“I hate caring about people,” said Stevie. “Dogs are so much easier.”

“To dogs.” Morgan raised the bottle in a toast.

“Maybe Marvin will bite her next time she comes over.”

“Have you met your dog? He’s the poster child for pittie love.”

“Tell Kraken to do it then.”

“Maybe James is just biding his time.”

“A terrifying thought. I never thought I’d agree with that cat.” Stevie stared into the fire. “Do you remember senior year?”

“High school?”

“Yeah. Who was that girl you were obsessed with?”

“Nora?”

“God, she was hot.”

“She has three kids now,” said Morgan.

“Are we getting old?”

“Thirty-one isn’t old.”

“Look at us, though. Single. Childless. Still living with housemates,” said Stevie.

“The American dream.”

“And I still can’t believe Kate left.”

Morgan groaned. “Don’t.”

“I thought you two had it made.”

“So did I.” The whiskey was inadequate to burn away that pain. Months later, she still didn’t understand how she could have been so blind to Kate’s unhappiness.

“Have you heard from her at all?”

“No. But I see her face every time I drive by one of her listings.” She’d learned to avoid looking at any Realtor signs she saw on her work routes.

“You should sleep with Emilia.”

“You’re drunk, Stevie.”

“Yes. Which makes me smarter than you. Sleep with Emilia and forget about Kate.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice.”

“I can’t sleep with Emilia. She’s too tall. I’d never be able to reach anything.”

“Asshole.”

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Emilia turned in a slow circle, balancing her weight on Nell’s collar. The house looked almost unrecognizable. Cream colored walls. Blue trim in the living room, raw beams in the kitchen, and all the shadows chased back beneath the suddenly faded chairs and end tables. She’d taken up the rugs, too, and mopped and polished the hardwood floors until they gleamed in the morning sun. Her father wouldn’t have recognized his own living room.

The paint job also highlighted the out-of-date kitchen and older appliances. Problems for the new owner, she decided. Her father hadn’t left her enough money to fully update the house, but at least the potential was now visible, and she could turn her attention to the outside.

She reached for her phone to text Morgan, as she had a hundred times since that day at the boathouse a week and a half ago. As she had each time, however, her fingers faltered. What the hell was she supposed to say? Leaving the decision to her had been a dick move on Morgan’s part, and she’d spent several days stewing over Morgan’s words. Claiming a lack of agency was a cop-out, and an unfair one at that.