Page 28 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

But Sophie, she had a depth he wanted to plow right into.

God damn it. Stop it, Rhodes.

If he had any sense, he’d steer clear of the festival. Stay home, sand down that old hull in the workshop, keep his eyes and thoughts where they belonged. But he had jobs to do, people he couldn’t let down.

And the truth was, he couldn’t avoid Sophie Bennett, as much as he tried. She was a storm coming straight for him.

Eleven

Sophie

Sophie stood in front of the cracked mirror propped against her bedroom wall, critically examining her reflection. She’d tried on approximately seventeen different outfits before settling on a floaty sundress in a shade of pale blue and a white woolen cardigan, a practical concession to the spring evening chill.

“You look perfectly respectable,” she told her reflection. “Like someone who hasn’t spent the last hour having a fashion crisis.”

Which was, of course, a complete lie. The evidence of her indecision lay scattered across the camping bed, jeans and sweaters and blouses forming a textile mountain range of rejected options.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just a festival. Not the Oscars.”

She gave herself a final critical once-over. She’d managed to tame her dark curls into something that looked deliberately tousled rather than “attacked by lake wind.” A touch of mascara, a hint of blush and a coral lip tint completed the look.

The evening air carried a distinct chill when Sophie stepped outside, the kind that reminded you spring hadn’t fully committed to staying yet. She wrapped her cardigan tighter and began the walk toward the lights that flickered in the distance, nervous energy propelling her forward.

Truth was, most of that nervous energy was caused by a desire to see Luke. She went to berate herself at that thought then stopped. Couldn’t she just get to know a man without all the romance stuff?

Besides, why would someone like Luke be interested in a bookish girl who’d bought a boathouse on a wine-fueled whim and funded it through internet strangers (not that he knew that part yet, she reminded herself again; not that she ever wanted him to know)?

As Sophie rounded the curve that led to the town center, she caught her first glimpse of the festival and stopped in her tracks, breath faltering for a moment.

The lakefront promenade had been transformed into a fairyland. Lanterns hung from every cherry tree, with fairy lights draped across the docks and wound around lampposts, creating a canopy of starlight above the cobblestones. Long tables draped in crisp white cloths lined the shore, each one adorned with mason jars stuffed with tulips and daffodils. The tables groaned under the weight of community contributions: platters of food decorated with edible flowers, artisanal cheese boards arranged in colorful spirals and homemade pastries that promised Sophie would regret any dietary restraint. At the center of each table stood large glass pitchers filled with a pale pink liquid, garnished with floating cherry blossoms and mint sprigs. Beside these, hand-lettered cards proudly announced: Mabel’s Famous Cherry Blossom Punch. One Cup for Cheer, Two for Dancing, Three at Your Own Risk!

Beyond it all, a wooden platform had been constructed for dancing, already occupied by couples swaying to the music of a small band playing beneath a tent of flowering branches.

The entire effect was enchanting.

“Well, aren’t you a picture! Come here, come here!” Sophie suddenly found herself being tugged toward the festival by Margaret, the silver-haired woman from the café’s knitting circle. “You’re just in time for the Blossom Blessing!”

“The what?” Sophie asked, stumbling slightly as Margaret’s surprisingly strong grip propelled her forward.

“The Blossom Blessing! It’s tradition!” Margaret announced, as if this explained everything. “Every newcomer gets blessed with petals for prosperity and happiness. You can’t properly live in Solace Springs without it.”

Margaret steered Sophie toward a circle of townsfolk gathered near the largest cherry tree. In the center stood Mabel, holding what appeared to be a woven basket filled with pink petals.

“Our newest resident has arrived! Let the ritual begin,” Margaret announced triumphantly, presenting Sophie to the group like she was unveiling a particularly impressive cake.

Ritual?

Sophie scanned the sea of expectant faces, half-waiting for someone to pull out a ceremonial flute. She’d seen horror films like this. She knew how this ended. Step one: flower crowns. Step two: dancing. Step three: human sacrifice in a quaint meadow setting. Still, if she was going down, at least she’d moisturized.

A cheer went up, and Sophie felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t really need—”

“Nonsense,” Mabel said with a wink. “Everyone needs blessings, especially newcomers.”

Before Sophie could protest further, the circle closed around her. From the periphery, she spotted Grace leaning against a cherry tree with another woman—a pretty woman with strawberry-blonde hair.

“Make sure she gets extra petals for good luck!” Grace called out, raising her punch glass in a mock toast. “She’s renovating the old boathouse, folks. She needs all the blessings we’ve got!”

Beside her, her son Zach slouched with teenage perfection, his eyes momentarily lifting from his phone to take in the spectacle. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, too, before he quickly suppressed it, returning to his carefully cultivated indifference.