Emilia’s fingers touched Morgan’s arm. The grill hid the gesture from the rest of the party, and Morgan reflected that she might as well have touched the hot metal again as Emilia’s fingertips burned against her skin.

Emilia didn’t say anything. She gazed at Morgan, her eyes the golden brown of amber honey in the firelight, and Morgan read the silent thank you in their depths.

• • •

The third beer was a mistake. Emilia realized it halfway through when the buzz hit her hard. She needed to stop if she wanted to drive home tonight, and she needed to drive home tonight because Nell was there. She dragged her concentration back to the conversation around her. Stormy and two people she assumed worked at the clinic were deep in discussion about a TV series she didn’t watch. Danielle and her wife chatted with each other across the fire, and Angie, Stevie, and Lillian were looking at Emilia expectantly. She gnawed her lip. What had they just said?

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about Nell. What did I miss?”

“Do you like food?” asked Stevie.

“Like, any food?”

“Maybe we should spare her,” said Angie. “She’s innocent.”

Stevie let out a solemn sigh. “No. The truth will set her free.”

“I live with total losers,” Lillian said. “Ignore them. Sometimes I cook for these hellions.”

“The things that woman can do to an eggplant should be illegal,” Stevie agreed.

“Like, eggplant parmesan?”

“You poor thing,” said Angie. “There is so much more you can do with an eggplant. You need to come over.”

“Yes, you should. I don’t know when we’re doing it next, but I’ll let you know. Angie makes amazing pierogies, too,” said Lillian.

“Polish grandmother,” said Angie.

“Well, I’m very Italian, in case you couldn’t tell. We do olives.”

“I’m a mutt,” said Stevie. “No foodie heritage. But Morgan’s family is so Irish they shit leprechauns and potatoes.”

“Ouch.” Morgan, who had finally finished feeding the guests, stood over them with a plate of food. “Got room for one more?”

Lillian glanced at Emilia, who currently shared a wooden bench with Stevie’s dog. “If you move a dog, yeah.”

“Marvin, off,” said Stevie.

Marvin didn’t move. Lillian’s larger dog, however, loped over from the Watson’s side of the fire to pant at her feet.

“Does that happen a lot?” asked Emilia.

“Nearly every time.”

“Marvin,” Morgan said in an excited voice. “Is that a squirrel?” The bench rocked as Marvin sprang to life. Morgan dove for the vacant seat.

“Cruel, but effective,” said Emilia.

“He’s never caught a squirrel in his life.” Morgan sat, leaving only a few inches of space between them, and cut into her steak. The perfectly done meat parted like butter beneath her knife. Emilia tried not to watch. Lusting after a person was one thing; lusting after their steak was another.

Morgan noticed her staring.

Emilia didn’t bother to hide her indiscretion. “I’m sorry. That was the best steak I’ve ever eaten.”