She kicked at a dandelion, earning herself a quizzical look from Nell. What if I get attached? Her mind remained obstinately silent on this front, and so she answered for it. I have too much to figure out without adding someone else’s needs and wants into the equation. Especially a vet. Hannah had been a vet, and far from making her more understanding of Emilia’s situation, it had shortened her already short fuse. She’d never had much patience for Emilia’s doubts.

“Tough it out.” That had been her advice.

Then she’d left.

“Fine,” she said out loud. She would not get involved with Morgan. Nor, however, would she attempt to deny the electric potential. I’ll talk to her like the adult I’m supposed to be.

Her mood lifted when she entered the café. The first tourists of the season filled most of the tables, but the corner in the back where she’d shared a beer with Morgan remained empty.

“Hey, lady,” Stormy said from behind the register. Emilia blinked at the polka-dotted dress and vibrant red headscarf over Stormy’s thick curls, which somehow suited her but would have looked garish on anyone else.

“Do you have anything strong enough to wash the taste of paint out of my mouth?”

“Out of your mouth? Yes. Your hair . . .” She smiled and reached across the counter to tap the side of Emilia’s head. The familiarity unsettled her, but not unpleasantly so.

“I don’t see much point in trying to get rid of it until I’m done. You should see my legs.”

“Are we talking coffee or something stronger?”

“Just coffee.”

“Latte? Black? Americano?”

“Espresso?”

Stormy winked. “Very Italian. Whipped cream on top?”

“Normally I’d say no.” Cafes rarely offered espresso con panna without prompting. Her nonna had made it like that when she went to visit her in Italy, and it seemed fitting to drink it here in memory of her grandmother and her father.

“But you’ve got that paint taste to get rid of.”

“Exactly.”

“Whip for the pup?”

“As a vet, I can’t really condone that.”

“You’ve never given her whipped cream?”

Emilia looked down at her dog, who gazed adoringly back up at her. What the hell, she thought. “A small cup. And don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed,” said Stormy, and she shot whipped cream into a sample cup with a flourish.

Emilia laughed in delight as Nell’s pupils dilated so widely they nearly swallowed her irises. The greyhound’s narrow snout shoved its way into the cup with the kind of joy only experienced by dogs and small children.

“How’s your boat?”

Emilia waited for the sound of the coffee grinder to fade before responding. “Haven’t had a chance to find out. And there’s a hole in my skiff.” Morgan had promised to help her mend it, she remembered. Maybe she could use that as an excuse to talk to her about mending other things—or rather, avoiding breakage all together.

“Skiffs are the little rowboats, right?”