Chapter Six
Sanding took longer than anticipated and was also infinitely more physically demanding. The soreness in Emilia’s arms from the work, combined with the effort of moving furniture and cleaning did, however, have an upside: she was too exhausted to think about unanswered emails or her long list of recent failures, leaving her alone with her grief. She felt it fiercely, in bursts that took her breath away and left her sobbing on the floor, and she felt it in the quiet moments between Nell’s sleeping breaths. At night she sat on the porch with her father’s ashes and her dog and listened to the early summer rain falling on the tin roof.
June brought the first June bug. Nell started up from her bed on the porch and watched the fat beetle with interest as it flung itself at the light.
“No bugs,” she told her dog, her mind on internal parasites, but Nell ignored her and stalked toward the insect on stiff legs. The bug vanished in a crunch.
Her phone rang as she reprimanded her unrepentant companion. “Hey.”
“Sister from another mister.”
“Are you ever going to get tired of that?” Emilia asked as she leaned back in her chair and let her stepsister’s voice wash over her.”
“Probably not. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t bullshit me. I have toddlers, remember?”
“How are the twins?”
“Driving me nuts. April’s chewing on everything. She’s worse than the dog, and Ruby only chews on her sister. Little cannibal.”
“And Mark?”
“I will kill the next person who congratulates him for being a good dad just because he switched to working part-time to be home with the kids more.”
“Don’t do that. You’d go to jail, and I’d end up with the girls,” said Emilia.
“I’ll give them to you for free now if you want.”
“Nell isn’t ready for babysitting.”
“Anyway,” said Anna Maria, “Mom says you’re painting or something? It’s really irritating that you don’t post anything. It makes it hard to stalk you. Although maybe it’s for the best.”
“Haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“You know I’d be there in a heartbeat if you need me, right?”
“I know.”
“So how are you doing? Really. No bullshit.”
She let out a deep breath. “I’m okay. It’s hard.”
“You don’t need to do it alone.”
“I do, though.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. And it’s peaceful up here.”
“Well, that’s something. Oh, Christ.” A child’s wail nearly shattered Emilia’s eardrum as Anna Maria paused to coo over her offspring.
“Do you need to go?”
“In a second.”
Something about her tone alerted Emilia to trouble. “What?”
“Look, I don’t want to tell you this, but I don’t want you hearing about it from anyone else, either.”
Emilia waited.
“Hannah’s seeing someone else.”
The words stole her breath. She’d been expecting them, but that didn’t make them any easier to hear. “Anyone I know?”
“That friend of hers I never liked.”
“Skylar.”
“Yeah.”
She faked a shaky laugh. “Well, that figures.”
“You were too good for her anyway, Emmy.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“Is that April or Ruby screaming?”
“How would I know?”
“You’re their mother?”
“I’m their hostage. I didn’t know it was possible to love something that drives you this crazy. Don’t bite your sister!”
“Go save your children from each other.”
“I think I have to. Call me if you need me, and try not to think about Hannah.”
“I won’t,” Emilia lied. Quiet settled over her again, made more pronounced by the absence of her nieces’ screams.
She’d managed to come to terms with her breakup with Hannah. Her depressive spiral and subsequent hospitalization, on top of her father’s death, had been too much for her ex. Hannah didn’t tolerate extended emotional duress well, and Emilia had been too lost to care when Hannah broke things off. The hurt came later, but by then it was just one more hurt, like a broken limb when her organs were all on fire.
Knowing that Hannah had found solace with Skylar was different. Skylar, with her perfect teeth and Hollywood complexion, who always stood a little too close to Hannah when Emilia left her side. Hannah had sworn she had no feelings for the other woman. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe Skylar had been there for Hannah when Emilia fell apart, or maybe—and she couldn’t help focusing on this last possibility—Skylar had been there all along. She pressed her fingers against her temples and told herself she didn’t care. She didn’t want Hannah anymore. Let Skylar deal with her uncompromising opinions and her anal retentiveness.
Her phone buzzed again. She moved to shove it far away from her, not wanting any more bad news, and then saw the name on the screen: Morgan. The text notification cast its harsh glow over her arm.
MD: 16 Bay Road. White farmhouse. 6 PM Sunday. You really don’t need to bring anything.
Her heart ached a little less at the words.
