“It was.” Emilia’s hair flew into her face as she turned to grin at Morgan. “I forgot.”

“Forgot what?” She had to raise her voice over the roar of the engine as she picked up speed. The fastest way to get to Pemaquid Harbor was cutting underneath the South Bristol bridge, but she wanted to go the long way around.

“How fucking amazing this is.” Emilia’s gesture included the ocean, horizon, and sky.

“Isn’t it?” She wanted to put her arm around Emilia so badly it made her jaw ache. She could be about to tell you she just wants to be friends, her mind warned. You need to be prepared for that. Emilia shivered as wind straight off the ocean sliced up the river.

“You sure you don’t want a jacket?” Morgan asked.

“It feels good,” Emilia shouted back, but she took a step closer to Morgan.

She could slow the boat and insist on grabbing a coat. That, however, might tempt Emilia to move away, and so she drove on, past summer cottages and darkening pines. It was nearly high tide, and the golden water lapped at the rocky shoreline, hiding the ledges and snags beneath the surface.

Emilia never came so close that she invited Morgan’s arm, but her hair whipped the back of Morgan’s neck and her hip rested against Morgan’s in a way she didn’t think someone about to ask for distance would permit. Morgan pointed out her favorite parts of the landscape, but mostly they sailed in companionable silence, as talking over the thrum of the engine was difficult. Porpoises surfaced ahead and chased each other into the pooling gold of the sun’s reflection. Emilia leaned away to get a closer look, but she returned to Morgan’s side, and the warmth of her thigh brought more color into the world than Morgan remembered ever noticing.

Sally’s restaurant came into view too soon. Perched on a wharf hanging out over the water, the light from its windows always made Morgan think of the sort of kitschy seaside paintings she never bought but secretly enjoyed when she passed them in any one of the art galleries that had sprung up along the coast in recent years. Flowerboxes lined the restaurant’s railings, and the Cleat and Eat sign attracted people from the summer cottages later on in the season. Now, though, only a few boats occupied the dock, and Morgan slid her boat into an empty berth.

“This is Sally’s?”

“Best clam chowder in Maine. Everything’s good here, and fresh.”

She watched Emilia take in the cozy restaurant and the quiet cove beyond, wishing she didn’t care quite so much whether or not Emilia liked the place.

“How did I not know about this?”

“It’s harder to get to by sailboat, and a real pain to get to by car.”