Sue called their order number from the counter, and she rose to retrieve it. It should not have come as a blow. Hadn’t she been the one who kept saying that Emilia needed a friend, not complications? I can be that. She picked up the tray, but her appetite had abandoned her, and the freshly baked bread and creamy, steaming chowder no longer held any appeal.

“Morgan,” Emilia said as Morgan sat back down and served their food. Her voice sounded tight and worried.

“Eat first.”

“I don’t think I can. And it’s probably too hot anyway.”

Morgan braced herself. “Okay. Then we should probably talk.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan drank some of her beer, wondering if Emilia expected her to begin.

“First off,” said Emilia, “what you did was totally unfair.”

“Huh?” Morgan blinked in surprise.

“This isn’t just my call, and you can’t put this all on me.”

“I didn’t want you to feel any pressure. I didn’t—”

“Really? Because to me it just looks like you don’t want to take responsibility.”

“That’s not it at all.”

“Are you sure?” The challenge blazed in her eyes.

“Yes,” She wondered if there was any truth to the accusation despite her disavowal.

“So you know what you want out of this.” Emilia turned the question into a statement.

“I want to do whatever is right for you.”

Emilia shook her head. “That is not what I asked.”

Morgan held her stare and felt her face flushing with embarrassment and annoyance. She didn’t deserve this attack. Did she?

“Emilia,” she said quietly into those flashing eyes. “Please don’t make me say it.”

Emilia tore her small loaf of bread in half and broke eye contact. “I think this is probably a mistake.”

Morgan composed her face and prepared herself to say whatever she needed to get through the rest of the evening. Perhaps she’d receive a call from the clinic, giving her a graceful exit. Coming to Sally’s had been stupid. Now she had to face a boat ride home with Emilia.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” Emilia finished.

Morgan froze.

“I can’t be friends with you, Morgan. I’m an emotional train wreck, and my therapist would probably kill me if she could see inside my head.”

“I’m confused,” Morgan admitted.

Emilia toyed with the hunk of bread in her hand. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Emilia dropped the bread into her chowder and lowered her voice. “I can’t be friends with you, because when I look at you, all I can think about is how much I wanted to fuck you against the boathouse wall. Happy?”

Morgan’s smile threatened to split her face in two. “Yes.”

“Good. Now I want to try this chowder.”