Morgan waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, the feeling of dread grew. She’s leaving. The sunlight seemed to dim over the water, and Morgan resumed scrubbing.

“Did you catch anything?”

“What?” Morgan asked.

“You have a fishing pole in your skiff.”

“Oh. No, I didn’t, or else I really would insist on cooking.”

“We could pick up some fresh mussels on our way back to my place,” said Emilia.

Kate hadn’t liked shellfish. She tried to block out the comparison, but her mind seemed determined to ruin this evening one way or another. Kate also hadn’t liked fish, though she never objected when Morgan cooked it for herself.

“Will you sell the boat?” she asked to shut her mind up.

“What? No. I mean . . .” Emilia trailed off. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“You could always lease it.”

Her brow wrinkled, and Morgan longed to smooth it away. “God, all this is so complicated.”

It doesn’t have to be, Morgan wanted to tell her. Instead, she said, “or you could sail away into the sunset. Live off your boat.”

“Nell wouldn’t like that.”

“She could play with the seals.”

“True.” Emilia’s smile brought light back into the evening. “And I also wanted to be a pirate when I was little.”

“Oh yeah?”

“If you make a joke about my booty, Morgan Donovan, I’ll throw you overboard.”

“Harsh.”

“I run a tight ship.”

The brush fell from Morgan’s fingers. She stepped toward Emilia, who backed away with a coy smile until her back hit the mast. Morgan took the scrub brush from her and sent it to join its mate on the deck.

Emilia placed her hands on Morgan’s shoulders. She moved to kiss her, but Emilia used the momentum of a passing wake to turn the tables on Morgan. She ended up with a cleat jabbing into her back and her head flush against the mast, half sitting, half leaning on the bow with the boom to her left and Emilia Russo between her legs.

Slowly, deliberately, Emilia took Morgan’s hands and pinned them over her head.

“Should I call you captain?” she managed to say.

“I’d like that.”

“Then I’m all yours, Captain.”

Morgan broke against her as Emilia put her full weight into her kiss. All of her hunger and confusion distilled into desire beneath that weight, and she tried to communicate what she couldn’t say in words: please stay with me, I love you, please stay.

•   •   •

Emilia fidgeted with the hem of the crop top she’d thrown on after a quick shower. The shirt had a tendency to slip off one shoulder, and she rather hoped Morgan would take advantage of the opportunity. Morgan, who was coming here, for dinner, in her father’s house.