“Skiff, dinghy, rowboat . . . I’ve never been sure if there was a difference between them or not. My dad used the words interchangeably.”

“Either way, they scare the hell out of me.” Stormy slid the espresso across the counter. “Especially ones with holes.”

Emilia retreated to her corner and drank the espresso while she contemplated her lunch options. Nell eyed the whipped cream on top hopefully. Sandwich, panini, salad, muffin . . . all she could think about was Morgan.

ER: Can I take you up on that boat repair?

She hit send. No point putting things off.

Her bagel was nearly gone by the time Morgan replied.

MD: You free tonight?

ER: I could be.

MD: Good. Then I’ll text you when I’m off.

Emilia laid her hand over her phone and felt the bagel solidifying in her stomach. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

It vibrated again.

MD: Afternoon appointment just canceled. You free now?

She checked her reflection in the café bathroom mirror, using the break as an excuse to put off responding for another minute. Paint spattered her hair. The T-shirt she wore had belonged to her father, and the pants had seen too much bleach in their lifetime to hold much claim on the color black.

Good. If she didn’t feel sexy, maybe she’d manage to keep her cool.

ER: Yeah. I’m in town.

MD: Meet me at the dock in 20.

“No,” she said to Nell, who was sniffing the toilet with curiosity. The word summed up most of her own feelings, too. No to all of this. No to Morgan, no to good sense, no to inhibition. She splashed water on her flushed face, gathered her dog, and made her way down to the dock.

Morgan arrived in the clinic truck without Stevie. The ensuing blend of relief and dread dried her mouth.

“Hey,” said Morgan as she swung herself forward on a pair of crutches.

“Oh god, I shouldn’t have asked for your help until your ankle healed.”

“It’s fine. I’m only using these to keep Lillian off my back. Plus, it’s the left, so I can drive if I’m careful.”

“Still, you shouldn’t . . .” she trailed off. Morgan was fully clothed in a clinic polo instead of just a sports bra, but Emilia’s imagination filled in the blanks for her.

“I’ll just sit and tell you what to do if that makes you feel better.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t believe you’re capable of that?”

Morgan grinned in response. “Let’s take a look at it in the daylight, yeah?”

They moved toward the boat together, and Emilia caught a whiff of horse. She pictured Morgan calmly running her hands along a broad brown back, whispering soothing words into a cocked ear. It soothed her. Once, she’d had an interest in large animal medicine, but she’d been persuaded out of it. She knew too many vets who’d ended up switching to small animal after one injury too many, and the hours and pay were dismal. Not, of course, that shelter medicine had turned out to be any better. She shut down the thought and returned her focus to the Russo rowboat overturned on the grass outside the boathouse. The crack looked smaller in the full sunlight. Morgan tossed her crutches to the ground and knelt beside it. Her fingers traced the hairline fracture in the fiberglass.