She hit send. Morgan was probably busy. Waiting for a response could take an hour at the least. She was about to add more when Morgan began typing.

MD: I do.

ER: If you don’t hear from me by 5:00, will you come looking?

MD: Of course.

ER: And if I survive, would you want to grab dinner with me tonight?

The three little dots danced for a full minute before Morgan replied.

MD: I’d love that.

ER: Great. See you later.

She shoved her phone deep in her pocket, untied the sailboat, and leapt back in time to grab the lines and settle them more tightly around the winch as she turned the tiller to catch the wind.

Nell raised her head from her bed of cushions in alarm as the boat took off. Emilia let some of the tension out of the sail to reduce how much they keeled. The rush that came with skimming over the water filled her chest with an almost painful lightness. The harbor, with its lobster pots and lobster boats, opened its arms to them as she tacked down the Damariscotta River, doing her best to avoid the ledges and snags, past East Boothbay and Rutherford Island until the waters of Johns Bay met the Atlantic. Her hand knew which way to tack. She’d worried the instinct might have faded over the years, but instead it roared to life as if her father’s hand still lay over hers on the tiller.

Wind whipped around the point past Christmas Cove. She braced her feet against the opposite deck as the boat keeled sharply. Blue-green water hurled itself past them. She’d run her hand through this same water as a child, enjoying the insistent pull of it against her fingers. Small swells rolled beneath the hull. Nell glared at her, then crept closer, her long nose burrowing beneath her leg for reassurance.

“You’ve got your life jacket on,” she told the dog. This did not seem to comfort her. Sighing in regret, she released more of the sheet and slowed their progress. The deck leveled. “Better?”

Nell sat up and looked around.

“See? Not so bad. Look, Nell, a water puppy!”

The seal’s head bobbed a few yards away. Nell, however, didn’t notice. She’d lifted her nose to sniff the salt breeze, and Emilia kissed the faint roundness of her muzzle.