A slender woman answered with a laugh still on her lips. Thick black hair fell to her shoulders, and her loose shirt and tight dark jeans softened her muscular build.

“Hi. Um, Morgan invited me,” Emilia said, feeling lost as the warmth from the house spilled over her. The woman offered her an equally warm smile.

“Emilia, right? Lillian.” Lillian stuck out her hand and shook Emilia’s firmly, ushering her inside. Emilia caught a hint of perfume, something floral and rich that reminded her of a summer garden. “Hope you don’t mind dogs. We’ve locked them outside for now, but they’ll track you down the minute they realize there’s a new person in the house who might not be immune to their charms.”

“I do like dogs.” She followed Lillian into the hallway and noted a jumble of shoes, jackets, hanging dog leashes, and what looked like a tangled collection of sheep halters. She raised the tray of cookies. “Where should I put these?”

“Cookies? Here, I’ll take them so you don’t get mobbed. Come on in. Morgan’s out back with the grill.”

Lillian led her down the front hall—decorated with photos, not of the human inhabitants, but of a collection of dogs, cats, horses, and even a tortoise—and into a crowded farmhouse kitchen. Exposed beams spanned the ceiling, and granite countertops were partially visible amid the group of people gathered around the island. A few glanced up as she entered. Stevie extricated herself from the small crowd and sauntered over with a grin. Emilia did her best to hide her surprise at how well Stevie cleaned up.

“Glad to see you’re still with us. Last time I saw you, you looked like you’d been in a war zone,” said Stevie.

Emilia looked down at her black jeans, double-checking that no lingering traces of sawdust had made their way onto her clean clothes. “It was a close call, but I was promised a steak. Had to hold out for that.”

“I had faith in you. Ange,” Stevie called over her shoulder. A pretty brunette in a black dress that looked enviably comfortable, as well as stunning, perked up at her name and joined them.

“Happy birthday,” Emilia said. “And thanks for having me. I hope I didn’t crash your party.”

“My party?” Angie bumped Stevie with her hip. “More like Stevie’s party. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“This is a beautiful house.” She wished she didn’t sound so stilted. The ease with which these people interacted was foreign to her.

“Let me introduce you; then I’ll give you a tour.”

“I’d love that. Should I let Morgan know I’m here?” Emilia scanned the room, remembered that Stevie had said Morgan was grilling, and tried to catch a glimpse of the grill through the glass door on the far side of the kitchen.

Angie waved away the suggestion and took Emilia’s arm, towing her gently into the light of the kitchen overhead lamps.

“Emilia!” Stormy looked up from her conversation with an older couple and waved.