The harbor opened up into a large sheltered bay perfect for sailing had she been inclined. Instead, she kept to the coastline, watching for harbor seals and porpoises and enjoying the way the wind tangled her hair. She had no bad or complicated memories of being on the water with her father. He’d been happy here.

She stayed out long enough to start worrying about gas for the engine. May sunshine pierced the clouds toward evening, turning the horizon a tranquil rose gold. Reluctantly, she navigated once more toward mooring eighteen.

“Nice ride.”

Emilia’s hand jerked on the tiller, and she corrected it hastily, knocking a red and purple lobster pot in the process. Morgan lounged on the bow of her boat. Her pants were cuffed above her ankles, and her tousled curls blew in the slight breeze. A fishing pole rested in her hands.

“At least I take mine out.”

“Touché.” Morgan gave her a friendly smile as Emilia passed.

“Asshole,” Emilia said to Nell under her breath. The calm that her sail had earned her floundered and drowned as she killed the engine. She could feel Morgan’s eyes on her as she leaned over the bow of the sailboat to secure it to the mooring.

Sorry, bud. Not playing damsel in distress today.

Putting the boat to bed took only a few minutes. She glanced over at Morgan to make sure she stayed put in her own boat, then heaved Nell into the skiff and set off toward the dock. Unfortunately, rowing meant she had to face Morgan the entire way, and something about the other woman’s posture made her suspect Morgan was enjoying the situation.

Don’t let her get under your skin, she told herself. Clearly, you’re going to run into each other. She knew your dad. She docks her boat here. She hauled your drunk ass out of the water. Her jaw clenched. She hadn’t come here to be humiliated. On the other hand, a more rational part of her brain argued, what if you’d hit your head when you fell in the water? She could have saved your life. But she hadn’t hit her head, and now Morgan probably thought Emilia, like her father, was an alcoholic, which shouldn’t have mattered but did. Morgan’s casual wave as she neared the dock made her grind her teeth. Soon she’d need to start wearing a mouth guard.

I’m allowed to blame her and still understand that it’s my fault and I’m being ridiculous, she decided. Everyone else on the planet managed to hold conflicting beliefs at the same time. Why not her?

Nell leapt out of the skiff in a hurry. Emilia, however, frowned at the boat. More water. She weighed her options: haul it out and examine the damage, risking Morgan’s unwanted advice, or wait for another day. I’m being an idiot. She gathered her tangled hair into a messy braid. Morgan didn’t matter. Her boat did. Shedding her life jacket, she gripped the prow of the skiff and hauled it onto the dock.