Page 14 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“What look?”

“The one you get when you’re staring at something delicious. Like when we visited that old bookshop in York and you spotted an illustrated edition of Wuthering Heights and went all starry-eyed. You’re even licking your lips in the same way. You’re watching Captain Crush now, aren’t you?”

Sophie immediately pressed her lips together, mortified to realize she had been. “I hate you.”

“You love me. Now I demand you turn your camera around so I can drool over him, too.”

Sophie hesitated, then quickly flipped her view.

“Oh. My. God.” Lisa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s like some sort of rugged boat-captain fantasy come to life. Those shoulders! That jaw! Mum would love him!”

Sophie felt that familiar flutter of pain at the mention of their mum. “I had no idea Mum had a thing for American boatmen.”

“Her love of seafaring men wasn’t confined to one nationality. Honestly, don’t you remember how much she loved it when Dad wore that captain hat when we went canal boating?”

Sophie laughed as the memory came back to her. “I do!” Outside, Luke was lifting something heavy on to his boat, the movement making his sweater stretch across shoulders. “Oh my God,” she said miserably, “it’s like every Maritime Monthly’s Hottest Helmsmen calendar came to life and decided to torture me specifically.”

“And this is a problem because…?”

“Because we mix about as well as library books and lake water. Every time he opens his mouth, I want to push him overboard.”

“While noticing how his perfect forearms flex when he’s pulling himself back out of the lake?”

Sophie found herself imagining just that but then shook her head. “That’s also the problem. I need to focus! I have four thousand people counting on me to make this bookshop work. I have a boathouse that’s one strong sneeze away from falling into the lake. I have—” She stopped, throat tight. “I have to prove I can do something brave and unexpected, that I’m not just the girl who needs everything to be safe and planned and perfect.”

“You flew across an ocean and bought a derelict boathouse with strangers’ money,” Lisa said, laughing. “I’d say you’re already proving that.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m one wrong move away from everything falling apart?”

“Because you’re sleep-deprived and about to get on a boat with a man who looks like he could bench press your emotional baggage?”

Sophie couldn’t help laughing. “I hate that you know me so well.”

“That’s what family’s for. Now, go show Hot Boat Man that being organized doesn’t make you boring. It makes you capable of anything, including turning that wreck into the coziest bookshop that lake has ever seen.”

“Even if he thinks I’m crazy for trying?”

“Especially if he thinks you’re crazy for trying.” Lisa paused, and Sophie could see her grin. “Though maybe try not to fall in the lake this time. The wet look only works once.”

“True,” Sophie said with a sigh, then quickly added: “Of course, I don’t care how I look so…”

“Sure, sure.” Lisa paused a moment, face going serious. “Mum would be so proud of you, Soph. Honestly.”

Sophie felt herself get choked up. “She’d think I was mad.”

“Yeah, that, too. But mainly proud.” Another pause. “I take it you haven’t read the letter yet?”

Sophie peered toward the copy of Wuthering Heights where the letter now lived, safe between its pages. It was the first book she’d sneaked from her mum’s collection. Her first taste of what it meant to have a “book boyfriend” and a couple to root for.

“No,” she admitted. “Soon, though.”

“You’ve been saying that for a year.” Lisa peered over her shoulder. “Look, I better go, my friend’s just walked in. But keep me posted on your maritime adventure, okay?”

Sophie ended the call and tucked her phone into her pocket, Lisa’s laughter echoing in her ears. She looked at that copy of Wuthering Heights again. Almost went to reach for it and tear open that letter. But again, something stopped her.

Time to face another kind of music—in this case, the annoyingly attractive neighbor who was about to take her out on his boat.

“Professional,” she reminded herself firmly. “Completely professional.”