Page 4 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

Her rescuer emerged from his boathouse then, pausing as he watched the woman approach, supplies held in his arms like he was preparing for a tactical retreat rather than a simple handover of dry clothes and coffee.

“Ah, Luke, I was just about to introduce myself to your new and very pretty neighbor,” the woman said, adding a wink.

In return, Luke gave the woman the kind of long-suffering look that suggested this wasn’t their first roadside ambush.

The woman turned to Sophie, her green eyes sparkling. “I’m Mabel Sullivan, owner of Blossoms & Brew café in town. Though these days, I mostly keep a hands-off approach while my daughter Grace does all the real work.”

Luke muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “hands-off is a generous term” as he reluctantly handed Sophie the towel and hoodie, though his movements were surprisingly gentle when he helped her steady the thermos of coffee.

Mabel gave the thermos a raised eyebrow.

“Had the coffee on anyway,” Luke said gruffly, as if daring anyone to suggest otherwise. But when Sophie’s still-shaking hands struggled with the lid, he wordlessly took it back, unscrewed it and poured her a steaming capful.

Damn, he is cute.

Sophie shook her head and took a quick sip, trying to let that thought disappear.

The coffee was perfect. Strong and hot with just a hint of something that might have been cinnamon. “Thanks,” she said to Luke. “Just what a drowned rat needs.”

He nodded then peered at his watch. Clearly she was holding him up. Still, he remained where he was. She put the cup down and shrugged on the fleece, immediately enveloped in a scent that was unexpectedly intoxicating: salt air, cedarwood, and just a hint of something darker, like smoke from a distant bonfire. She noticed Mabel watching her with curious eyes, and rearranged her face into a smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mabel,” Sophie said to her. “I can’t wait to visit the café. I love the name!”

Mabel clasped her hands together. “Oh, listen to that English accent!” she said, her steel-gray curls bouncing with each animated gesture. “My Grace’ll love you; she’s something of an anglophile. But look at you, poor thing, all wet.” Her eyes twinkled as she glanced out at the lake. “Most people wait until summer for a swim.”

Sophie laughed, already warming to Mabel’s motherly enthusiasm. “Not exactly part of my planned grand entrance. The dock had other ideas.” She gestured to the broken board that had betrayed her. “Though I suppose it’s one way to meet the neighbors.”

“And what a neighbor to meet first,” Mabel said with a meaningful look at Luke, who was very deliberately focusing on watching a bird diving into the lake. “Luke’s family have been the unofficial custodians of Solace Lake for generations. And as my grandmother would always say, everything happens for a reason.”

Sophie felt her cheeks warm, and not just from the coffee. She recognized that look in Mabel’s eyes. It was the same one her mother had got right before trying to set her up with her friend’s nephew. Clearly, small-town matchmaking was universal. And just because Sophie was technically on the rebound and Luke happened to be unfairly attractive didn’t mean she needed the entire town playing cupid. She wasn’t here for a meet-cute. She was here to prove she could take risks that didn’t involve men. Even scowling, ridiculously handsome ones.

“Speaking of things in the lake,” Mabel added, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “you might want to keep your eyes on Maple Island after dark. There have been some…unusual sightings lately. The whole town’s talking about it.”

Sophie looked toward the small island in the middle of the lake, which rose from the water like a forgotten relic; a tangle of gnarled pines and jagged rocks at its edges, the hint of a stone-built building, complete with chimney, at its center.

Luke barely suppressed his eye roll.

“What kind of sightings?” Sophie asked, instantly intrigued. If there was one thing guaranteed to distract her from both her soaking clothes and her very hot neighbor, it was a good mystery. She’d spent countless London commutes with true-crime and mystery podcasts in her ears. Her ex used to say her imagination worked overtime, but Sophie preferred to think of it as having an open mind to life’s mysteries.

“Strange lights dancing from among the trees,” Mabel said, clearly pleased to have found a fellow sleuth-story aficionado. “Even the inn’s guests have seen them.”

“There’s an inn there?” Sophie asked.

Mabel nodded. “The Maple Inn, been there over a century. At first we thought it was just reflections from cars up on the hills on the other side of the lake, like someone keeps insisting”—she shot Luke a look—“but there’s been talk. Ella from the museum swears its smugglers using underwater drones. Grace is convinced someone’s dumping toxic waste that’s making the fish glow. And don’t get me started on what the knitting club think after their true-crime podcast marathon.”

“It’s called moonlight,” Luke muttered. “Been happening since the dawn of time.”

“Moonlight doesn’t move through trees,” Mabel countered. “And it certainly doesn’t dive underwater.”

Sophie’s mind was already racing with possibilities. “This is just like that case I read about! These weird lights on a Scottish loch turned out to be divers finding stolen antiques in underwater caves. The police thought it was drugs at first, but nope, thieves had been using the caves to store their haul.”

“No underwater caves here,” Luke said with another heavy sigh.

Sophie ignored him. “Does anyone have wildlife cameras? Ooooh, underwater ones would be fab, too. We could set them up at different depths, track the movement patterns…”

Luke made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

“Oh!” Mabel clapped her hands together. “That’s brilliant! Luke has all sorts of fancy equipment for his tour business. And didn’t you just get those new underwater lights for night fishing trips?”