Page 10 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

He paused at the back door, all teenage defiance wrapped in a wrinkled denim shirt. “I’m going, aren’t I?”

“Through the front door, please. And you haven’t eaten—”

“Not hungry.” The door banged shut behind him.

Grace sighed, her earlier brightness dimming slightly. “Sorry about that. Fourteen is…challenging.”

Sophie watched through the window as Zach kicked at cherry blossoms, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The slouch, the carefully cultivated air of not caring. Typical teenage-boy behavior.

Grace’s hands moved expertly as she worked the enormous copper espresso machine. “So, settling in okay? Apart from testing the lake temperature?”

“Let’s see,” Sophie said. “I’ve nearly drowned, been rescued by the grumpiest man in America, and apparently become the star of the town’s rumor mill. All before noon. Honestly, though? It’s rather refreshing after London. There, you could probably set yourself on fire on the tube and everyone would just politely pretend not to notice.”

“Sounds like heaven to me,” Grace replied. “London plus the chance for some anonymity…Bliss! So, you planning on sleeping in the boathouse tonight?”

Sophie grimaced. “That was the plan. But the loo doesn’t seem to work and I haven’t quite got around to buying a bed.”

“I’m sure there’s space at The Maple Inn,” Grace said.

“The one in the middle of the island?” Sophie asked.

“That’s the one. Margaret runs it with her husband, Abe.” Grace frowned, lowering her voice as she leaned in closer. “Though on second thoughts, you might want to avoid it. The basement flooded after the last big storm, and it still has a damp smell. The place has so much potential but…” She sighed as she peered toward Margaret. “Well, it’s getting too much for the Blackwells. How about I lend you a camper bed, sleeping bag, and travel toilet from our camping trips, if you’re determined to stay at the boathouse? I’ll even throw in a travel kettle; I know how you Brits like your tea.”

Sophie had never been a fan of camping. Even with the damp smell, the inn would be comfortable. But something was pulling her back to the boathouse. Her boathouse. “If you don’t mind lending me those items, I’d really appreciate it,” she said eventually.

“Sure thing!”

“There’s my girl!” Mabel emerged from the kitchen, a plate of pink-frosted cookies in hand. “I see you’ve met my daughter, Grace. You young ones need to stick together in this town, balance out all us nosy old biddies.”

“I beg your pardon!” Margaret called over.

“Oh, hush now.” Mabel steered Sophie toward a pastel pink velvet chair in a cozy corner of the café. “Best seat in the house,” she said. “You can see everyone coming and going, which in this town is better than television.”

Sophie settled into the plush armchair as Grace appeared balancing a tray laden with what looked like the world’s most perfect lunch: toasted sourdough sandwiches overflowing with fresh seafood, a rainbow-bright coleslaw, and homemade chips.

“Our lakeside special,” Grace announced, sliding the plate in front of her, “including walleye, freshly caught from the lake this morning.”

“Looks delicious,” Sophie said.

“We do good food here,” Margaret called over. “Best in the whole state.”

“You ever been to the States before?” Mabel asked.

“A few times. New York. Florida. The usual places. I was actually born here, too,” Sophie replied. “Specifically in Florida. My parents were on holiday there and my mum gave birth to me early.”

“So you have American citizenship?” Mabel asked.

“She sure does if she was born here,” Chester called over. “Under the principle of jus soli.”

Mabel gave him a confused look.

“It means ‘right to soil,’ ” Sophie explained. “Any child born here automatically gets US citizenship. I actually hold dual citizenship as both my parents are British.”

“Have you been to Washington State before?” Mabel asked her.

“Never,” Sophie replied.

“So what brought you to Solace Springs, of all places?” Grace asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.