Page 21 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“Of course I have. You think I’d haul my life across an ocean without a plan?”

“I mean…yes,” he said drily, and she laughed.

“Next on the list: wood treatment for the walls. I looked into products that work in lakefront settings. There’s this borate-based preservative you can apply after drying the wood completely. Stops fungus, insects, the whole lot. It’s environmentally safe, too. I read it in a cabin renovation forum.”

Well, damn. He’d expected her to throw around words like “charming patina” and “rustic vibes,” not borate-based preservatives. Most people couldn’t tell mildew from moss, and here she was quoting lumber forums and fungus prevention like she’d grown up on a boatyard.

“I’m also thinking floor-to-ceiling bookshelves,” she continued. “Made from lake driftwood, so they feel part of the house’s story.”

“Which wall?” Luke asked, looking around.

“The east side,” Sophie said.

Luke frowned. There was a very narrow and battered window there, sure, but he’d always liked the design of it, with two stained-glass panes with boat patterns.

“The window looks directly out onto the wall of your boathouse,” Sophie continued, “so it doesn’t let much light in. If I have it taken out, I can create a whole wall of shelves.”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Floor-to-ceiling shelves might be a bit much. You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she said firmly. “It’ll give it that magical, almost library-like feel. Like you’re stepping into a secret reading nook where every story is waiting to be found.”

He tried to imagine it: the musty old space transformed with books and color and sunlight streaming through new windows. Her voice had taken on that hopeful edge again, and damn if it didn’t make him want to see it happen, even if he still thought the shelves were a little much. And the idea of taking the window out…it just didn’t sit right with him. He’d been used to looking at that window when his grandpa had used the place as a workshop.

“And new flooring, obviously,” she continued, flipping to another page in her notebook. “I found a supplier in Elmsworth Falls who does reclaimed hardwood. Some of it even came from old barns in Canada. That’ll keep the rustic charm without the risk of falling through the floor. After that, paint. Something warm. Maybe a soft green or buttery yellow?”

Luke grunted, trying not to show how impressed he was. “Don’t paint over the original beams.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, as if insulted. “But I am adding a window seat. Right in front of the big window.”

He watched her as she spoke, hands animated, face alight with purpose. She wasn’t just throwing ideas at the wall, she was building something. And despite every bone in his body telling him not to get involved, he couldn’t help but feel pulled in.

“You’re really going all in on this,” he said.

“I have to. I want this place to feel like a sanctuary, not just for me, but for the people who’ll come through the doors. A bookshop with soul.”

“How long you planning for this all to take, then?”

“I’ve given myself twelve weeks, give or take a few days for unexpected hiccups,” she said brightly.

He had to stop himself from laughing. “Twelve weeks, huh?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even flinch. “Two weeks to clear the place out, sort the plumbing, and get all the boring inspections and structural stuff handled. Then flooring, windows, and wood treatment by week five. Painting and shelves after that. Final stage is furniture, book stock, signage…and voilà.” She beamed at him. “Grand opening by the end of spring.”

He gave a low whistle. “You’re talking about turning a relic into a functioning business in twelve short weeks. You know what they say about lake time, right? Everything takes twice as long and costs three times as much.”

“Well,” she said brightly, “good thing I’m stubborn and I brought spreadsheets.”

Luke gave her a long look. Part of him thought she might actually pull it off.

“So why a bookshop? Other than you clearly being a bookworm.”

“Is that judgment I hear in your voice, Captain Rhodes?”

“Curiosity,” he corrected.

Sophie’s expression softened. “Books became my friends. My dad traveled a lot for work and Mum was busy keeping the house running without him. My older sister, Lisa, was always out so I was often alone. But books were always there. I like how they’re these perfect little worlds you can carry around with you. How they can make you feel less alone even when you are.”

Something dangerous tugged in Luke’s chest as he watched her brown eyes lighting up when she talked about something she loved.