Emilia cracked a small smile.

“I don’t normally go out of my way like this, but you seem like a good person in a tough place, and since we keep running into each other, I think we should be friends. Friends help friends. Unless, of course, you’d rather keep glaring at me from your sailboat?”

Emilia’s cheeks flushed. “You saw that?”

“I worried you’d burn a hole in my hull.”

“What makes you think I didn’t?”

Morgan raised her hands in defeat.

“Okay,” said Emilia.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, yes, maybe friendship isn’t such a bad idea. I just have one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You can’t tell anyone I fell off my boat.”

Morgan winced.

“You already did, didn’t you?”

“Technically I didn’t say it was you.”

Emilia leaned back in her chair. She had nice shoulders. Feminine, but strong. Morgan stopped the thought from progressing past casual observation into more dangerous territory, like what it might be like to grip those shoulders while—shit.

“Then tell me something embarrassing about yourself,” said Emilia.

“I’ve only had half a beer.”

“I’ll buy you another,” said Emilia.

“So that you can blackmail me?”

“Friends keep secrets.”

“Fine. Let me think.” My ex broke off our engagement. I’m probably going to die alone, crushed to death by a cow. The last time I had sex was six months ago. I can’t even touch myself without thinking of Kate. “I eat cheese in the middle of the night.”

“How is that embarrassing?”

“You don’t understand. I eat a lot of cheese. No cheese is safe. Cheddar, brie, mozzarella, cheese labeled ‘Stevie’s, don’t eat.’ Cheese dip. Cheese sticks. If it’s cheese, I’ll eat it.”

“How much cheese are we talking about?”

“So much. I could eat it by the block.”

“I still don’t think that’s on the same level as falling off a boat.”

“What if I told you I was lactose intolerant?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Not good enough. Sorry.” Emilia crossed her arms across her chest, a motion Morgan refused to let her eyes dwell on. The old blue wool sweater might have been too big for Emilia, but it didn’t conceal nearly enough.

“Okay. How about this. First time I drove a tractor.”

Emilia smirked.

“Is something funny?”

“That’s just . . . very gay.”

“This is Maine. You’d be surprised how many people can drive tractors. Anyway, I didn’t realize you had to engage the clutch to use the brake. I was working for a friend of my dad on her farm, and all I wanted to do was put a new round bale on the hay spike and feed it out to the herd. But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t even make it out of the parking lot. My boss had just bought some new fence posts, and I drove right into the pile. Most got busted, and the tractor only stopped because I drove into a hill. The worst part was that I had a huge crush on my boss’s daughter, who was obviously watching the whole thing.”