Page 31 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Sophie whispered conspiratorially. “Though I have to say, as far as hazing rituals go, having flowers dumped on my head is definitely preferable to what we did at university. My roommate had to wear a tutu over her clothes for an entire week.”

Luke’s eyes crinkled at the corners, that almost-smile broadening into something genuine which transformed his entire face. “Remind me never to attend British universities.”

“Smart man,” Sophie said, then pointed at the strings of lights illuminating the docks. “These are beautiful. Grace mentioned you’re the lighting mastermind behind it all.”

“Just doing my part.” Luke’s gaze followed hers out to the water, where the lights reflected like fallen stars. “Though if Caleb had his way, we’d have synchronized light shows and disco balls over Solace Lake.”

“And you successfully fought off that creative vision?” Sophie teased.

“Barely. Had to threaten to accidentally sink his design notebook.” There was that smile again, the rare one that seemed to start in his eyes. “You look nice, by the way.”

Sophie felt warmth creep up her neck. “Thank you. So do you.” She took a sip of her punch to hide the ridiculous smile threatening to overtake her face. “This punch is so delicious. And possibly alcoholic enough to be classified as jet fuel.”

“Mabel’s secret recipe. Nobody knows what’s in it except her, but legend has it there’s a shot of moonshine from the Prohibition era.”

“That explains the warmth spreading through my entire body.” Sophie laughed. Though I suspect that might not be entirely due to the punch, she wanted to add.

Their eyes met again, and that undeniable electric current surged between them. For a brief moment, the festival sounds dimmed, as if someone had turned down the volume on everything except the space between them.

Caleb appeared at their side, breaking the spell. He was resplendent in a floral shirt so bright it practically qualified as festival lighting on its own. Beside him was a tall blond man dressed in a simple cream sweater and jeans.

“Sophie, this is my husband, Mikkel,” Caleb said.

Mikkel offered her a calm, steady smile. “It’s good to meet you,” he said, his accent unmistakably Scandinavian. “Caleb talks about you like you’re already part of the town furniture.”

“Only the charming pieces, of course,” Caleb added with a wink. “None of the dusty ones.”

Sophie grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Please do,” Mikkel said warmly. “And good luck with your bookshop. I think it’s a beautiful idea.”

“Well, now I have no choice but to succeed,” Sophie said.

“How did the Maple Island excursion go?” Caleb said. “Everyone’s dying to hear about it.”

“We sure are,” Jake said as he sauntered over. “Our Luke’s a regular wood whisperer. Should’ve seen him in high school woodshop. Rest of us were making wobbly birdhouses and he constructed a full canoe.”

“It was a kayak, Jake,” Luke corrected, “and it sank within five minutes.”

“Still better than my effort.” Jake laughed. “Mine caught fire somehow.”

“How does a wooden boat catch fire on water?” Sophie asked.

“Dedication to failure,” Jake replied solemnly. “It’s a special talent.”

More people joined them and the conversation flowed easily, stories circling as the evening deepened and more lanterns were lit. Sophie learned that Luke had once gotten stranded overnight on Maple Island as a teenager when his boat engine died. That he’d built custom bookshelves for the museum that Ella, the woman who worked there, loved so much she’d cried. That despite his grumpy exterior, he was the first person neighbors called when something needed fixing.

With every story, every shared laugh, Sophie felt herself sliding deeper into trouble. This wasn’t just attraction, though heaven knew that was powerful enough. This was something more unsettling. A recognition. A sense that beneath their obvious differences lay something essentially similar: people who valued care and craft, who didn’t take shortcuts with things that mattered.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, she warned internally as she watched Luke explain something about the lake’s currents to a captivated Zach. You’ve known him less than a week. Marcus seemed wonderful at first, too.

But even as she thought it, Sophie knew the comparison wasn’t fair. Marcus had been all surface charm, a glossy brochure promising views that didn’t exist. Luke was…well, Luke was like the driftwood they’d collected. What you saw was what you got. No veneer, no pretense. Solid.

“So, Captain Rhodes,” Caleb said with exaggerated formality, “I was pleased to hear you’ve been assisting our British bookworm with her renovations. That boathouse needs a man who knows his way around wood.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning a sharp elbow from his husband.

Was it her imagination, or did something in Luke’s expression soften?

Before she could analyze it further, Margaret clapped her hands together. “It’s time for the Lantern Launch! Everyone to the central dock!”