“Awesome. Morgan will text you the address.”

“What can I bring?”

“Nothing,” Morgan said before Stevie could speak. “Ange isn’t a huge birthday person. It’s not really a party. Just bring yourself and Nell, if she doesn’t mind a house full of dogs.”

“And a demon cat,” Stevie added.

“Oh?”

“James. You’ll see what I mean.” Stevie pulled up her sleeve to reveal several long thin white scars.

“I’ll take that as a warning.”

“Do you like steak?” asked Morgan. “I can put something else on the grill for you.”

She had a vivid image of Morgan (wo)manning a grill in a tight black tank top. “Steak sounds great.”

“Speaking of steak,” Stevie began.

“Don’t,” said Morgan.

“It would be a mis-steak not to try one of Morgan’s.”

She couldn’t help laughing at the terrible joke.

“And on that note, we’ve got to hit the road. See you around.” Morgan flashed her a smile and steered a snickering Stevie to the truck. “Kraken, come.”

Emilia watched the truck pull out and bit her lip to keep from smiling as she saw Morgan punch Stevie in the shoulder. It would be nice to have a friend like Stevie. She’d never been good at friendships. The turnover rate at work was too high, and she’d allowed herself to rely on Hannah’s friends for the past few years. Some of them still kept in touch, but things were different now, and she had never experienced anything like the familiarity between Morgan and Stevie.

“You don’t count,” she said to Nell, who had collapsed at her feet to pant.

A party. She hadn’t been to a party in . . . how long? She wracked her brain. Something thrown by one of Hannah’s people probably, with loud music and the occasional line of cocaine. Too many people had always overwhelmed her, and now more so than ever. Could she trust Morgan and Stevie that this was a low-key affair? Could she trust herself around Morgan? Her shoulder still tingled where it had felt Morgan’s gaze.

Definitely not.

Chapter Six

Sanding took longer than anticipated and was also infinitely more physically demanding. The soreness in Emilia’s arms from the work, combined with the effort of moving furniture and cleaning did, however, have an upside: she was too exhausted to think about unanswered emails or her long list of recent failures, leaving her alone with her grief. She felt it fiercely, in bursts that took her breath away and left her sobbing on the floor, and she felt it in the quiet moments between Nell’s sleeping breaths. At night she sat on the porch with her father’s ashes and her dog and listened to the early summer rain falling on the tin roof.

June brought the first June bug. Nell started up from her bed on the porch and watched the fat beetle with interest as it flung itself at the light.

“No bugs,” she told her dog, her mind on internal parasites, but Nell ignored her and stalked toward the insect on stiff legs. The bug vanished in a crunch.