“Did you get fired?”

“No, but I wasn’t allowed to drive the tractor again for a long time.”

Emilia tapped her fingers on the table. “That’s pretty bad. I accept your proposal. Friends?” She raised her glass.

“Friends,” said Morgan, clinking her drink to Emilia’s.

“I have one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you eat cheese from a can?”

“I do have some standards.”

“But do you?” Emilia mimed squirting cheese from a nozzle.

“Totally.” She leaned in. “I’ve even tried the cheese they sell at pet stores for dogs. It’s not half bad.”

“I’ve actually tried that too,” said Emilia.

“I knew I liked you.”

“If questionable judgement in cheese is your criteria, then we’ll get along fine. What about beer?”

“I know more about craft beer than I want to.” Morgan nodded at the bar and at Stormy, who was foaming milk for a lobsterman Morgan hadn’t figured as a latte kind of guy. Just went to show that stereotypes didn’t always hold up under scrutiny.

“Believe me, I can sympathize,” said Emilia. “Boston is the home of the Craft Beer Bro. I’ve had the incredibly complicated and holy process of drinking fermented plant matter explained to me more times than I care to count.”

Morgan relaxed as they stayed on safe ground. Dogs. Drinks. Food. Music. Nothing too personal, besides the story she’d told her about the tractor. As they talked, she studied her companion. Emilia had a way of glancing down before she smiled that revealed the absurd length of her eyelashes. She wore no makeup, though Morgan had no way of knowing if this was normal for her or not, and her full lips were slightly chapped from a day on the water. Faint dark circles suggested she didn’t sleep well. Morgan’s mind categorized these details with the same level of attention it gave the rest of Emilia: too much. She wanted to run her thumb along Emilia’s lower lip to soothe the dry skin. Chapstick would be more effective, she told herself, and jerked her eyes away. They fell on the clock on the wall.

“Oh, shit. I’ve got to get home and feed this guy.” She patted a perturbed Kraken, who eyed her with reproach. He was too well behaved to whine, but she knew he was hungry.

“I’ll settle the tab,” said Emilia. She rose before Morgan could protest, forcing her to leap to her feet and chase after her. They arrived at the till—and an amused Stormy—at the same time.

“You don’t need to pay for my drink,” Morgan said.

“Why not?” The challenge in Emilia’s voice as she leaned back against the counter did unfair things to Morgan’s heart rate. That blend of hauteur and femme confidence had always been her weakness.

“You could always split the bill,” Stormy suggested with a grin that Morgan longed to wipe off her face.

“No, I’ll pay.” Emilia tapped her phone to the card reader before Morgan could pull out her card.

“Technology. Amazing, isn’t it? Boifriend, say ‘thank you, Emilia,’” Stormy instructed.