital business.
He studied her, his eyes narrowed in the candlelight. “You know about venture capital, don’t you?”
“One of the jobs I was fired from. I lasted eight months. I learned a lot.”
“Wasn’t eight months your record?”
She smiled. “See?”
“I’ll continue to do start-ups. I don’t need to be in Boston to do that. Dylan’s opening offices in the old George Sanderson house.”
“I heard a rumor about that, but I didn’t realize you two had been talking about working together.” Felicity drank some wine and set down her glass, absorbing Gabe’s words—taking in his mood. Focused, certain. He’d made up his mind since he’d arrived at her house ahead of the boot camp, wanting to sleep on her couch. “I’ve never been inside the Sanderson house. Can you see yourself with an office in the turret or something?”
“The octagon room,” he said with a grin.
“People say the house is haunted. Evelyn Sloan insists it has more ghosts than the library, if you believe in that sort of thing.”
“Is old George’s ghost one of them?”
“Evelyn didn’t say.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out.”
“We, huh?” She noticed her heartbeat had quickened. “You want me in on your ghost hunts, do you?”
“You’ll love a good ghost hunt. Felicity, back after our night...the summer before college...” Gabe took a breath and leaned across the table, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. “I wanted to propose to you.”
“Gabe...”
“I talked myself out of it. I knew it was crazy. We were too young, and I was afraid I’d lose you as a friend. And I was driven.”
“You had places to go, things to do and money to make.”
“I did, and so did you.”
“Even if it brought me full circle back to Knights Bridge.”
“Me, too. Us.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I memorized my proposal. I rehearsed it for days. I haven’t forgotten the words. I love you with all my heart, Felicity. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. You’re my best friend, and you’re the love of my life. Will you marry me?”
“Pretty good words, Gabe,” she said.
He smiled. “They are. I’m not quoting them to you, Felicity. I’m saying them to you now, all this time later. It’s been staring me in the face. Why I haven’t settled with a woman. Why I’m so driven. Why I’ve never found a real home.” He paused, his gaze riveted on her. “It’s because you’re my life. You’re the woman I love and have loved since we were teenagers. I didn’t want to risk losing you, and I almost lost you, anyway.”
“Gabe...” She almost couldn’t speak. “You’ve always been the one. Always. You always cared about me and just about me—not that I was the banker’s daughter or the hotshot financial analyst, or now, whether I’m a success at event planning or just want to pick blueberries and make ratatouille. I see that now. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but you least of all.”
“You never could disappoint me, Felicity.”
“I see that now.”
“Do you want me to say them again?” he asked her.
“The words you memorized?” She smiled, squeezing his hand. “Yes.”
“I love you with all my heart—”
“I mean yes to your proposal. I love you, Gabe. I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll love you forever. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
They walked back to his condo, hand in hand, enjoying the summer evening, talking about vegetable gardens and blueberry-picking and stacking cordwood for the winter...and their wedding. Felicity smiled as Gabe pulled her close.
“Another Knights Bridge wedding,” he said.
“This time it’ll be our wedding. It’ll be a fun one to plan.”
“I thought you don’t do weddings.”
She looked up at the city lights, imagined the stars at her house—their house—on the river. “I don’t do many weddings, but ours?” She slipped her arm around his waist. “I can’t wait.”
Twenty-Four
Gabe had tickets to Jackson Hole. A glamping tent reserved. Hiking routes mapped out. Fo
r now, though, he and Felicity sat in front of the fire on a cool evening on the river. She couldn’t have been happier. It was just them, beautiful scenery and enough cordwood to last as long as they wanted to stay out here.
They’d set a date for their wedding. They’d have it at Moss Hill, and they’d spend their honeymoon in Wyoming.
Finally.
“Wyoming will be great,” Gabe said. “But I love being here.”
“It’s perfect.”
For a small town, Knights Bridge was as filled with news as ever. Olivia and Dylan had announced they were having a girl. Jess’s morning sickness had eased. Justin and Samantha were hosting her cousin’s wedding on the day after Thanksgiving at Red Clover Inn. Heather and Brody would fly in from London and take Heather’s plucky grandmother back with them to see as much of England as she could manage at eighty-plus.
