“Sure, I get it. Someone stuffed up and it’s a pain that Nick’s got to sort it, but don’t feel too sorry for him. This morning, Leo and I were walking along the pier just as he was sailing out. You should have seen the huge wave he gave us. We both know grumpy men don’t do that. Judging by the Snapchat he sent you half an hour ago, he looks far from stressed.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” Jess stroked Monty’s ears and he rested his head on her lap. “Why do you sound so surprised? Are you worried about him? I thought you said things were better?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like even though Nick’s standing next to me, he’s very far away.”

“You know that’s just the normal January crazy. If I had to call it today, I’d say your husband’s content.”

The worried look vanished from Libby’s eyes. “He really did look happy, didn’t he? Thanks for talking me down.”

“Any time. It’s what friends do.”

“And I really appreciate it. You do so much for me and I don’t just mean cooking Thursday night dinner or being our emergency backstop with the girls.”

“Oh, stop,” Jess joked and then sobered. “You know I feel the same way, right? Without your help, I couldn’t have come back to the bay.”

Monty made a gurgling sound that was pure doggie delight. “I swear he loves you more than Nick or me.”

“If you and Nick sat down more he’d snuggle up to you too.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Libby stretched out on her couch and yawned. “Let’s leave the dishes.”

“That’s the spirit.” Jess refilled her glass, enjoying the Yarra Valley sauv blanc. She always drank the wine on offer in the Hunter-Pirelli household, because at home she’d reverted to the beverage of her youth—rum and Coke. She preferred it to the less than stellar wine her budget could afford. During her years of working in Melbourne’s then Sydney’s finance sectors, the corporate functions had supplemented her lifestyle in a way her current salary never could. It had been far too easy to get used to the finer things in life—the top-shelf alcohol, the seventy-dollar rib eye and the junkets both domestic and international. That life had been so far removed from the privations of her childhood that if she didn’t think about her first eighteen years—and she chose not to—it was easy to pretend they hadn’t existed.

Dusty memories rippled across her mind. “Lib, remember the day we met?”