Page 25 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“It does make sense,” Sophie agreed slowly. “But I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“Well, this is fascinating,” Grace announced, standing up with poorly concealed glee. “But I should get back to the café. Lots of…coffee…things…happening there.”

After Grace left with a singsong “Have fuuuun!” Sophie turned back to Luke, who was studying the exposed beams with intense concentration.

“Fine then,” she said. “How much?”

“How much what?”

“That thing where I give you money in exchange for services rendered? It’s quite popular in advanced economies.”

“I don’t want your money,” he said, looking genuinely offended by the suggestion.

“Well, I can’t just let you work for free. That’s taking advantage.” Did she imagine that slight raise of the eyebrow?

“Consider it neighborly goodwill.”

“Neighborly goodwill from the man who looked at me like I’d suggested painting the lake pink when I mentioned repainting the walls.”

“Do you want my help or not, Bennett?” His voice had that gruff quality that did completely inappropriate things to Sophie’s insides. Add a small quirk of those delectable lips and she would melt entirely.

She pretended to consider it, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Fine. But I’m at least feeding you. And coffee. Nonnegotiable.”

“Deal. I’ll be here at eight tomorrow. We’ll start with the structural assessment.”

“So bossy,” Sophie murmured. “Eight it is, Captain.”

As he left with a curt nod, Sophie allowed herself exactly five seconds of undignified internal squealing before giving herself a telling-off and returning to her renovation plans. After all, she had a bookshop to build and, apparently, a very handsome, very grumpy assistant builder to manage.

Ten

Luke

Luke felt like a man facing execution as he stood outside Sophie’s boathouse the next day, toolbox in hand.

“It’s just renovation work,” he muttered to himself. “You’ve done this a thousand times.”

But not like this. Not with her.

A bang from inside the boathouse jerked him from his thoughts. Through the window, he could see Sophie attempting to move what looked like a large bookshelf herself, her face scrunched in determination as she pushed ineffectively against the heavy oak.

Luke didn’t bother knocking, just walked in before she caused herself some damage. “Need some help?”

Sophie yelped, spinning around with a hand pressed to her chest. “Bloody hell! A little warning would be nice. I thought you were going to knock like a normal human being.”

“I thought you were going to wait for help before trying to rearrange furniture that weighs more than you do,” Luke countered, setting his toolbox down with a clang.

“I wasn’t rearranging it,” Sophie said, brushing hair from her face, “I was just…nudging it. Slightly.”

“Nudging a solid oak bookshelf. By yourself.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” she said, lifting her chin in that way that somehow managed to be both infuriating and endearing. “Besides, I had a thought about the layout at approximately five forty-seven this morning and couldn’t go back to sleep until I tested it.”

Luke glanced around the boathouse’s main floor. Sophie had been busy. The place had been cleared out, the windows cleaned, all the junk hauled away. The old floorboards were beginning to show through, too—good bones, even with the wear.

Of course she’d found the old bookcase shoved behind the spiral stairs and gone and dragged it out, no hesitation.