ER: Not even your shop vac?
The bouncing dots that indicated Morgan was typing further suppressed her dark mood.
MD: Keep it for now. Might be more rabid dust bunnies.
Should she respond?
She hesitated, then typed: Do dust lagomorphs transmit rabies?
She deleted the text. Lagomorphs was a vet word, and she wasn’t ready to tell Morgan about that part of her life. Not that she’d be able to avoid it much longer without lying. “What do you do for a living” was one of those questions that tended to come up between strangers, and this party would be full of them.
ER: These are more like dust bears.
MD: Do you need a chainsaw?
ER: How about something with a longer handle.
MD: Weed whacker?
ER: That works. Metal blade, though. Not string.
MD: Want it Saturday or do you need it sooner?
Her heart thudded in her chest. Morgan was joking, but she couldn’t help wondering what might happen if she asked Morgan to come over now. Would she? Or would she think Emilia was crazy? Or, and she tried to push the thought away, did she only want Morgan to come over because of what Anna Maria had just told her about Hannah and Skylar?
ER: I made a barricade out of old fly fishing rods. Think I can hold out.
MD: Let me know if you need reinforcements.
ER: Will do.
She set the phone down on the armrest and watched the colors bleed into the trees as night fell. Perhaps she should contact her therapist. And if she tells you to steer clear of Morgan Donovan? Or, worse, Shanti might ask her how she felt about the situation, and she didn’t have any answers. Her attraction was obvious; everything else lay beneath murky waters. If only Morgan wasn’t a vet. If only she hadn’t known Emilia’s father, or docked her boat at the same wharf, or been the first girl Emilia had crushed on. If they’d met at a bar—not that Emilia went to many bars—she might have kept the rest of her life separate. One-night stands were not something she did either, though. She needed friends, not complications, and she was an adult. She could control herself, no matter how much her body wanted Morgan.
I’ll bring cookies, she decided. Everyone liked cookies.
Her phone buzzed for the third time. She grabbed for it, but her heart fell when she saw the ID. Anna Maria again.
AM: Miss you. Children are tyrants.
ER: Miss you too. <3 u and the girls.
Anna Maria sent a picture of Emilia’s nieces tucked into their beds. Ruby had her thumb in her mouth, and April had snuggled up to the stuffed lion Emilia had given her. Her disappointment that it hadn’t been Morgan melted into a wash of affection for her nieces.
• • •
“Did you get the beer?” Lillian called as soon as Morgan and Stevie walked through the door that Saturday. Morgan had arranged to switch her evening on-call shift to Monday so that she and Stevie would not be called away in the middle of the party.
“Shit.”
“I texted you to remind you.”
“No,” said Morgan. “I mean we’re covered in shit. Beer is in the truck.”
Lillian poked her head into the mudroom and wrinkled her nose. Her dogs, on the other hand, sniffed appreciatively at the scent of manure.
“I see you’ve been playing with cows again.”
“I should have gone into small animal medicine,” said Morgan. She pulled off her shirt and jeans and shoved them into the washer they kept in the mudroom for this purpose.
“Cute undies,” Lillian said as she vanished.
Morgan’s briefs sported paw prints and dog bones. “Thanks,” she shouted after Lillian.
“Don’t you want to see mine?” Stevie added.
“Definitely not,” Lillian said from the kitchen.
“Rude.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow as Stevie wriggled out of her pants. “Dinosaurs?”
“Roar.”
“Where do you even buy those for adults?”
“I have my sources.” Stevie bounded into the house, and Morgan heard Lillian laugh. She shook her head at the assembled dogs, all of whom looked disappointed they had not been allowed to roll in the caked muck.
A hot shower rinsed her last appointment off her skin. Emilia would arrive in an hour, assuming she still wanted to come, and the prospect was doing not entirely unpleasant things to her stomach. She wanted to get to know her. Know her, or know her? asked an inner voice. Too many years of talking to Stevie had done permanent damage to her psyche.
The evening also had the potential to turn into a disaster. She did not need her friends playing matchmaker, however well-intentioned. She would date when she was ready. The fact that Emilia was exactly her type made their insinuations all the more aggravating, and she prayed Stevie would behave. Angie and Lillian, she knew, would at least wait until Emilia left before pouncing.
