Ellen stirred, her eyes opening with the clarity of someone who hadn't truly been asleep. "Are you two still here?" she askedmischievously. "I thought you'd have far better things to do than watch an old woman nap."
As Finn prepared to leave and Caroline helped Ellen to a more comfortable position, the fading light caught the 1950s dress that still hung slightly apart from the others where Caroline had returned it, patient and enduring in its quiet beauty.
Much like Sea Glass Bridal itself.
29
That night,The Chicken Box welcomed Jess, Nadine, Megan and Sloane with a wall of sound - guitar riffs and drumbeats pulsing through wooden walls that had absorbed decades of music, laughter, and spilled beer.
Jess inhaled deeply as they stepped through the entrance, the familiar scent of fried seafood and draft beer hitting her with a nostalgia so powerful she almost stumbled.
This wasn't the elegant wine bars of Manhattan or the sleek lounges she frequented with Julian. This was pure, unfiltered Nantucket, as authentic as the weathered cedar shingles on its exterior and as unchanged as the island currents themselves.
"Oh," Megan breathed beside her, wide-eyed as she took in the scene. "This is... not what I expected for a bachelorette party."
"Thank goodness for that,“ Sloane muttered, adjusting her leather jacket. "If I had to sit through yet another penis-straw cocktail hour, I might have thrown myself into the harbor."
Looking horrified at the very thought, Nadine pushed ahead, already scanning for an open table.
The midweek night crowd packed the space, bodies swaying to the band's rendition of a Springsteen classic. Vintage license plates and faded photographs covered the walls, interspersed with neon beer signs that cast electric blues and reds across the weathered wooden beams. The bar itself - a massive structure of reclaimed ship timber - dominated one wall, with bartenders moving in choreographed efficiency beneath strings of colored lights.
"Whitmore.” A middle-aged man behind the bar spotted them and raised a bottle in salute. "Island's prodigal daughter finally returns.”
"Mike!" Jess waved back, feeling herself slip effortlessly into her island persona - less polished, more open than her corporate executive self. "Still pouring the worst rum and Cokes on the Eastern Seaboard?"
"Only for my favorite customers," he called back with a wink.
Jess guided her friends through the press of bodies, her hand finding Megan's elbow when her more timid friend nearly collided with a group of tourists. "I spent half my teenage summers here," she explained over the music. "Sneaking in with fake IDs, dancing until they kicked us out at closing."
"I can't picture you here at all," Megan shouted back, taking in the rustic surroundings with fascination. "It's just so different from your whole New York vibe."
Something in the observation pricked at Jess, but she pushed the feeling aside as they claimed a recently vacated table near the dance floor. The wooden surface was scarred with decades of carved initials, beer rings, and the occasional phone number - a physical record of island nights and summer romances.
"First round's on me," Nadine announced, pulling out a credit card with flourish. "What's everyone drinking? And don't say martinis again, Megan. This isn't a Manhattan gallery opening."
"Rum punch for all," Jess decided, the choice feeling right for this homecoming. "It's what we always used to get."
"Rum punches it is," Nadine confirmed, already heading for the bar with confident steps that belied the two glasses of wine she’d already consumed at their Wauwinet dinner.
Sloane leaned back in her chair, taking in the scene. ”So this is where you spent your misspent youth huh?” she mused, a small smile playing at her lips. “More you I think. Kinda like you used to be in college before New York polished away your edges."
"I had edges?" Jess laughed, but the question lingered.HadNew York polished something away? Or had she done it herself, deliberately smoothing rough corners to fit the life she'd constructed?
The band transitioned into another song, this one with a driving beat that had couples filling the small dance floor. The lead singer - a stubbled guy with rolled sleeves and weathered hands - leaned into the microphone with the easy confidence of someone who'd played in similar venues hundreds of times.
Nadine returned balancing four colorful drinks, each garnished with a wedge of pineapple and a maraschino cherry. “More sustenance on its way," she announced, distributing glasses. "I ordered lobster rolls and popcorn shrimp. Can't have a proper island night without fried seafood."
They clinked glasses, the sweet-tart punch going down easy. Jess felt the rum warming her from the inside, loosening the knot of tension she'd carried since seeing Logan at the hotel that morning.
The Chicken Box had always been a place of freedom - a corner of the island where expectations fell away and only the present moment mattered.
"Jess?" A tall young woman with sun-streaked blonde hair appeared at their table, her green eyes sparkling with recognition. "Lila said you were back for your wedding.”
"Skye!" Jess stood, genuinely delighted, and embraced Lila's niece. "Look at you - you're all grown up! Last time I saw you, you were what, fourteen?"
“Twelve,” Skye corrected with a good-natured eye roll. “I just started Brown in the fall. Home for spring break.“
"Brown? That's incredible!" Jess turned to her friends. "This is Skye Forbes, Lila's niece. She's practically island royalty - smartest kid in her class, star soccer player, and apparently now an Ivy Leaguer."
