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?”

“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?”