Page 47 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“You don’t say,” she teased, but her eyes were gentle.

“But…I know I want to do this right.”

Sophie’s fingers traced patterns on his chest, her touch both soothing and maddening. “Me too. We’ve both got baggage. We’re both building something here.” She looked around at the floating garden, at the lake stretching beyond it. “I want to see where this goes, Luke. No pressure, no expectations. Just…us, figuring it out together.”

“I like the sound of that,” Luke replied.

“Good.” Sophie leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “And I have to remember I have a bookshop to launch in eleven weeks. So I can’t be too distracted.”

“And I need to remember I’ve got a bookshop to help you launch.”

Sophie’s face went serious. “Am I being stupid, thinking I can actually launch it in time for the Solstice Serenade?”

“To be honest, Soph, at first, I thought you were crazy. But now I know you, I honestly think you can do it.”

“Really? I’m terrified of failing,” she admitted. “The bookshop, this whole adventure.” She paused. “It’s not just about proving Marcus wrong when he called me boring. It’s about proving to myself that I can build something meaningful. That I’m not just the person who organizes everyone else’s dreams but never pursues her own.”

Marcus.

Every time Sophie mentioned her ex’s name, Luke wanted to find the bastard and introduce him to the business end of an outboard motor. He could imagine what he was like: some smug Londoner with his tailored suits and perfect hair who’d tossed away something precious like it was nothing.

“You’ve got the whole town behind you already,” Luke said. “That includes people like Mabel, and she’s practically a force of nature. Speaking of which, Mabel’s raspberry scones aren’t going to eat themselves.”

He leaned over and dragged the box of scones over, handing Sophie one. She bit into it, a small sound of pleasure escaping her that did dangerous things to Luke’s concentration. He reached across to brush a crumb from her lower lip. The simple touch was all it took to draw them together again, her mouth sweet with berries and honey as she leaned into him.

Over the next hour, it was the same pattern. Each time they broke apart to catch their breath, to sip tea or steal another bite of food, Luke found himself pulled back to her like the tide to the shore. They managed to talk between kisses about everything and nothing, including childhood stories that had them both laughing until their sides hurt. Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light, this present in a moment.

As the morning wore on, Luke checked his watch with increasing reluctance. The boys would be waiting for him at the boat ramp by two. Annual fishing trip, overnight on Eagle Point.

“We should head back,” he finally said, gathering their empty containers. “I’ve got a fishing thing with the guys.”

As they loaded everything into his boat for the short trip back to their docks, Luke found himself wishing, for the first time in his life, that he wasn’t going fishing. The thought was so foreign it nearly made him laugh out loud. Here he was, Luke Rhodes, who’d rather be on the water than anywhere else in the world, wishing he could skip a day on the lake with his oldest friends.

“What’s that smile about?” Sophie asked as he helped her into the boat.

Luke settled in beside her, his arm finding its way around her shoulders like it belonged there. “Just thinking that for the first time ever, I’m not looking forward to an overnight fishing trip.” He brushed a kiss against her temple. “I’d rather be right here with you, seeing how many times I can make you laugh…and produce other sounds, too,” he added.

The smile that bloomed across her face was worth the admission. Worth everything.

“There’s always tomorrow,” she said, leaning into him. “You have a rickety staircase to fix in-between boat tours.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, starting the engine.

Twenty-One

Sophie

Sophie had always considered herself a devoted disciple of the Church of Tea, but this morning’s desperate need for coffee transcended mere religious fervor. It was a full-on spiritual emergency.

“Just work faster, you sadistic little contraption,” she muttered at the travel kettle Grace had lent her, which seemed determined to extract maximum dramatic tension from the simple act of boiling water. Every night in the boathouse brought new adventures in pioneer living. So far she’d discovered three leaks in the roof, a family of mice with apparent architectural ambitions, and the fascinating fact that when the lake breeze hit just right, the entire structure made a sound reminiscent of a whale with bronchitis.

She glanced out of the window toward Luke’s boathouse, memories of yesterday’s floating garden adventure sending a pleasant warmth through her that had nothing to do with the reluctantly heating kettle. The feel of him on her, in her, all around her, had been playing on repeat in her head all night like some delicious movie she couldn’t stop rewatching.

She hadn’t seen Luke since they’d returned to the docks yesterday afternoon when Jake had pulled up with a couple of other rugged types to go fishing.

The kettle finally wheezed to a boil, and Sophie pounced on it, pouring the water into her mug. Then she glanced at her laptop, still closed on the small desk she’d wedged into the corner, and cringed. Four thousand waiting for an update. Four thousand who’d collectively contributed tens of thousands of pounds to her dream of a floating bookshop, and she’d gone radio silent for days since her “I’m finally here!” update.

“Right,” she muttered, taking a long sip of her tea. “Time to face the digital music.”