Christopher Sloan had flown out to LA to visit Ruby O’Dunn. No report yet on that visit, except that he’d gone for a drink at Marty Colton’s Hollywood bar. Nadia had been in a few times and was getting her head screwed on straight, talking to Marty about launching her own film production company.
Hammers and saws continued to fly in Knights Bridge, with all the new ventures and newcomers, but some things—the best things—didn’t change.
The real things, Felicity thought.
“Are we going to let our kids in on our swimming hole?” Gabe asked, stretched out next to her on the quilt.
“Not without supervision—especially as teenagers.”
“Ha. We’ll see how that goes.”
“We’ll have a lifetime of grand adventures, whether it’s at the swimming hole, picking blueberries or scooting off to Wyoming.”
He smiled. “Making ratatouille doesn’t count.”
She laughed. “But it was good ratatouille, wasn’t it? Don’t lie to me, Gabriel Flanagan.”
“It’s the eggplant. I’m with Shannon on that one. Make ratatouille without eggplant, and I’m in.”
“There’s yet time.”
“Or...we could do other things.”
“Yes, we could,” she said.
His mouth found hers as the fire crackled and the night turned dark, the river flowing gently down the steep bank through the woods.
* * * * *
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading The River House. I hope you enjoyed your visit to little Knights Bridge. If it’s your first visit, you can find a list of all the books in the Swift River Valley series and their reading order on my website.
For me, diving into a Swift River Valley novel is like returning home. I grew up on the western edge of the Quabbin Reservoir and its protected wilderness. How to fire a budding writer’s imagination! Our family homestead is still there, and I visit often.
Summer in New England is a special time, and as kids, my six siblings and I had our favorite swimming holes. On my runs at home in Vermont, I often pass a popular swimming hole that reminds me of Felicity and Gabe’s more private swimming hole. I’ve posted a few photos on my blog if you’d like to take a look.
I continue to add Swift River Valley recipes to my website. Unlike Gabe and Shannon, I love eggplant in my ratatouille! And you just can’t go wrong with brownies...or oatmeal bread fresh out of the oven...or anything Maggie Sloan puts together. Blueberry cobbler is one of my favorites. Turn the page for a recipe!
Thanks again, and happy reading,
Carla
CarlaNeggers.com
A Recipe from Carla Neggers: Blueberry Cobbler
Ingredients
3 cups blueberries
(fresh or frozen, wild or cultivated)
12 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 cup sugar (reduce for less sweet cobbler)
1/2 cup whole milk
1 large egg
11/2 cups all-purpose flour
Directions
Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C).
Spread 4 tablespoons of the butter, melted, in an 8-inch square pan. Top with the blueberries. Sprinkle 1/4 cup of sugar over the berries.
Add milk and egg to remaining 8 tablespoons of butter, melted. Beat well. Mix flour, salt, baking powder and 1/2 cup sugar together in a medium bowl. Stir in the milk, butter and egg mixture. Pour or add by dollops to the top of the berries.
Bake for about 30 minutes, until dough is cooked through and berries are bubbling with the sugar melted. Serve plain or with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.
“Neggers captures readers’ attention with her usual flair and brilliance and gives us a romance, a mystery and a lesson in history.”
—RT Book Reviews, Top Pick, on Secrets of the Lost Summer
Looking for more from New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers?
Don’t miss a single moment in the Swift River Valley series:
Secrets of the Lost Summer
That Night on Thistle Lane
Cider Brook
Echo Lake
A Knight’s Bridge Christmas
The Spring at Moss Hill
Red Clover Inn
The River House
“No one does romantic suspense better!”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Janet Evanovich
And don’t miss any of the fast-paced twists and turns in the Sharpe & Donovan series:
Rock Point (novella)
Saint’s Gate
Heron’s Cove
Declan’s Cross
Harbor Island
Keeper’s Reach
Liar’s Key
Thief’s Mark
“A breathtaking visual journey that ingeniously weaves an anticipatory, multi-leveled, fast-paced mystery.”
—RT Book Reviews on Keepers Reach
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ISBN-13: 9781488023620
The River House
Copyright © 2018 by Carla Neggers
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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