reached suddenly for the cream pitcher. “Really? I wonder who she could be.”
She greeted the waiter a little too cheerfully when he arrived with her and Dylan’s breakfasts. Noah glanced at Dylan and saw that he noticed her reaction, too.
The description of his dance partner had obviously struck a nerve with Olivia.
Noah smiled. His princess might not be so lost, after all.
* * *
Knights Bridge was even prettier than Noah remembered from his visit in early April. Having leaves on the trees helped. He sat up front with Dylan while Olivia pointed out various landmarks from the backseat. She explained that the building of the Quabbin Reservoir and the subsequent flooding of much of the Swift River Valley had changed the development of the town, putting it off the beaten track and giving it a “time has stopped here” feel that was, both Olivia and Dylan again insisted, deceptive.
Maybe so, Noah thought, but that didn’t mean he wanted to do more than float in and out again. He had a chartered jet scheduled to meet him at a nearby private airport that evening.
Of course, his princess could change everything. He’d hang out for a day or two in Knights Bridge and brave mosquitoes and its one restaurant if there was a chance he’d find out more about her.
Dylan turned onto a back road that wound toward Quabbin, his ease with the twists and turns suggesting a familiarity that reminded Noah that his best friend was, without a doubt, moving on from NAK. Less certain was whether he and Olivia planned to keep a home in San Diego. Noah would. Four New England winters during his years at MIT were enough for him.
Not that he had any reason to move to Knights Bridge or anywhere else in New England.
The Farm at Carriage Hill was located in a picturesque mix of meadows, woods and stone walls. Its hand-painted sign, decorated with a cluster of chives, worked with the 1803 house with its cream-colored clapboards and rich blue front door. As he followed Olivia through her kitchen out to the stone terrace, Noah could see that she was turning her vision for her historic house into a reality. Even subtle changes were infused with her sense of color and design, and her love for her hometown. According to Dylan, she’d always planned on returning to Knights Bridge to open her own version of a bed-and-breakfast, even if her departure from Boston hadn’t been entirely on her terms.
“Dylan and I will make lunch,” she said. “You can wait out here and familiarize yourself with New England herbs and flowers.”
“You’re assuming I want to know New England herbs and flowers.”
She laughed. “Yes, I am.”
She went back inside, and Noah sat at the round table and observed the backyard. It really was attractive. Small-town life suited Olivia. He hadn’t known her when she lived in Boston and worked at a prestigious design studio, but he knew from Dylan that she’d lost a major client in an underhanded way to a friend whose career Olivia had helped revive. The experience had served as a catalyst for her to transform her life.
One could only move forward from where one was standing, Noah thought as he stretched out his legs and tried to relax. Pretending otherwise was a fast way into trouble. He knew from hard experience that where he was standing at any given moment wasn’t always where he wanted to be, or should be. That was just life. Not everything was under his control. Mistakes, incompetence, good intentions, bad intentions, good luck, bad luck, human nature—lots of things beyond his control played a role.
Of course, a lot under his control played a role in determining where he was, too. His own screwups, his own limitations, his own lack of vision and purpose.
Were they what had this mystery man on his tail?
Noah sank back in his chair, appreciating the quiet surroundings. Olivia certainly did have a knack with flowers and herbs. She came through the back door with a tray of sandwiches, her big, ugly dog trailing behind her.
He looked up at her as the dog, a German shepherd with a healthy mix of black Lab and probably several other breeds, promptly flopped down under the table, his big black-and-brown head on Noah’s feet. “What’s his name again?”
“Buster,” Olivia said, placing the tray on the table. “He adopted me when I first moved back here.”
Dylan followed her onto the terrace, carrying two glasses of iced tea. He set one in front of Noah. “Maybe you should get a dog, Noah.”
He eased his foot out from under the dog’s head. “Does Buster have a brother?”
“I hope not,” Dylan said with a mock shudder.
Olivia grinned at him. “I thought you and Buster had bonded.”
“We have, but one Buster is enough.” He winked at her as he handed her the second glass of tea and sat across from Noah. “All the world needs.”
Buster gave a deep, satisfied sigh from under the table. The dog was visibly calmer than when Noah had met him in April. A few months in Olivia’s care no doubt had helped. Buster had clearly endeared himself to Dylan, despite an inauspicious meeting.
Now here they all were—Olivia Frost, Dylan McCaffrey and Buster.
Noah smiled at what a great family they made. He’d never seen Dylan happier, and Olivia was fast becoming a friend herself. Noah helped himself to a chicken salad sandwich. It had some kind of herb in it. Fresh tarragon, he thought. If his princess was in Knights Bridge, was she into herbs, too?
“Who’ll be minding Buster while you two are in San Diego?” he asked casually.
“Maggie will be in every day,” Olivia said. “She and I are basically business partners. We’re thinking about doing the paperwork to make it official. We work so well together.”
“And she lives in Knights Bridge and likes herbs,” Noah said.
“She also likes her mother’s goats,” Dylan added, his tone neutral. As he’d explained to Noah, the bonds between the people of Knights Bridge were sometimes tricky to navigate. The Frosts had been in the Swift River Valley and surrounding hills for generations. Despite Dylan’s newly discovered roots in the region, he was still an outsider.
“Maggie loves herbs and goat’s milk,” Olivia said with a laugh. “I don’t know that much about goats, but the milk is perfect for the artisan soaps Maggie and I are making.”
Noah tried to keep any reaction to himself as it sank in that he was talking goats and soap at a two-hundred-year-old house on a dead-end road, surrounded by meadows, shade trees, green grass and a lot of flowers and herbs. It was a first.
The goats, he’d learned, belonged to Maggie’s widowed mother and were a source of both tension and enjoyment within the O’Dunn family.
Obviously in a happy mood, Olivia sat between him and Dylan. “I’ll give you some samples of our goat’s milk soap. We’re still tinkering before we test-market it here. Maggie’s on top of all the regulations.”
“Complicated?”
“Not too bad unless we make actual medicinal claims.”
“Which you won’t?”
