The River House. Carla Neggers

for an audience of aspiring entrepreneurs? What was there to think about? He was on his way back to Boston, anyway, and he owed his brother in Knights Bridge a visit.

      But he changed the subject. “How’s Jess?” he asked.

      “Puking.”

      “Fun call, Mark. Real fun call. She sick?”

      There was a slight hesitation. “She’s pregnant. I was going to wait until you got here to tell you. Morning sickness came on fast and strong. You’re going to want to rethink staying with us.”

      “Mark...” Gabe stared out at the blend of old and new that was Back Bay, but he found himself picturing Knights Bridge on a warm summer evening. He hadn’t been to the Colonial Revival house Mark and Jess were restoring off Knights Bridge common, but he knew it. Mark specialized in older buildings as an architect and it had made sense—felt right—when he and Jess had bought one of their own. Now they had a baby on the way. “That’s wonderful news, Mark. I’m happy for you.”

      “Thanks, Gabe. We’re thrilled.”

      “I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

      “Your call. That reminds me. There’s one more thing you should know before you get here. I’ve been meaning to mention it. I know you and Felicity haven’t been close the past few years but thought you’d want to know she bought the house.”

      “What house?”

      “The house we built on the river at the old campsite.”

      Gabe had known Mark had sold the house, but he’d never identified the buyer. Gabe hadn’t asked. He hadn’t wanted to know. He’d contributed ideas and cash to the building of the house but had left everything else to Mark. “Felicity bought it,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Thanks for letting me know.”

      “I’m happy it sold to someone who remembers the property as a campsite.”

      Oh, she’d remember it, all right, Gabe thought. “A lot of changes in town.”

      “Tons. It’ll be good to have you back here. See you soon.”

      After he and Mark hung up, Gabe didn’t move from the windows. He watched the city lights twinkling in the fading light. He was going to be an uncle. His brother had a wife, and they were expecting their first child.

      It was a lot. It was the best.

      He could see himself on a lazy summer afternoon fishing with Mark on the river, in a beat-up canoe they’d discovered buried in their father’s shed. Their mother had just been diagnosed with the breast cancer that would eventually kill her. “We’re going to get out of here, Gabe,” Mark had said, not for the first time. “We’re not going to get stuck here dreaming about a different life. We’re going to get out and never come back except to visit.”

      Mark had stayed away for a while, but he’d returned and now had offices out on the river where he and Gabe had grown up. Things hadn’t worked out the way he’d meant them to when he’d set off for college. They’d worked out even better.

      “They worked out perfectly, brother,” Gabe said, turning from his city view.

      A few minutes later, his phone buzzed and he saw he had a text from Mark: Felicity expects you to get in touch with her about the party.

      What’s there to get in touch about? Place settings?

      Ask her. Ball’s in your court.

      How did the ball get in his court? Gabe gave up. How’s Jess?

      Eating a pastrami sandwich. I don’t know if I can take nine months of this.

      But he could and he would, and he looked forward to it. Mark and Jessica’s wedding announcement last summer hadn’t been a total surprise to Gabe, but earlier in the year he’d wondered if they’d make it. Mark had taken Jess for granted, and she’d shown signs of serious impatience.

      She’d gotten his workaholic brother to take her to Paris. That was something.

      Gabe typed his response: Good thing you like pastrami.

      He received a smile emoji from Mark, and they were done. Gabe set his phone aside. He was adept at taking in new information, processing it, making a decision and moving forward—but he needed a moment to process Mark’s call. He hadn’t expected Felicity to be involved in the entrepreneurial boot camp, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to be living in the house on the river. To own it. He loved that place.

      “Should have bought it yourself, then,” he muttered.

      Instead he’d let Mark buy out his interest.

      He’d had no plans then, and he had none now ever to spend much time in his hometown. He’d gone in with Mark to buy the property in order to help their grandfather afford assisted living. They’d have paid his way, but that wasn’t what the old guy had wanted. The property had been in Flanagan hands for decades. Mark had designed the house—with Gabe’s input—and eventually bought Gabe out...which had made sense at the time. Mark was living in Knights Bridge. Gabe wasn’t. He’d never considered it might not stay in the family. If there was one spot in Knights Bridge he could get nostalgic about, it was that one.

      Of all the places for Felicity to end up.

      He took in the state of his condo. When he’d arrived that morning, he’d collapsed for a few hours’ sleep and had barely noticed the drop cloths, the covered furnishings, the smell of fresh paint. Workers had arrived mid-morning. The condo was undergoing cosmetic work ahead of going on the market. It would sell in a heartbeat, at a profit. Gabe had bought it two years ago more as an investment than as a place to live. It wasn’t home, not in the sense of Mark and Jess’s Colonial Revival. Gabe was young, unattached, didn’t have a baby on the way—and he liked to travel. He’d had top-notch employees and freelancers, all of whom worked remotely. He could work from anywhere that had an internet connection.

      His company’s new owners had kept on most of his employees and freelancers. Together, they’d take the company and its specialty in product development to the next level. Gabe liked starting businesses. He was good at it, although sometimes they didn’t work out. He’d had a few going when he’d launched the one he’d just sold. He liked being nimble, moving fast, and when that newest start-up had taken off, he’d focused on it. As it grew, he discovered digging in and building a company didn’t interest him as much as getting one off the ground, and he wasn’t particularly good at it. It’d been time to move on. Three years of intense work and focus had made his start-up attractive to a buyer who would do what he didn’t want to—couldn’t—do. As the founder, Gabe had done his best to make a clean exit.

      Clean from a business perspective, anyway. One of his freelancers, a customer development specialist who’d been with him from the start, happened to be in the process of divorcing the man who’d bought the company. She was out of a job and a marriage. Gabe had met with her in Los Angeles to reassure her he’d be in touch with any new venture.

      Everything had revolved around him during those intense years getting his business off the ground. Friends who’d been in his position advised him to have a post-sale plan in place, and he’d listened, at least to a degree. The boot camp had cropped up while he was still twiddling his thumbs in California, trying to figure out what was next.

      What was next was Knights Bridge and Felicity MacGregor.

      He hadn’t been to his hometown in months and he hadn’t seen Felicity in three years.

      He needed a reentry plan.

      * * *

      Gabe went into the master bedroom. The painters had taped off the windows and trim, but otherwise it was untouched. It was just the bed and a sheepskin he’d picked up in Ireland. He sat on the edge of his king-size bed and dug a small photo album out of his nightstand. His mother had put it together for him before her death. She’d done one for Mark, too. It contained pictures of their childhood, and