Page 17 of Spindrift

“I’mnot coming on to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Morgan’s voice keptits easy timbre, but Emilia’s face flamed.

“Ohgod. No. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—I mean—I’m gay, so I’m not offended, but . . . Jesus.”She sat on the skiff and buried her face in her hands. Next to her she heard Morgantake a seat on the dock. This was even more embarrassing than falling in thewater.

“Shit.That was a dick thing to say. Look, I know I don’t know you, and I can’timagine what you’re going through right now, but your dad was a good friend tome. I miss him.”

Emiliapressed the heels of her palm into her eyes to prevent them from doing anythingstupid, like crying, and spoke to her knees. “He was a complicated person.”

“Healso took terrible care of this boat.” Morgan rapped the hull. Emilia emergedfrom the shelter of her hands. Morgan’s expression held compassion, but nopity. “Have you ever done this kind of repair?”

“I’vewatched some videos.”

“Thenyou probably know more than I do,” said Morgan.

Fuckit. “Actually, Ihave no idea what I’m doing. About this. Or, honestly, about anything.”

“Hey.”Morgan spoke to her the way Emilia remembered her speaking to Nell. The gentlevoice felt like a soothing hand on her back. “Tell you what. I’ll watch sometutorials to get on your level, and if you want, I can help you get this ladyseaworthy. You’re obviously totally capable of doing it yourself, but like Isaid, I miss your dad. You can think of it as a favor to him.”

“Okay.”The word hurt coming out.

“Good.”Morgan stood and offered Emilia a hand. “And now, you look like you really coulduse a drink. I’m not on call, and Stormy’s is on both of our way home. Plus sheallows dogs, so if you want to grab a drink . . .” she trailed off.

Emiliaaccepted Morgan’s hand. Her palm was warm and rough. “Sure.”

“Allright. Did you drive or walk?”

“Walk,”said Emilia, and this time it wasn’t a lie.

“Mindif we keep walking? Parking the truck is a bitch in town, even during the off-season,”said Morgan.

“Idon’t mind. What should I do about this?” She nudged her boat.

“We’llcarry it up to the boathouse. It’s pretty obvious it needs repair, and no onewill steal it. This way it will also be dry when we work on it.”

We. Well, at least she hadn’t lied toher mother. She’d made a friend.

Hereyes slid to the flexed muscles in Morgan’s arms and shoulders as they carriedthe skiff.Friends.

• • •

Morganwalked beside Emilia down the weathered sidewalk, their dogs pausing to sniffat things she could only guess at. Emilia kept pace easily with her, unlikepoor Stevie, and Morgan idly wondered if she was a runner. She had a runner’slong muscles, although her jeans hugged hips that made Morgan swallow. Her darkhair hung in a messy braid that managed to look artful, and she had Ray’s oliveskin. The wool sweater she wore also looked as if it had belonged to her father.She’d rolled the over-long sleeves up to her wrists in a way that stirred adangerously protective instinct in Morgan.

Stevie, she thought darkly. Her friend’sinsistent prodding had gotten to her, and now she was spinning fairytales forherself. Emilia Russo’s father had died, and Morgan had no desire to complicateEmilia’s life further. The woman clearly had a lot going on. More to the point,so did Morgan. She could be friendly, though, and try not to dwell on Emilia’ssputtered “I’m gay” for too long, or the curl of hair trailing down the opencollar of her sweater. Morgan cleared her throat.

“So,”she asked. “Where are you coming from?”

“Thedock.”

“Ingeneral,” said Morgan, noting the slight curve of Emilia’s lips. Had shecracked a joke?

“Boston.”

“Ah.That makes you a summer person. I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

“Appreciated.Did you grow up here?”

“Bornand bred. I spent some time in New York—upstate, not the city—for school, butthis is home.” She waved her hand at a row of buildings that took “weathered”past the borders of quaint and into derelict.

“Isthat a bad thing?”

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