“Yeah. It’s a reminder I’m playing with fire.” She held Morgan’s eyes and was rewarded by her dilating pupils. She could get used to this. The small dining nook in the kitchen held the table she’d polished to a sheen a few days before, and the house felt less haunted with Morgan in it. Still holding Morgan’s gaze, she allowed herself to imagine sharing this house with her, waking next to her—she'd figure out the bedroom situation—and spending evenings just like this. She couldn’t, however, tell Morgan about her tentative plans. Not yet. Not until she was absolutely certain.

“Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about earlier? There’s nothing to burn now.”

Morgan leaned back in her chair. “I could light something.”

“No fire pit, here.” Although I could build one.

“That’s a pity.”

“Truly.” She put down her glass and stood. Morgan made to follow suit, but Emilia pushed her back down in her chair and straddled her.

“Fuck, girl,” she whispered as Emilia ran her hands over her chest, not quite touching her breasts.

“Please tell me?”

“I was thinking about you.”

“How?”

Morgan’s hands slid beneath her shorts and pulled her closer. “Do you really have to ask?”

She tangled her hands in Morgan’s hair as she struggled to come up with a meaning for Morgan’s words. She knew what she wanted them to be; she also knew she couldn’t afford to misread this.

“Yes.”

“I was thinking . . .” Morgan paused and Emilia held her breath. “Boston doesn’t deserve you.”

The air between them stilled. Emilia discarded half a hundred responses in the space of a heartbeat. Morgan hadn’t asked her to stay. She knew Morgan well enough to know she would find that disrespectful, but it was so close to a request the air in her lungs turned solid. I’ll stay if you ask, she thought. Morgan’s dark curls were locked around her fingers, and with that thought came the realization that by not asking, by keeping the question sealed behind those slate blue eyes, Morgan had broken down the last of the flimsy barriers Emilia had managed to keep in place.

How long had she been in love with Morgan? She searched her face, counting the freckles across her cheeks and loving the dark curve of her eyebrows, such a contrast to the pale skin beneath.

I love you, she thought, testing the words she’d forbidden herself to think.