The hot water gave out with its customary lack of warning. Two showers plus the laundry were more than it enjoyed handling at one time. Stevie yelped from the bathroom at the other end of the house.
Morgan dressed in her favorite pair of jeans and a soft button-down that would keep off the chill of the coming evening, but was still cool enough to withstand the heat of the kitchen. The fact that, as Lillian often pointed out, this particular shirt matched her eyes did not enter her consideration. Or so she told herself.
“Where’s Ange?” she asked Lillian and Stevie when she returned downstairs to help set up.
“Dealing with the kennel,” said Stevie. “And pretending she’s pissed we’re throwing her a party.”
“Did you check the propane tanks on the grill?” Lillian asked as she surveyed the kitchen.
“Yeah,” said Morgan. “And there’s a spare just in case. House looks good.”
Lillian wiped her hand across her forehead. “Thanks. You got it from here? I’m going to go get cleaned up.”
“We can handle it,” Stevie assured her. “Sorry about the hot water.” Stevie had blow-dried her hair, and it fell in soft waves around her shoulders. The effect still surprised Morgan, even after years of witnessing this transformation. Tomboi Stevie still reigned as far as her mannerisms were concerned, but the skin-tight jeans and loose white tank top left little to the imagination, and the barest suggestion of mascara graced her lashes.
“Hot date?” asked Morgan.
“Shut up.” Stevie flung a pretzel at her from one of the snack bowls Lillian had arranged. “Out of clothes. I need to do laundry.”
“Uh huh.”
“Speaking of hot dates—”
“If you say ‘speaking of’ one more time I am going to slice out your tongue with a dirty scalpel.”
“Brutal. Okay, fine. What time did you tell our new friend to come over?”
“Same time as everyone else.”
“So we’ll find out if she’s the kind of person who arrives fashionably late, on time, or early. Clever.”
“It doesn’t matter when she gets here.”
“As long as she comes?” Stevie smirked at her own joke. “Let’s get the beer in the fridge, and then Lil wants us to get a fire going in the yard.”
The farm property consisted of seven acres. The barn and the house stood on one, and an old apple orchard took up another. The rest had reverted to meadow and woods. A fence high enough to keep the dogs in closed off a manageable expanse around the back of the house, and a brick patio with a fire pit abutted the back door. Living with her friends and coworkers had its rough spots, but she loved their little piece of heaven.
Angie waited for them in the kitchen with an open beer.
“Hey, birthday girl.” Morgan hugged Angie, who made a face.
“Tell the birthday girl to go shower,” said Lillian, emerging into the kitchen with a glare for Morgan and Stevie. “Not that there is any hot water left.”
“I’m clean.” Angie gestured at her clothes. Dog hair coated every inch of them.
“Go. I want a nice photo of you.”
“You,” said Angie as she beat a retreat, “are worse than my mother.”
“That’s because your mother has to love you. I don’t,” said Lillian.
“Beer?” Morgan handed one to Lillian without waiting for a response.
“Thank you.” Lillian straddled a bar stool and clasped her hands around the bottle. Her damp hair clung to her neck. “What a shit week.”
“Work?” said Stevie.
“Yeah. And Brian.”
“What did Boring Brian do?” Stevie pulled a stack of paper plates down from a cupboard as she spoke.
“He’s not coming for the summer anymore. School stuff.”
“Who takes classes during the summer?”
“No, he’s ABD, but—”
“All But Dead?” Stevie never missed an opportunity to remind Lillian she found her boyfriend dull.
“All but dissertation, dumbass. Apparently he needs to do more fieldwork for said dissertation, so there go the plans we’ve been talking about all year.”
Morgan bit back a snarky comment. She didn’t mind Brian. He was nice, and even though she didn’t fully understand the obscure branch of geology that took up so much of his time, she did understand the singlemindedness that graduate work required. She did not, however, like seeing Lillian upset.
“Can’t he do the research here?” she asked.
“Apparently not. He’s going back to Brazil.”
Morgan heard the repressed pain in her voice. “I’m sorry, Lil.”
“It’s fine. The house is full anyway.”
“This is why I keep telling you to find a man muffin here,” said Stevie.
“A man muffin?”
“Yeah. Big and muscly on top, maybe sprinkled with sugar, and the bottom is fun to unwrap.”
