Megan flopped back against the pillows, her arms spread wide. "This house is magical Jess. If I lived here, I'd never leave this bed." She turned her head to look at the view. "Seriously, this is what you woke up to every day as a kid? No wonder you're so...you."
"What'?" Jess asked, smiling as she joined Megan on the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard.
"I don't know. Confident. Magnetic. The kind of person who expects beautiful things and a wonderful life.” Megan gestured toward the window. "Growing up with this as your daily view sets a certain standard."
Jess followed her gaze to where the late evening sun now stretched across the harbor. A fleet of small fishing boats was returning, their white hulls gleaming against the deepening blue water. She'd taken this view for granted as a child of course, only appreciating its rare beauty after moving to Manhattan, where her first apartment’s tiny window faced an airshaft and the closest thing to nature was her neighbor's struggling fire escape tomato plant.
"I suppose it does," she agreed. "Though being confident has nothing to do with the view, and everything to do with my mother's daily affirmations. You'll experience those at breakfast tomorrow. Be prepared to declare your intentions for the day and receive a motivational quote."
Megan laughed. “Marianne’s exactly as you described too - terrifying and wonderful in equal measure."
"She means well. She just has very... precise ideas about everything." Jess reached for a small glass paperweight on the nightstand - a blown glass sphere with swirls of blue and green captured inside, like a tiny ocean. She turned it in her hands, a habit from childhood.
"Speaking of precise," Megan winked, sitting up. "Nadine is something else. I've never seen anyone make an ice-cream order with such specific requirements. Not even New Yorkers are that detailed."
“Yup, been that way since we were kids." Jess smiled fondly. "She once created a twenty-minute presentation on the optimal way to pack a beach cooler. Color-coded diagrams and everything."
"No wonder you two are still friends. You need someone to balance out your 'jump first, look later' approach."
"Says the woman who packed three bathing suits for spring on Nantucket," Jess teased, nodding toward the swimwear Megan had stacked on the dresser.
"That's called being prepared for spontaneity," her friend protested, laughing.
Outside, the first hints of evening softened the harbor view, pulling long shadows across the water. A gull cried somewhere nearby, its voice carrying clear and sharp through the partially open window.
"So," Megan finally said, "Julian not in til Wednesday, Nadine said?"
Jess nodded. "Tokyo waits for no man. Not even grooms." She kept her tone light.
”Cutting it close though," Megan observed, echoing Nadine's words from earlier.
"He knows what matters," Jess said, setting the paperweight back on the nightstand with a soft click against the wood. "And he's good at compartmentalizing. Work Julian and personalJulian might as well be different people, you know that as well as I do.”
The comment pulled Jess back three years to Megan's Manhattan loft, where she and Julian first met.
Megan's apartment had been transformed that night for a dinner party, fairy lights strung across exposed brick walls, furniture pushed back to create space for mingling.
Jess remembered the oversized windows framing the city skyline, how the room seemed to float above New York, separate from its chaos yet still part of its energy.
"Just a few colleagues," her friend had said when inviting her. "Nothing fancy." But the space had hummed with ambitious young professionals - bankers, lawyers, therapists like Megan - their voices creating a pleasant buzz of conversation punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.
Megan's laugh had been the brightest, most recognizable sound in the room. Arriving late, Jess had followed it like a beacon through the crowd, finding her friend near the kitchen island, hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, handsome man in a charcoal suit. He'd been leaning down slightly to hear her over the music, their faces close, comfortable.
"Jess!" Megan had called, waving her over. "There you are. Come meet Julian."
He had straightened when she approached, his posture shifting subtly from intimate to professional. Jess had noticed that first - how quickly he composed himself, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from his sleeve, adjusting his stance. His dark hair had been perfectly styled, not a strand out of place despite the warm apartment. His cufflinks - silver with small sapphire insets - had caught the light as he extended his hand.
"Julian Foster," he'd said, his smile revealing perfect teeth. "Megan's told me a lot about you."
"Has she now?" Jess had taken his offered hand, noting its warmth, the precise firmness of his grip. "Should I be worried?"
"Only good things," Megan had assured her, but something had flickered across her expression - so brief Jess might have imagined it.
Julian turned to the counter behind him, reaching for an unopened bottle of wine. "Chardonnay?" he offered, a hint of nervousness softening his polished exterior as he fumbled slightly with the corkscrew. "Unless you prefer red? I think there's a Merlot somewhere..."
"Chardonnay is perfect," Jess said, charmed by this glimpse of uncertainty beneath his composed surface.
Megan stepped away then, making a show of checking on other guests. "I should circulate. You two chat. Julian's just back from Paris - he was telling me about a great little restaurant near Montmartre."
