Page 23 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

Sophie accepted the cup with grateful hands. “You are officially my favorite person in Solace Springs.”

Grace settled on the floor beside her, crossing her long legs under her as she surveyed the explosion of planning materials. “So, how was the great driftwood expedition? Did Luke manage complete sentences, or was it all grunts and meaningful silences?”

Sophie took a fortifying sip of her latte, which tasted like spring itself had been distilled into coffee form. “He was actually…okay? We talked. Like, really talked.” She didn’t add that she’d spent the boat ride back in a state of confused emotional turmoil, hyperaware of every time he shifted his weight, cleared his throat, or existed in her general vicinity.

“Talked?” Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Luke Rhodes? Voluntarily conversed with another human being before noon? Are we sure the lake hasn’t been replaced with an alien replica?”

“I know,” Sophie agreed. “I kept checking for signs of body-snatching. Though I suppose aliens would choose a more charming host body. One with fewer scowls and more social skills.”

Grace snorted coffee through her nose, which Sophie counted as a win.

“Anyway,” Sophie continued, gesturing toward her sketches, “I’m trying to focus on actual productive work. Now I’ve seen what this place is all about, it’s planning time, my favorite part.” Sophie pulled a binder toward them. “I’m going to divide my plans into phases based on priority and budget.” She gestured toward highlighters and some washi tape, because if Sophie was going to spiral into renovation madness, she was going to do it with style.

“Wow,” Grace breathed, looking genuinely impressed. “Those plans are going to be…comprehensive.”

“The blue section will cover structural work,” Sophie continued. “The pink is design elements, yellow inventory system, green will be community engagement plans, and purple will be the café area.”

“You’re planning a café, too?”

“Just a small one,” Sophie said, turning to the purple section where she’d already sketched a cozy reading nook with a coffee bar. “Nothing that would compete with your mum’s place. More like a spot where people can get tea or coffee while they browse. I was thinking of featuring local bakers on rotation, maybe? And hot drinks with names like ‘Count of Macchiato’ and ‘Much Ado about Latte’?”

“I love it! Most people I know can’t even organize their sock drawer, and you’re going to be mapping out an entire business transformation with color-coding and…tiny Post-its?”

Sophie felt her cheeks warm. “I know it’s a bit much—”

“It’s brilliant,” Grace interrupted. “Seriously, Sophie. This is exactly why your bookshop is going to succeed where other new businesses have failed. You’ll actually be thinking this through. At this rate, you’ll be opening your bookshop by summer.”

“Well, that’s the plan.”

Grace looked as shocked as Luke was by the idea. “I was kind of kidding.”

Sophie suddenly felt a sense of doubt. “Maybe I’m being too ambitious.”

“You know what,” Grace said, “why shouldn’t you be ambitious? In fact, you could launch the bookshop at the Solstice Serenade.”

“What’s that?”

“It takes place the last full weekend of May, in under three months. A kind of goodbye to spring. Stalls, music, then at night, the whole town out there watching the sunset like it’s church. If you open that weekend, Sophie, people won’t just show up—they’ll remember. You’ll be stitching yourself right into the heart of this place.”

Sophie looked out toward the lake, imagining music trailing through the air and the boathouse glowing from within.

“Okay,” she said slowly, then with more certainty. “Okay. Solstice Serenade it is. Three months. That gives me just enough time to make magic happen.”

Grace chuckled. “I love your enthusiasm. You’ll need help.” Her eyes strayed over to Luke’s boathouse. “And I know just the man for that.”

Sophie followed her gaze, then snorted softly. “Oh no. He’s already made it very clear he won’t help, bar giving me his plumber friend’s number and the one-off island visit for driftwood, and I think even that nearly killed him. I’m pretty sure the idea of working with me makes him itch.”

Grace arched an eyebrow. “Luke Rhodes always itches when something might shake up his routine. Doesn’t mean he won’t scratch.”

“You’ve known him a long time?”

Grace nodded, breaking off a piece of cinnamon roll. “Since kindergarten. Our town’s small enough that everyone’s basically grown up together. Luke was always quiet, but he wasn’t always…” She waved her hand vaguely. “You know, emotionally constipated.”

“What changed him?” Sophie asked, then added with forced lightness, “I mean, apart from his apparent allergy to social interaction and smiling.”

Grace sighed, her expression softening. “Life, I guess. His mom walked out when he was thirteen. Apparently met some hotshot architect with fancy suits and fancier promises while visiting a friend in Seattle. Had a brief affair, Luke’s dad found out. I think they tried to make a go of things for a bit, according to what my mom told me. Beth—Luke’s mom—was a midwife and knew most of the families in town. Anyway, they did try, but eventually she left for good.”

“Oh. That’s awful.”