The thought of her father playing guitar in this hipster hideout brought a surge of unexpected emotions. Jealousy, first, that he’d played for other people. Grief, of course. Pride, too, and gratitude that here, at least, he’d be remembered for something other than a failed marriage and a drinking problem.

“Ray?” asked Sunshine.

“Russo Construction,” said Stormy. “Real nice baritone. You remember him.”

Emilia found the small lump in Nell’s shoulder that had been there for as long as she’d had her and traced it with the pads of her fingers. Morgan stared at her, and she felt, rather than saw, the compassionate sympathy in her gaze.

“He has that beautiful house up on Pleasant Street. Are you putting it on the market?”

“Ease up, Stormy.” Morgan accepted the to-go cup Stormy handed her.

“Yeah. Ignore her. I’m Stevie, by the way.” Stevie approached Emilia with a slight swagger that set off her gaydar.

“Emilia.” She took the offered hand, noting the calluses. Stevie’s blue-green eyes—much lighter than Morgan’s—shifted to Nell. “And this is Nell.”

“Why hello there, gorgeous,” Stevie said in a surprisingly throaty voice. Nell responded without her usual reserve and stepped forward to present herself for adoration. “How long are you in town for?”

“I’m not sure. A month, at least, Maybe two.”

“Nice. Well, we’ll probably see you around. Small town. And I will be seeing you,” she purred at Nell.

Emilia smiled despite herself.

“You got my coffee?” Stevie asked Morgan.

Morgan slid another to-go cup down the bar and met Emilia’s eyes again. A shiver ran down her back. Morgan’s boyish appeal had matured into soft-butch perfection, and she remained unfairly attractive. Embarrassment gnawed at the scone in her stomach, producing unpleasant byproducts.

“See you later,” Stevie said as she headed for the door. Morgan followed after with a wave to the room, but she paused at the door with a crooked grin.

“Stay dry,” she said to Emilia.

Emilia clenched her jaw at the reminder about her unexpected swim. The doorbell jingled in Morgan’s wake.

• • •

“That’s who you pulled out of the ocean?” Stevie said as soon as the door shut behind Morgan.

“So?”

“So, she’s fucking gorgeous. Did you at least get her number?”

“Jesus, Stevie. That’s inappropriate.”

“How? You rescued her, didn’t you?”

“Pretty sure she didn’t want to be rescued.”

“See if she’s on Tinder.”

“No.”

“Give me your phone.”

“Absolutely not,” said Morgan.

“Fine. I’ll use my account.” Stevie pulled her phone out of her pocket and perused it for a few minutes in concentrated silence. “And nothing. She’s not on Hinge, either.”

“Maybe she’s seeing someone.”

“Or she doesn’t use dating apps because people who look like her don’t need technology. Either way, she’s definitely queer,” said Stevie.

“You just want her to be gay because she’s hot.” Morgan turned off the main road and onto a side street, swerving to avoid yet another pothole.

“Ah hah. You do think she’s hot.”

“I’m not blind.”