Page 33 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“Crafty and eco-conscious?” Her lips curved up, revealing a tiny mole just above the left corner of her mouth that he hadn’t noticed before. A perfect dark dot. Made him wonder how it would feel under his tongue, if he could taste the sweetness of her smile, trace that small mark with his thumb, his lips. The thought sent a surge of heat straight to his groin.

Get it together, Rhodes.

The band had shifted to something slow and haunting, the notes carrying across the water as dusk deepened into true evening. Along the shore, people knelt in pairs, working together to light their lanterns.

“Come on,” he said to Sophie, voice rough with barely contained want. “We light it together.”

He led her to the edge of the lake. Without ceremony, he dropped into a crouch. Sophie followed, her dress billowing as she knelt beside him, a little too close for his comfort…or sanity.

She shifted slightly and her thigh bumped his. He didn’t move.

“So? What’s the protocol here?” she asked, glancing at the lantern. “Is this a solemn ceremony or more of a DIY situation?”

Luke reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a battered matchbook. “We light it. Say something. Let it go.”

“Vague. Mysterious. Very you.”

He didn’t rise to it. Just struck the match, the flare of it briefly lighting the curve of her cheek. She leaned in, hands cupped around his without hesitation to protect the flame from the breeze. Her fingers brushed his—just a quick touch—but his pulse jumped anyway. Damn thing never listened to reason.

They got the wick lit on the second try. Warm light flickered over her face, catching the gold in her eyes. She smelled like lake air and something citrusy, and it was making it hard to think in straight lines.

He cleared his throat.

“Now you make a wish,” he said. “You tell it to the flame. Supposedly, the lake listens.”

“Supposedly?” she asked, brows raised.

He shrugged. “Abe swears it works. Who am I to argue with the old man?”

She stared at the lantern for a long moment, then leaned forward, lips close to the flickering light. Her whisper was too soft for him to hear. Probably for the best. If she’d said his name, he wasn’t sure what he’d have done. Then it was his turn. He hesitated, a man unaccustomed to wishes and wants beyond the simple rhythms of lake life. But with Sophie kneeling beside him, the curve of her neck bathed in golden light, her dress slipping slightly off one shoulder, he found himself leaning toward the flame.

Let me be what she needs, what she wants.

The thought blindsided him. It felt too raw, too desperate. So he pushed it away, like shoving something back underwater before it could surface again.

They lowered the lantern to the water together, their hands touching again. The gentle current caught the small vessel immediately, drawing it away from shore to join the growing constellation of flames now drifting across the lake’s surface.

“It’s beautiful,” Sophie said quietly. Luke glanced at her. She looked—hell, he didn’t even know how to describe it. Lit up. Skin soft in the lantern glow, eyes wide like she’d never seen anything quite like this. A couple of cherry blossoms still clung to her hair, defiant despite the breeze, like they were making some kind of point. The contrast between her city-girl polish and those wild petals made something raw shift inside him.

He wanted to mess that polish up. See what she looked like when she wasn’t trying so hard. See if she’d still look at him like that when her lipstick was smudged and her voice was saying his name for entirely different reasons.

Luke cleared his throat, grateful for the shadows. His body had decided to jump a mile ahead of him and it took everything he had not to move with it.

The music picked up in the distance with couples laughing, dancing. But he stayed right there, caught in the quiet between them.

“Thank you,” Sophie said, turning toward him. “For sharing this.”

Luke didn’t think. The words just came. “You’re becoming part of it now.” He met her gaze. “The lake. This place. You fit.”

Her mouth parted, just slightly, and now he was looking at her lips, really looking, and every rational thought fled his brain. It would take just one small movement to reach her. To lean in. To see if she tasted as sharp and soft as she looked.

Control yourself, he ordered silently. She wasn’t some tourist passing through. She was his neighbor. Someone he’d have to face every damn day across the docks. Someone who now trusted him to help with her renovations, who looked at his simple woodwork with genuine appreciation.

He stood abruptly, offering her his hand again. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. The mud clung to her dress, to her knees and he had to fight the urge to brush it away, to let his hands linger on the curves of her legs.

“Wanna dance?” The question surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her.

“I’d love to,” she said, “but I should warn you, I dance like a newborn foal. All limbs, no coordination.”