The morning greeted Claire in the usual way: with a grey New York sky. She walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She would turn 37 that November. Did she feel 37? 30? 45? It was difficult to answer questions like that before the first cup of coffee. She got ready for another day at Rubenstein & Co. Claire had a good position at the firm - one she had worked hard for - but somehow she still felt that she had to prove, day after day, that she deserved to be there. Hard work alone was never enough. There were office politics to navigate, impressions to manage, and, not least, the right clothes to wear. This was New York, after all.

She started the coffee and when she reached for the refrigerator, her eyes fell on the calendar and the collection of invitations, reminders, and family announcements. Everyone seemed to know what came next. Claire only knew what came next on her calendar. Weddings. Engagement parties. Family gatherings. Her Instagram feed was full of babies belonging to friends and cousins. Her mother had perfected the art of casually asking whether Claire was seeing anyone. Even one of the younger women at the firm was about to go on maternity leave. Claire had the uncomfortable feeling that everyone around her was moving forward while she remained exactly where she was. Her phone lit up. A message from Linda: "Claire, you haven't forgotten, have you?"

"God." She had promised to fly over before the wedding. Now the thought of going to Europe irritated her more than she wanted to admit. She had an important case coming up and if it went well, she might finally get that promotion.

Claire stepped outside. The air was brisk; she pulled her coat tight. She lived in Midtown, close enough to reach the office on foot. But that morning, she barely noticed the streets around her. Her thoughts kept circling back to Linda and this improbable love story of hers. Claire had known Linda all her life. They had gone to the same private school, been through countless parties, bad dates, break-ups - all the usual dramas. For years, they joked they were the last two permanent single women. Then suddenly, Linda got engaged to a Frenchman she had met only 4 months earlier, completely by chance, on the Eurostar from London to Paris.

The same Linda who rarely made it past a second date with the same man and yet claimed to have fallen in love with every one! Now, after just 4 months, they were getting married in some château in the south of France. It was absurd. How could anyone possibly know another person well enough after 4 months to marry them? Surely you needed time to understand who someone really was.

What if he was only pretending to be charming?

What if he was some kind of con artist?

The whole thing made no sense to Claire.

When Claire arrived at the office, she found an envelope on her desk. She opened it and smiled. VIP tickets to see Taylor Swift. Her dream. Her assistant Mary appeared. She was 20, pretty, already married, and pregnant - an entire combination of things that, for reasons Claire did not like admitting to herself, irritated her beyond measure. Why come to New York and take a job at a law firm if you were planning to have a baby? How exactly did Mary imagine managing a career with an infant in her arms? The moment the thought crossed her mind, Claire felt ashamed of herself. Mary had done nothing wrong.

 "There's just one thing," Mary said. "The concert is in Paris."

Claire frowned. Under normal circumstances that might have been a problem. But with Linda already waiting for her in France, perhaps it was not such an impossible idea. She looked down at the tickets: "Looks like we're going to Paris." 

A week later, Claire sat across from Linda, half listening to her chatter and thinking she had been right to change her plans so suddenly and at the very last minute. Everything had been booked. Everything had been arranged. And yet here they were in Foz do Douro, on the western edge of Porto, sitting in a beautiful little restaurant overlooking the Atlantic. Claire was facing the ocean. Somewhere beyond that vast stretch of water was New York - her apartment, her office, the life she had left behind. As Linda talked, Claire found herself thinking that she would gladly trade places with her, if only for a little while. Linda had what Claire did not. A man. A plan. A future.

But there was something strange in Linda's voice. She was talking fast, laughing loudly. Claire stopped listening to the words:

"Are you all right?"

Linda blinked: "What?"

"You don't sound all right."

For a moment, Linda said nothing. Then she looked down at the table: "Sometimes I envy you."

Claire stared at her: "Me?"

"You still have your life. Your apartment, your work, New York. Everything is yours." Linda hesitated. "I'm getting married to a man I've known for 4 months. I might move to another country. What if I said yes too quickly? What if I wake up and realize I've given up my whole life?"

Everything Linda had shown her had seemed perfect: the house, the vineyards, the wedding plans, the charming fiancé.

"You at least know what comes next," Claire said.

Linda gave an uneasy laugh: "That's what scares me."

Linda shifted in her chair and squinted against the sunlight: "Can we trade places? It's boiling over here, and I really don't want to get a tan before the wedding."

Claire looked at her for a second, then stood.

Claire changed seats still thinking about Linda's confession. Now, instead of the ocean, she was facing the restaurant. Her gaze wandered to an elderly couple. They ate their fish  unhurriedly, occasionally exchanging quiet words. There was something peaceful about them. The man smiled and looked at the woman beside him.

"Minha velha," he said.

Claire frowned. It must have meant something like "my old lady". Not what she would have called romantic.

"Don't worry," a man's voice said beside her. "Here, things like that can be a sign of love."

Claire looked up and froze. Everything around her seemed to fall still - the voices, the clinking glasses, Linda shifting in her chair. All Claire could see was the smile on the face of the tanned young waiter standing beside their table. He laughed, amused by her expression, placed the bill and walked away. Linda, meanwhile, was eager to get back to the hotel and call her fiancé. They stepped out of the restaurant and started walking.

Claire moved slowly. Something felt strange. She had spent the past 4 months laughing at Linda's story. How could anyone meet a stranger and suddenly decide that the encounter meant something? How could you possibly know? And now she was standing on a street in Porto, wanting to turn around and go back into a restaurant because of a man she had barely spoken to.

Why?

Maybe she didn't know.

Perhaps that was the point.

Linda was talking, but Claire was no longer listening. She stopped.

"I need to go back."

"What?"

"Don't wait for me."

"Claire-" but Claire was already walking back.

When she reached the restaurant, she was laughing at herself. She slowed near the entrance and looked inside. He was there. The waiter looked up and saw her. For one brief second, neither of them moved. 

Then Claire raised her hand.

He smiled.

And waved back.