“Thank you for that image,” said Lillian.
“Is he at least coming to stay for a few days?” asked Morgan.
“Maybe.”
The defeat in Lillian’s slumped shoulders reminded Morgan of Kate. Guilt and heartache soured her mouth. “Are you guys okay?”
“No? Yes? I don’t know. Career first, right?”
That had been their motto in vet school when it came to relationships. Morgan hoped it would work out better for Lillian than it had for her.
“At least you have Circe. She’ll be with you forever.”
“Thanks, Stevie. Everlasting love with my tortoise.”
Stevie scooted onto the counter. “Maybe this house is cursed. Morgan’s single, I’m single, you might as well be single, and Angie is at least getting laid, but she doesn’t date.”
“The ghost of spinsters past.” Lillian perked up and looked at Morgan. “Wait, isn’t your new friend coming over?”
“She said she was.”
“The one you rescued?”
“Yeah, maybe don’t mention that, though.”
“Why not?”
“She’s not into damsels in distress,” said Stevie.
“Morgan? Not into damsels?”
“No, I mean Emilia didn’t appreciate the rescue.” Stevie gave Morgan a sidelong glance. “Which is a first for you, isn’t it?”
“Shut up. I save lives every day.”
“You also stick your hands up assholes. Oh my god. Asses’ assholes. Get it?”
“That’s a new low for you,” said Angie. Her wet hair was wrapped in a towel and piled on her head, and another towel did its admirable best to cover the rest of her body.
“Nice outfit,” said Stevie.
“My clothes are in the dryer.”
“You do realize people will be here any minute?” said Lillian.
Angie smiled sweetly. “Yes. I thought I would wear my birthday suit. . .” She let her towel slip a few inches. Stevie’s cheeks pinked, and Lillian and Morgan met each other’s eyes.
“Angie,” said Morgan, “as much as we all appreciate the female form, I can’t let you near the fire pit naked, and I definitely saw mosquitoes. So, unless you want your ass bitten, clothes might be a good idea.”
“She might be into the ass biting,” Lillian said under her breath.
Angie and an armful of dry clothing reappeared, then vanished.
“Beers for queers?” called a voice from the front hall.
“Stormy!” Stevie pushed herself off the counter as Stormy arrived bearing a growler of Angie’s favorite beer and a kiss on the cheek for the three of them.
Stormy filled them in on the latest drama from the bar, which consisted mostly of overheard conversations about lobster fishing rivalries. Not much happened in their sleepy harbor town. She broke off to squeal over Angie a few minutes later.
Like Lillian, Angie’s hair was still wet, and she’d looped it into a loose, heavy braid that tumbled over one shoulder. She wore a simple three-quarter sleeve dress that hugged her curves, made of a material that looked so soft Morgan felt an immediate desire to stroke it. She refrained. Acknowledging clothing was dangerous: it often sparked long conversations about fashion and thrifting, topics Angie, Stormy, and Lillian could debate at length.
Danielle Watson and her wife showed up loaded down with a cheese dip that smelled heavenly, followed by a cluster of veterinary technicians and assistants. Morgan checked her watch. 6:05. Still no sign of Emilia, but there was plenty of time. She exchanged a few jokes with her friends and then went to prepare the steaks.
• • •
Emilia pulled into the driveway of 16 Bay road and slid into a spot on the grass next to a Jeep with a zombie stick figure family, complete with an absurd number of pets, stuck to the back window. The white farmhouse gleamed in the evening light. She could see people through the porch window, and wood smoke flavored the air. She wished her heart would relocate from her throat to her chest, where it belonged.
She killed the engine and got out of the car. Dogs barked somewhere nearby, an echoing, contained sound that she remembered from working in shelters. So many unwanted animals. So many wasted lives. You’re done, she told herself. You don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to care. Her therapist had termed part of her condition compassion fatigue. It was common among health care professionals, and an unavoidable result of the sheer volume of cases seen in a day. The formula was simple: too many pleading eyes, plus limited resources, equaled a psychological distancing that ultimately made it impossible to connect with anything at all. This, in turn, often led to crippling depression and other coping mechanisms, like drugs and alcohol. She’d known what she was getting into when she’d decided to go into shelter medicine. Like so many others, she’d thought she could handle it. She’d believed in the necessity of her work.
