Emilia’s budding smile faltered. Being called out? Sure. Being asked out? That she wasn’t ready for, even as friends. Not with Morgan.

“I’m not coming on to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Morgan’s voice kept its easy timbre, but Emilia’s face flamed.

“Oh god. No. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—I mean—I’m gay, so I’m not offended, but . . . Jesus.” She sat on the skiff and buried her face in her hands. Next to her she heard Morgan take a seat on the dock. This was even more embarrassing than falling in the water.

“Shit. That was a dick thing to say. Look, I know I don’t know you, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but your dad was a good friend to me. I miss him.”

Emilia pressed the heels of her palm into her eyes to prevent them from doing anything stupid, like crying, and spoke to her knees. “He was a complicated person.”

“He also took terrible care of this boat.” Morgan rapped the hull. Emilia emerged from the shelter of her hands. Morgan’s expression held compassion, but no pity. “Have you ever done this kind of repair?”

“I’ve watched some videos.”

“Then you probably know more than I do,” said Morgan.

Fuck it. “Actually, I have no idea what I’m doing. About this. Or, honestly, about anything.”

“Hey.” Morgan spoke to her the way Emilia remembered her speaking to Nell. The gentle voice felt like a soothing hand on her back. “Tell you what. I’ll watch some tutorials to get on your level, and if you want, I can help you get this lady seaworthy. You’re obviously totally capable of doing it yourself, but like I said, I miss your dad. You can think of it as a favor to him.”

“Okay.” The word hurt coming out.

“Good.” Morgan stood and offered Emilia a hand. “And now, you look like you really could use a drink. I’m not on call, and Stormy’s is on both of our way home. Plus she allows dogs, so if you want to grab a drink . . .” she trailed off.

Emilia accepted Morgan’s hand. Her palm was warm and rough. “Sure.”

“All right. Did you drive or walk?”

“Walk,” said Emilia, and this time it wasn’t a lie.

“Mind if we keep walking? Parking the truck is a bitch in town, even during the off-season,” said Morgan.

“I don’t mind. What should I do about this?” She nudged her boat.

“We’ll carry it up to the boathouse. It’s pretty obvious it needs repair, and no one will steal it. This way it will also be dry when we work on it.”

We. Well, at least she hadn’t lied to her mother. She’d made a friend.

Her eyes slid to the flexed muscles in Morgan’s arms and shoulders as they carried the skiff. Friends.

• • •

Morgan walked beside Emilia down the weathered sidewalk, their dogs pausing to sniff at things she could only guess at. Emilia kept pace easily with her, unlike poor Stevie, and Morgan idly wondered if she was a runner. She had a runner’s long muscles, although her jeans hugged hips that made Morgan swallow. Her dark hair hung in a messy braid that managed to look artful, and she had Ray’s olive skin. The wool sweater she wore also looked as if it had belonged to her father. She’d rolled the over-long sleeves up to her wrists in a way that stirred a dangerously protective instinct in Morgan.