The skiff didn’t leak as she rowed them out to the sailboat with a bag packed with water, snacks, and a nautical radio. Nell sat in the prow with her ears perked forward, apparently accepting the fate that her human insisted on repeating this strange activity. The creak of the oars settled the pit in her stomach. This, at least, I can do. She secured the skiff to the mooring without incident, hoisted Nell into the boat, and stood on the deck of the Emilia Rosa with the wind in her hair and salt on her lips.

“Okay,” she said to herself as she untied the ropes that bound the mainsail. Hoisting the boom had been her father’s job, often accompanied by a few choice curses when the sail jammed, while she’d been in charge of raising the jib. She eyed the sail with trepidation. The lines had been coiled and stowed neatly. She gave an experimental tug on the sheet, hoping the sail would thread through the groove without catching. It rose slowly. Wind snatched at it, and Nell slunk into the storage space beneath the bow as the boom swung back and forth. Emilia’s arms strained, but at last the sail made it to the top, and she secured the line on its cleat and stepped onto the prow to raise the jib.

The line flew through her fingers in its eagerness to unfurl the smaller sail. Balanced on the prow, she felt thirteen again, almost too old to pretend to be a pirate, but still thrilling to feel the deck rocking beneath her and the canvas billowing all around her.

Both sails snapped loudly in the wind. Emilia reached down to loose the boat from the mooring, then paused. She’d promised Morgan she would tell someone before she went out for her first real sail.

I don’t owe her anything, and I have an engine.

She also had a boom. If she got knocked out cold and fell into the Atlantic, she’d want someone to rescue Nell and retrieve her body. She sat with her legs over the side, the mooring framed beneath her bare feet, and pulled out her phone.

ER: Hi. Taking the boat out.

She deleted the text and tried again.

ER: The skiff is seaworthy. I’m taking the boat for a sail.

What else could she say? “I’ve been thinking about kissing you every minute of every day since I last saw you?” That would complicate everything. “I want you and it scares the hell out of me” would be honest, as would, “I really shouldn’t get involved with anyone right now, but maybe you should come over tonight.”

She deleted her text again.

ER: Remember how I promised you I’d let someone know the first time I went for a real sail?