Logan's hands had been nothing like Julian's. Where her fiancé's were smooth and manicured, Logan's had been calloused from rope and salt, his fingernails perpetually rimmed with traces of boat varnish or wood stain. He'd smelled of the sea and sunscreen, his t-shirts soft from countless washings, the knees of his jeans worn through from kneeling on boat decks.
Julian occupied corporate boardrooms with climate-controlled precision; Logan moved through a world defined by tide charts and weather patterns. Julian's smile was reserved, appearing at appropriate moments; Logan's had flashed bright and often, crinkling the corners of eyes already lined from squinting into the sun. Julian planned weeks ahead; Logan lived by the saying: "Time and tide wait for no one, but they're always ready.”
The physical contrasts between the two men were just as stark. Julian's wardrobe consisted of custom suits in subtle patterns, shirts with exact sleeve lengths, ties selected tocomplement rather than stand out. His dark hair was cut every four weeks precisely, his jawline always cleanly shaved. He moved with careful economy, each gesture purposeful and contained.
Logan had worn his sun-streaked hair slightly too long, often pushed back from his forehead by impatient fingers or the island wind. His clothes had been selected for function rather than fashion - worn jeans, flannel shirts with rolled sleeves in cooler weather, t-shirts faded to soft perfection. He'd moved with the easy grace of someone comfortable in their body, taking up space without apology, gesturing broadly when excited.
Now, in The Dune Deck, Jess wrapped her arms around herself, surprised by the clarity of these memories, the way they still carried emotional weight after all these years.
Her first ever romance had burned bright and beautiful for two summers before life pulled them in different directions - Logan to college in Boston, her a year later to NYU. They'd tried to maintain the connection initially, but distance and diverging paths had eventually cooled what the island had ignited.
"I thought he was still in Boston," she said to Nadine now, proud of how steady she kept her voice. “At that architectural firm.”
"He was," her friend confirmed, still typing. "Came back more often when his dad was poorly, to help Finn out with the construction business. Then when The Harbor House was being renovated, he returned full time to oversee operations. His background was perfect for managing the historical preservation aspects in particular."
Jess nodded mechanically, as if this information were nothing more than mildly interesting trivia rather than an earthquake reshaping her internal landscape. A heavy weight pressed against her sternum - not pain exactly, but pressure, like someone had placed a stone where her heart should be.
"Wait," Megan’s brow furrowed as she processed this new information. “Your ex-boyfriend is overseeing your wedding? That's..." she trailed off, clearly struggling to find an appropriate word.
"Complicated?" Sloane suggested wryly, her eyes never leaving Jess's face. "Ironic even?"
"It's fine," Jess insisted, taking a deliberately casual bite of her taco. "It was literally half a lifetime ago." The food tasted like nothing in her mouth, but she forced herself to chew and swallow.
Nadine glanced up, finally registering the undercurrents at the table. She hesitated. ”I really thought I had mentioned that."
“It doesn’t matter,” Jess replied too quickly. "Like I said, ancient history." She reached for her mojito, needing something to do with her hands, which had developed a slight tremor she hoped no one would notice. Then raised her voice to a normal level. "Sounds like a perfect wedding week, thank you.”
As the other continue to chat, Jess felt her composure slowly returning. The initial shock was fading, replaced by a dull awareness that hummed beneath her skin like static electricity.
Logan was back here, on the island. Logan was running her wedding venue.
What would he think, seeing her marry Julian at The Harbor House? Would he remember the promises they'd made beneath the stars, or had those memories faded for him as they should have for her? Did it even matter what he thought?
Jess lifted the glass to her lips again, letting the cool sweetness wash over her tongue. The taste brought another memory - Logan mixing her first real drink on his father's boat, laughing at her surprised expression when the rum hit her system, teaching her to sip slowly as the moon rose over the water. His hands, steady on the wheel, guiding them back toharbor as she leaned against his shoulder, the night air cool on her sun-warmed skin.
She set down the glass with deliberate care.. She was marrying Julian on Saturday, and no childhood romance - however golden in memory - would change that fact. Logan Calder belonged to her past, Julian Foster to her future.
That was then. This was now
19
The following day,Caroline smoothed inventory sheets on the counter at Sea Glass Bridal, the crisp paper a comforting reminder of order amid the shop's romantic chaos. She'd been alone since opening this morning, still waiting on word about Ellen's release from the hospital.
Midday light spilled through the front windows, catching on sequins and beadwork, transforming ordinary fabrics into something luminous. The quiet of the empty shop settled around her, interrupted only by the gentle tick of the ship's clock on the wall and the distant call of gulls through the partially open door.
Her dinner at The Dune Deck the previous evening lingered in her thoughts - Lila’s knowing smile, and the unexpected warmth of island hospitality. She'd slept better than expected in the guest room, lulled by the unfamiliar sounds of Nantucket at night - a distant foghorn and occasional gentle creak of the old building settling into itself.
The shop bell's cheerful jingle startled her from her thoughts. Caroline looked up, words of greeting to a customer forming on her lips - only to freeze at the sight of Finn holding the dooropen with his shoulder, his other arm supporting her aunt as she made her way carefully into the shop.
"Look what I found," he announced with forced lightness. "One slightly-used shop owner, ready for reinstallation."
Caroline's pulse quickened traitorously at the sight of him. He wore the same flannel shirt as yesterday, now rumpled from what must have been time waiting in an uncomfortable hospital chair. His hair was tousled and dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his smile for Ellen held genuine warmth.
She straightened her shoulders and smoothed her clothing, annoyed by her idiotic subconscious attention to her appearance in his presence given the circumstances.
"Ellen! They released you!” Caroline moved around the counter, cataloging the changes in her since only yesterday. Her aunt’s face was pale, the skin drawn tight over cheekbones that seemed more prominent than they had been mere days before. Her cardigan - a soft blue that should have complemented her eyes - hung from shoulders that appeared to have lost substance overnight. “Why didn’t you tell me and I would’ve arranged a taxi?”
"Finn sweet-talked the chemo nurse this morning,” Ellen replied, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands as they gripped the small overnight bag she carried. "Convinced her I'd recover faster surrounded by tulle and satin, than by antiseptic and those dreadful ceiling tiles. He wasn’t wrong.“
