Both Morgan and Emilia jumped. Morgan slopped her iced coffee down her front as she looked up into her mother’s face. Shannon Donovan handed her a napkin and surveyed a startled Emilia over one of Stormy’s outdoor café tables.

“Yes. I’m Emilia Russo. And you must be Morgan’s mother?”

“Shannon,” she said with a smile.

“I can see the family resemblance.”

“I’ve been telling Morgan to bring you by the house. My husband, Aaron, knew your father. You’re always welcome. In fact,” she shot Morgan an inscrutable look that promised trouble, “why don’t you come over tonight if you aren’t busy?”

Morgan opened her mouth to stop this disaster, but only a squeak came out.

“I’d love to,” said Emilia.

“Wonderful. Stop by whenever you get out of work.”

“It’s my day off,” said Morgan, who had been looking forward to spending the day lying in bed with Emilia, not facing the Shannon Inquisition.

“Then we’ll see you at five.”

And with that, Shannon strode away.

Morgan stared after her mother, feeling like she’d been clubbed over the head.

“You okay?” Emilia asked.

She made what she’d intended to be a noise of assent, but what instead sounded like a strangled cat.

“Your mother seems nice.”

“Hah.” Morgan buried her face in her hands. “My mother is a force of nature. Nature is inherently cruel.”

“Then we have that in common.”

She peered out at Emilia through her fingers.

“My mother is one, too,” Emilia finished.

“I don’t want her steamrolling you. Don’t feel like you have to come to dinner.”

“Actually, I’d really like to.” Emilia avoided her eyes and drew a line through the condensation on the table.

Morgan pictured the four of them sitting around her parents’ kitchen table. Her mother would pick up on Morgan’s feelings for Emilia faster than a bloodhound in a charnel house, especially given the tip-off Stevie had supplied her earlier that summer. Armed with that knowledge, she was bound to corner Morgan and interrogate her later. Not for the first time, she wished she had a sibling to distract her mother from her only daughter. As for her father, he’d be his usual affable self, but he reported to his wife. They’d be sure to compare notes. Morgan wasn’t prepared to face that jury.

She took a steadying breath and said, “Okay then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You met my sister. I suppose it is only fair.” Emilia still hadn’t met her eye. “Do your parents . . .”

“I haven’t told them that we’re . . . whatever we’re doing.”

“If you don’t want me to meet them, that’s okay.”

“No! That’s not it.” She floundered and cast around for words, feeling five years old again and caught making mischief in Miss Peters’s classroom. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”