“I don’t remember you on a boat growing up,” said Emilia.

“My folks didn’t have a boat. They live on a farm a few miles outside of South Bristol.”

“Is it a working farm?”

“Not really. They have twenty acres, and my mother keeps a flock of Dorset sheep. Sometimes we use it as overflow for the clinic.”

“The clinic?”

“Seal Cove Veterinary Clinic.”

“You’re a vet.” Emilia didn’t phrase it as a question. Morgan tried to interpret the expression in her dark eyes. Most people reacted with enthusiasm to her career, followed by a variation of the following statements. A) I wanted to be a vet when I was younger! B) Cool! So my dog does this weird thing . . . C) You must love playing with puppies and kittens all day.

Emilia did none of the above. She simply sat there, looking at Morgan with a strange, almost wistful smile.

“What do you do?” Morgan asked to break the awkward silence.

“Right now I’m just trying to figure out what to do with my dad’s house.”

Morgan didn’t miss the evasion, but she didn’t push it. Had Ray mentioned what his daughter did? He must have. It swam at the edge of her memory, but try as she might, she couldn’t reel it in. “I’ve never been inside the house, but I’ve seen the outside. Looks like a nice place. Rustic. I know he built it himself. Will you sell it?”

“I think so. Or I could rent it out, I guess.”

Morgan tried to imagine what she would do if she inherited the Donovan farm sooner than anticipated. The answer came easily. Keep it, move in, and continue paying off her student loans. Her situation and Emilia’s, however, were drastically different. Morgan had a life here. Emilia just had memories, and Morgan didn’t think she’d be able to rent out her parents’ house if their places were reversed.

“I’m on the road most of the time, but we’ve got all kinds of tools lying around if you need to borrow anything. Here.” She pulled her wallet out of her pocket and removed a business card, scribbling her cell on the back. “Seriously. Shoot me a text if you need anything.”

Emilia accepted the card, and the unreadable expression changed to something more familiar. Wariness again, but this time mixed with gratitude.

“I feel like I’m starting to owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, Ray is a friend. Least I can do is help his daughter, right?” She couldn’t bring herself to use the past tense to describe him.

Emilia traced lines through the condensation on her glass. The motion had a hypnotic effect on Morgan. Maybe moving away from the bar had been a bad idea. Their conversation had flowed freely there, while now it stuttered and tripped over unseen obstacles. And you just gave her your number, she reminded herself. Might want to clarify your intentions.

“Look.” She took a draught of her stout before continuing, mostly for something to do with her hands. “Cards on the table, pun definitely intended.”