Page 86 of Legacy

“She has to be the one to tell you. I can’t right now. Not until I reach the rest of his family.”

I paused, my mind going in a thousand different directions before it hit.

“Gregory? Is Gregory Teller okay?”

“I need to call his family first, Callum,” Kellan whispered, and I knew. He didn’t even have to explain.

“Got it.”

“Take care of her, okay? And Callum? You’re going to have to explain why you’re with Felicity at eleven o’clock at night.”

I looked out the window, realized how dark it was, and cursed. But I didn’t say a damn thing. I just hung up and leaned down to pick Felicity up into my arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Let’s call your parents.”

“No. Not yet. Just hold me?”

And so I did, as I moved to the couch and settled Felicity in my arms, letting her cry over the loss of her mentor and friend.

And my chest tightened.

Because I’d liked the old man too.

And I didn’t want to let Felicity go.

Chapter 13

Felicity

Like all small towns, Ashford Creek had one of everything.

An ice cream shop.

A bed and breakfast.

An old-school diner.

A bar and grill.

And a cemetery.

There was more than one church, of course, as there was more than one denomination within town, but even then, the churches were unique, and some shared the same building for different services.

But there was only one cemetery.

Gregory Teller had been the town’s accountant and bookkeeper for longer than I had been alive. Honestly, he’d been in that position for longer than most people in town had been alive. Even when he had been overwhelmed and dropped a few balls, people had been there to help, and he had ensured the town thrived.

And now he was gone, and I hated myself for feeling relief in this moment. Because all I wanted to do was cry and beg for him to take just one more day off to rest. To enjoy life. To not work until his seventies.

“I would ask if you were doing okay, but we both know that you need time.” My mom slid her arm around my waist, and I leaned on her shoulder, my arms crossed in front of me.

“Whenever I would ask why he wouldn’t retire, he said he loved what he did. He didn’t work every day, but he still went to work. I thought he should be the guy who sat on the front porch with his coffee and newspaper and waved at people as they came by since he still lived right in town. But no, he refused to do that. I just don’t understand why. Why would he waste so much time?”

“People find solace in their own actions and their own peace in different ways.”

“So he liked working that many hours?”

“He used to work more. And he would always hire those who came with talent.” She squeezed my shoulder. “And those who needed him. But this job was something he loved. He loved numbers, and it gave him access to everybody in town. They could come in and talk about what they were doing, ask advice, and he’d be able to feel as if he were connected to the town as a whole.”