Page 11 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

Sophie felt all eyes in the café turn toward her. She hesitated. Her crowdfunding campaign had seemed brilliant in London—a modern solution to an age-old dream. But here, surrounded by people whose families had probably owned the same properties for generations, she wasn’t sure how they’d react to knowing her boathouse was purchased with the help of internet strangers.

“Well…” She took a sip of coffee to buy time. “Honestly? Life in London fell apart quite spectacularly. I was made redundant from my job and my boyfriend dumped me all in one week.”

Sympathetic murmurs rippled through the café. Margaret clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Men,” she said, with the weary authority of someone who’d seen it all.

“So I decided I needed a change,” Sophie continued, warming to her audience. “I was scrolling through property listings one night after too much wine, saw this beautiful old boathouse for sale in the country I was born in and just…jumped.” She shrugged. “My mother left me some money when she passed last year. I figured she’d approve of me finally doing something impulsive for once, especially in my birthplace.”

She thought again of that unopened letter, now lying on Luke’s radiator.

“Your mama would be proud,” Mabel said with conviction, patting Sophie’s hand. “Takes courage to start fresh somewhere new.”

“Especially somewhere so far from home,” Grace added as she walked back to the counter. “And you chose quite the place and the time to arrive. Solace Springs is beautiful in the spring.”

Sophie nodded, relieved they weren’t pressing for more details about the financing. “The cherry blossoms in the photos sold me, I think.”

“Those trees have a way of calling to people,” Margaret said. “Been drawing folks to Solace Lake for generations.”

“Well, they certainly worked their magic on me,” Sophie replied.

As she said that, the café door chimed and Luke strode in, looking like a thundercloud. His eyes locked on to Sophie with an intensity that would have withered plants before he stalked to the counter, ordering coffee from Grace in a low rumble.

“So tell us, Sophie, what exactly are your plans for the old boathouse?” Mabel asked.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, aware of Luke’s presence like a physical weight. “I’m planning to transform it into a bookshop,” she said.

Luke collected his mug then settled at a nearby table, exchanging brief greetings with several locals who seemed unfazed by his brooding demeanor.

“How wonderful!” Margaret called over. “What will it look like?”

“Originally I was thinking of going for a look like the gorgeous, modernized boathouses across the lake—”

“Hell no,” Luke grumbled.

“Come on now, Luke,” Grace said, rolling her eyes. “Give her a chance.”

“Haven’t we given enough outsiders a chance?” Luke countered. “The thing about them is they always think they know what’s best for a place they just met. Fact is, though, you can’t just waltz into a Solace Springs boathouse and turn it into some fancy reading room for summer tourists.”

Everyone looked over at him. Some nodded in agreement, others shook their heads.

“You know it’s true,” he said, looking around him. “My grandpa used to say these boathouses were more than just buildings. They’re the heart of this lake, the soul of this town. And we’ve got a duty to protect that. You’ve all seen what happened to Elmsworth Falls when urban transplants with about as much depth as a puddle came in with their ‘modern visions.’ They gut everything that makes these places special, strip away all the history for the sake of trendy design and social media appeal.”

Sophie tried to interrupt, but Luke was on a roll, all coiled energy and barely contained passion.

“What about that mansion on the southern bank that millionaire had built?” he continued. “Looks like a spaceship landed on our lake.” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the café. “My grandfather helped build these boathouses. My father maintained them. And I promised them both I’d protect what makes them special. So that’s what I’m doing,” he said, his blue eyes landing on Sophie, all steel and determination, “before another new arrival ruins things.”

Every eye in the café fixed on her. It was like being back at a dinner party with her ex, where he and his pretentious friends had dismissed her dreams of one day opening a bookshop as “cute but unrealistic.” Except this time she wasn’t about to let a one-man storm system make assumptions about her plans without even asking her first.

“Funny,” she said, straightening her spine and finding her voice, “I don’t recall sending you my renovation plans. For someone who seems concerned about preserving history, you’re remarkably quick to jump to conclusions without getting all the facts first. As I was about to say before being so rudely interrupted”—she flashed a tight smile at Luke—“I liked the modern look initially, but now that I’m here, I’ve fallen in love with all the original features. Turns out I have this strange respect for history and craftsmanship. Shocking concept, I know. Especially for an urban transplant with as much depth as a puddle,” she added.

“It’s true, Luke,” Mabel said. “She told me as much herself a couple of hours ago.”

Sophie savored the moment as her new critic blinked, his self-righteous expression faltering like a boat engine that had suddenly cut out. There was something oddly satisfying about watching Mr. Know-It-All’s certainty hit an unexpected wave of doubt.

Margaret leaned over from her table, placing her wrinkled hand over Luke’s large, clenched fist. “She’s no Claire, sweetie,” she said in a low voice.

For just a second, Sophie caught a flicker of something almost vulnerable behind Luke’s stormy eyes.