Lillian let out a harsh laugh. “God that sounded like it was actually painful for you to say.” Her eyes opened, and she seemed more like her usual self as she teased Morgan.

“How much of a dick was I to Stevie?”

“Super dick. The kind of dick that’s too big to do anything with.”

“Gross, Lil.”

“Stevie will forgive you. She always does. Just, try not to explode at the people who care about you, okay?”

Morgan swung an arm around Lillian and pulled her close, both chastised and grateful.

“I love you,” she said to the top of Lillian’s head. “You know that, right?”

Lillian wrapped her arms around Morgan and squeezed. “I know. I love you too.”

“Thank you.”

“Talk to her, Morgan. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

She was glad Lillian couldn’t see her face.

Lillian was wrong. She was not strong enough for any of this.

She did, however, try to follow Lillian’s advice over the next few days. Stevie accepted her apology and shrugged off the exchange. Morgan knew the length of their friendship played a part in her quick forgiveness. Stevie understood her, and she didn’t hold grudges—which, Morgan reflected in a less than charitable moment, was good, considering how much Stevie enjoyed pushing other people’s buttons.

The next time she saw Emilia was at the dock. She’d just returned from a short and fruitless fishing trip, hoping the water would clear her head, only to discover Emilia scrubbing the deck of her sailboat in a bikini and denim cut-offs.

Fuck me, she thought as she overshot the mooring and doubled back. Maybe her mother and her own heart were wrong, and this was just lust, because the way Emilia filled out that suit top should have been illegal.

Rowing in any direction besides Emilia’s wasn’t optional.

“Need a hand?”

“I could use some company.”

Thoughts of distancing herself from Emilia floundered in her wake. She let them drown. Emilia’s skin shimmered in the bright sunlight like a beacon.

“Swabbing the deck?” she asked as she hauled herself onboard and tied off her skiff.

“Figured it was time. It’s growing things.”

“Things?”

“Things.” Emilia held up a strand of seaweed she had pulled from the waterline. “I don’t like things.”

“You need a scrub brush with a longer handle,” she observed as Emilia bent over again to scrub at the scum on the side of the hull. Then again, the view the short handle afforded Morgan was totally worth a little extra effort on Emilia’s part. “Don’t fall in.”

“Spot me if you’re worried.”

Morgan was more than happy to oblige. She placed a hand on Emilia’s waist and wished the harbor contained far fewer people so she could put this angle to better use.