Now here she was, afraid to enter a house full of her peers, shattered by the sound of a bark. Her hand fumbled for the car door. Leave, her mind urged. She could text Morgan with an excuse. Flat tire. Sudden illness.
Laughter floated toward her as a door opened and shut elsewhere in the house. If she left, she’d be running. Running was different from taking space and time to heal, and she knew herself well enough to understand that once she started running again, she’d have a hard time stopping. I can always leave early if it gets to be too much. She checked her mascara in the car’s mirror, smoothed the front of her shirt, and forced her legs to march across the drive, up the steps to the porch, and to the green front door.
A slender woman answered with a laugh still on her lips. Thick black hair fell to her shoulders, and her loose shirt and tight dark jeans softened her muscular build.
“Hi. Um, Morgan invited me,” Emilia said, feeling lost as the warmth from the house spilled over her. The woman offered her an equally warm smile.
“Emilia, right? Lillian.” Lillian stuck out her hand and shook Emilia’s firmly, ushering her inside. Emilia caught a hint of perfume, something floral and rich that reminded her of a summer garden. “Hope you don’t mind dogs. We’ve locked them outside for now, but they’ll track you down the minute they realize there’s a new person in the house who might not be immune to their charms.”
“I do like dogs.” She followed Lillian into the hallway and noted a jumble of shoes, jackets, hanging dog leashes, and what looked like a tangled collection of sheep halters. She raised the tray of cookies. “Where should I put these?”
“Cookies? Here, I’ll take them so you don’t get mobbed. Come on in. Morgan’s out back with the grill.”
Lillian led her down the front hall—decorated with photos, not of the human inhabitants, but of a collection of dogs, cats, horses, and even a tortoise—and into a crowded farmhouse kitchen. Exposed beams spanned the ceiling, and granite countertops were partially visible amid the group of people gathered around the island. A few glanced up as she entered. Stevie extricated herself from the small crowd and sauntered over with a grin. Emilia did her best to hide her surprise at how well Stevie cleaned up.
“Glad to see you’re still with us. Last time I saw you, you looked like you’d been in a war zone,” said Stevie.
Emilia looked down at her black jeans, double-checking that no lingering traces of sawdust had made their way onto her clean clothes. “It was a close call, but I was promised a steak. Had to hold out for that.”
“I had faith in you. Ange,” Stevie called over her shoulder. A pretty brunette in a black dress that looked enviably comfortable, as well as stunning, perked up at her name and joined them.
“Happy birthday,” Emilia said. “And thanks for having me. I hope I didn’t crash your party.”
“My party?” Angie bumped Stevie with her hip. “More like Stevie’s party. It’s really nice to meet you.”
“This is a beautiful house.” She wished she didn’t sound so stilted. The ease with which these people interacted was foreign to her.
“Let me introduce you; then I’ll give you a tour.”
“I’d love that. Should I let Morgan know I’m here?” Emilia scanned the room, remembered that Stevie had said Morgan was grilling, and tried to catch a glimpse of the grill through the glass door on the far side of the kitchen.
Angie waved away the suggestion and took Emilia’s arm, towing her gently into the light of the kitchen overhead lamps.
“Emilia!” Stormy looked up from her conversation with an older couple and waved.
“Everyone, this is Emilia,” Angie said to the group.
“Hi.” Emilia wished she had brought Nell after all for emotional support.
“Danielle Watson,” said one of the older women. Her short hair and firm grip reminded Emilia of every large animal veterinarian over the age of fifty she had ever met. Something about her confident stance, weathered face, and no-bullshit aura just radiated “I’ve wrestled cows bigger than you into submission.”
“My wife, Patricia,” Danielle continued.
“Call me Patty.” Patty gave Emilia a motherly smile that balanced her partner’s stoicism.
The entire queer population of Seal Cove must be in this room right now, Emilia thought as she shook more hands.
“Can I get you something to drink? We have beer and wine, and liquor somewhere, and soda and tea,” said Lillian.
“Beer sounds wonderful.”
“Take your pick. The rest is out back,” said Stevie as she opened the fridge. “But if you go out there, Morgan will steal you.”
Emilia’s cheeks warmed at the words, but she laughed it off and chose a beer at random.
“Ready for a tour?” asked Angie.
