Emilia eyed the pastries. “Maybe a scone.”

“Definitely a scone. Blueberry is the best. Maine berries. Last year’s, of course, but they freeze well.”

Emilia paid and settled into a corner with her coffee and her scone. Both exceeded her expectations. The scone boasted the perfect combination of moist and crumbly, and the coffee tasted like coffee smelled, unlike the disappointing stale breakfast blend she’d found in her father’s cupboard. She rested her fingertips on Nell’s back. Food hadn’t tasted good for weeks. Months, if she was being honest. She closed her eyes to savor the sensation of her taste buds responding appropriately to stimuli and took another bite of the scone, then a sip of coffee. Perfect.

The little bell above the door broke her blissful reverie. Nell perked up, her tail wagging, and Emilia’s tenuous good mood burst.

“Stormy?” Morgan Donovan called as she pushed through the door, followed by a petite blond in matching Carhartts and polo. Emilia tried to shrink behind her mug and wished she had grabbed a copy of the local paper as a shield.

“Stormy, your boyfriend’s here,” said Morgan’s companion.

Boyfriend?

“Hey, babes,” Stormy said. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

Morgan leaned on the counter. Emilia studied her shoulders, acutely aware of the muscles visible beneath Morgan’s shirt.

“Barely,” said Morgan.

“I can fix that. Drinks on me today.”

“You don’t need to do that,” said Morgan.

“I know.” Stormy smiled and blew the woman beside Morgan a kiss. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Sunshine” put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder and peered around her to examine the pastries. The casual touch made Emilia shrink further behind her cup.

“How’s business?” Morgan asked.

“Starting to pick up. Morning rush is over, as you can see.” Stormy gestured at the café.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look, Emilia prayed. Morgan turned. Emilia stared into the depths of her mug, hoping Morgan would get the hint. Being reminded of her most recent humiliation held zero appeal.

Nell betrayed her. She felt Morgan’s gaze hone in on the dog, and she ordered Nell to stay out of the corner of her mouth. Nell shot her an all-too-human look, then wagged her tail at Morgan. Aware that feigning further indifference would border on rude, Emilia looked up.

Slate blue eyes met hers from across the room.

“Hey there,” Morgan said, an easy smile on her lips. Emilia’s stomach dropped just as surely as it had at age thirteen.

“Hi.”

“How’s the boat?”

“I picked up some fiberglass repair.”

“Sunshine” glanced back and forth between Morgan and Emilia, her forehead furrowed. Stormy rested her elbows on the bar, revealing her generous cleavage, and gave Emilia a considering look that turned the scone to a lump of cement in her stomach.

“Emilia Russo,” Morgan said to her friends.

Damn you, Emilia thought as Stormy straightened in recognition.

“You’re Ray’s daughter?” asked the woman Emilia guessed to be the café’s proprietor.

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. He was a nice guy. Always tipped. He played for us a few times in the off-season.” Stormy nodded toward the stage.