“Will you try and tell me how I should eat it?” Hearing Morgan group her among the people she cared about wasn’t enough to overshadow the warning that word raised.

“I won’t even judge you for taking a piece with extra frosting.” Despite Morgan’s words, her tone remained solemn.

“I don’t need protection.”

Morgan held her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“But I will let someone know when I take it out under sail for the first time. Which, by the way, I was already planning on doing.” Anger crept back into her voice. She’d had women use protectiveness as an excuse before.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said again. “Will you stay?”

Emilia considered her. She’d only known her two weeks. During that time, Morgan had come to her aid, both in the water and when she had needed a tool, invited her into her home, and been kind and respectful if occasionally, as she put it, protective. Her attraction to Morgan aside, she’d felt more herself around Morgan and her friends than she had in months. Was she willing to throw that away because Morgan had expressed worry, especially since Morgan’s first impression of her had been seeing her pitch drunk into the frigid ocean? She hadn’t exactly radiated “competent sailor.” Maybe Emilia had overreacted, just like Hannah always said she did.

“I’ll stay.”

“Still friends?” Morgan asked.

“Still friends.”

Emilia didn’t remember moving closer to Morgan, but as the tension ebbed from her body, she realized she could see the freckles spanning Morgan’s cheeks and nose even in the darkness, and she smelled the notes of wood smoke, clean laundry, and sandalwood that clung to Morgan’s clothes and skin.

“We’d better get in there if we want cake,” Morgan said without making any move to act on her suggestion.

Months of numbness burned away like morning fog. It would be easy, so easy, to let her body purge some of her cloying grief beneath this woman. The catch in Morgan’s breath told her all she needed to know about what Morgan wanted. If she let herself go, if she let herself act on the impulse to lean in and kiss Morgan, if she let Morgan touch her, would it dull the blade of her accumulated losses?

Could anything?

“Morgan,” Stevie shouted from the back door.

“Right.” Morgan shot Emilia a rueful smile and turned to walk into the warm glow of the kitchen.

Emilia allowed herself one muffled, sobbing exhale, then followed.

• • •

Stevie scowled at Morgan as she joined her at the counter. Morgan shrugged an apology. The cake topper dripped hot wax onto the chocolate buttercream frosting Stevie had spent the previous evening perfecting into small rosettes.

“Sorry.”

Stevie handed her a slice of cake. “Whatever. You can’t sing anyway.”

Morgan met Emilia’s eyes from the other side of the island counter. Desire lanced through her, sharp and sudden. Fuck. It had been a long time since anyone had been able to get her this distracted with a look alone.