The first floor of the sprawling house opened from the kitchen into a large living room. Both rooms shared a partial wall, which was occupied by a large stone fireplace.
“Wow.”
“Right?” said Angie. “We don’t leave these two rooms in the winter if we can help it. Morgan gets free firewood from one of her clients.”
Comfortable couches and armchairs filled the rest of the living room. Piles of veterinary magazines and journals littered the coffee table, and while someone had clearly vacuumed and dusted recently, a fine layer of dog hair had already reclaimed lost territory. Bookcases lined the walls. More veterinary texts filled the shelves, along with an eclectic assortment of novels. Lillian caught her scanning the titles.
“The detective novels are mine,” she said.
“Along with the period romances, not that she’ll admit to it,” said Stevie.
“And these are Stevie and Angie’s,” Lillian said in a tone that suggested she did not share their appreciation for speculative fiction. Tattered science fiction and fantasy paperbacks abutted the detective series.
“This is neutral territory.” Angie pointed to a collection of Harry Potter and Tamora Pierce books.
Past the living room and down another hallway lined with animal photographs they came to a smaller room that would have been suitable for an office had it not been occupied by a large TV screen, beanbags, and a plush carpet. Several gaming consoles kept the TV company.
“Angie and Stevie’s lair,” said Lillian.
“Are you into gaming?” Hope shone from Stevie’s face.
“Sorry. Last thing I played was a Nintendo, before they were retro.”
“They have one,” said Lillian. “Consider yourself warned.”
“And down here is Lil’s lair.” Stevie led them through a door with steamy glass panes.
Emilia froze on the step, feeling like her eyes might fall out of her head. “This is incredible.” Greenery exploded at her feet, and it took her a moment to find the glass walls of the greenhouse through the jungle. Tropical plants shared space with citrus trees and vegetables, and the sound of trickling water came from a fountain in the center, which poured into a pond. She walked down the brick path toward it, entranced.
Something rustled through a collection of potted ferns.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a velociraptor,” said Stevie then added an “Ow,” as someone slapped her.
Lillian appeared at Emilia’s elbow and crouched down as a tortoise shoved its way past the nearest pot. “This is Circe.”
Lillian stroked the shell affectionately, and the tortoise bumped against her hand in a surprisingly dog-like gesture. “Someone dumped her at the clinic, and now she guards my greenhouse.”
“And eats strawberries. It’s adorable,” said Angie.
“Any idea how old she is?” Emilia asked. The tortoise’s carapace was at least a foot in diameter, maybe more.
“Not really. She’s mature, and my guess is that someone’s relative died and they didn’t know what to do with her.”
“And didn’t care enough to learn,” said Angie.
“Honestly, I’m glad. So many people think they want exotic pets without understanding the care and responsibility that goes into them.”
“Lillian is an exotics vet,” Stevie said.
Lillian stroked Circe once more, then stood. “Exotics and small animals. Morgan and I went to vet school together at Cornell. Do you garden?”
“I just had house plants back in Boston. My dad did, though. He’s got a big plot at the house I might do something with.”
“Well, if you need any seedlings, let me know. I always have extra.” Lillian pointed toward a table with trays of young plants.
“That would be incredible, actually.”
“Pick some out before you leave tonight, or come by another time.”
“They’re talking about plants,” Angie said to Stevie. “What do we do?”
Lillian gave them the middle finger with a graceful motion that belied the crude gesture, then looked past them out the window. “Oh good. She’s got the grill going.”
Emilia followed Lillian’s gaze out through the glass walls. The greenhouse bordered the backyard, forming an L between the house and the fence, and she saw Morgan shut the lid of a large grill and wave. She raised her own hand in recognition and felt her heart leap for its new home in her throat again.
“She’s seen you,” Stevie said with a pout. “Now we have to give you back.”
Morgan met Emilia’s eyes with a grin that lit up the room when Emilia reentered the kitchen. “You made it.”
“After burning some cookies. Dad’s oven is a little off.” Emilia eyed the plate. Quite a few of the cookies were already missing.
“That’s why I stick to cooking over open flame. They give you the tour?”
“The downstairs,” said Lillian.
“Not much to see upstairs anyway,” said Stevie. “Just beds and Lil’s hamster wheel.”
“It’s called a treadmill.”
“You’re a runner, too?” Emilia asked her.
“Oh no,” said Angie.
“It’s happening,” said Stevie.
In unison, they broke out in an off-key rendition of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King.
“Let me know if you need a jogging partner,” Lillian said as she clapped her hands over her friends’ mouths. “Since I clearly don’t live with any.”
“I could use some motivation,” said Emilia.
Lillian released her grip on Stevie and Angie. “Sorry, Morgan. I’m stealing your new friend.”
“Not if I weigh her down with red meat first.”
“But then I’d have to jog it off,” Emilia said.
“But would you?” said Angie.
“I keep hearing about all these dogs, but I don’t see any,” Emilia said to shift the subject away from her body.
“They’re out back, supervising the grill. Want to meet them?” asked Morgan.
Emilia nodded, and Morgan walked to the back door. The others remained inside.
“Brace yourself.”
Kraken skidded to a halt on the patio flagstones first, his tail wagging. A brindle pitbull bulldozed into him seconds later and presented his butt for her to scratch, only to be upstaged by the hopping arrival of a three-legged monster of a mutt with a black muzzle, brown body, and absurdly fluffy white tail. She did her best to greet the three of them at once with two hands.
An insistent scratching at her pant leg caused her to glance down. Another tripod dog stared up at her out of an Italian greyhound’s slightly neurotic eyes. She presented her hand to the tiny black button nose.
“You can pick her up if you want,” said Morgan.
Emilia scooped the slender dog onto her lap. “Introduce me?”
“That little demon is Hermione, and before you ask, she does have a Hogwarts sweater. She and the other tripod are Lil’s.”
“Two tripods?”
“We’re trying to find her a third so she has a complete set, but yes. Muffin was a rescue, and Hermione had a bad fracture. Owners couldn’t pay for it.”
“Did someone step on you?” Emilia asked the dog.
“Marvin—that’s the pittie—is Stevie’s. I believe she named him after a robot from some book. In case you didn’t notice, we’re all exceptionally cool.”
“Well, they’re cool,” said Emilia. “But you don’t seem to have any visible nerddoms, so I’m going to have to reserve judgment.”
“Let me know what you decide.”
Morgan left Emilia in her sea of dogs and walked over to the grill, giving Emilia a chance to glimpse Morgan’s ass in jeans. The cool evening air warmed several degrees. She ripped her eyes away and examined the rest of her surroundings.
The back patio had an eclectic collection of lawn furniture gathered around a brick fire pit. She moved to stand beside it, which the little dog seemed to appreciate, as she stopped shivering.
“I have a big one of you,” she told the dog as she watched Morgan. The blue of her shirt emphasized the dark blue-gray of her irises, which seemed even darker in the gathering dusk.
I’d fall into that ocean.
“All right.” Morgan gave the grill a tap with her tongs and nodded her approval of the temperature.
“Need a hand?” Emilia asked.
“I got it, but you can tell me how you like your steak.”
Served by you. She really had to turn off her internal commentary.
“Medium rare is fine, or however it turns out. I’m not picky when it comes to food cooked by someone who isn’t me.”
“Not a fan of cooking?”
Emilia hesitated before answering. She had liked cooking, once. Hannah hadn’t cooked at all, and her schedule had been even crazier than Emilia’s, so she’d done most of the work involved in feeding them. Cooking for herself, however, felt like a chore. It also reminded her of her father.
“I used to.” She couldn’t lie to those eyes.
Morgan had to have noticed the past tense, but she didn’t push it. Emilia put that as one more mark in her favor. At this rate, the boating safety comment would soon be buried.
“Your cookies were good.”
“You must like them crunchy.”
“I do, actually. I have to grab the steaks. Do you need another beer?”
“What about this precious angel?” Emilia tucked Hermione against her chest.
“Clearly she’s made herself at home. Keep her.” Morgan’s eyes trailed slowly down Emilia’s chest, then jerked away as if she’d just realized where she was looking. Emilia glanced down to discover that Hermione had tucked her nose into her shirt, nestling into—and revealing—her cleavage.
“Yes, she has,” she said, suddenly happier than she could remember being in months. Maybe it was the beer, or the way the little dog sighed in contentment, or maybe it was the intoxicating thrill of power that Morgan’s poorly disguised attraction inspired, but she didn’t care. “And I do need another drink.”