Page 57 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“The boat?”

“Yep.”

“Er, I should probably mention that my driving skills peaked at parallel parking in Covent Garden. Pretty sure that’s not the recommended technique for boats. But then I guess this is captaining so…”

Luke laughed. “Yep, driving and captaining are two different things.” He reached into a box beneath the wheel and pulled out a captain’s hat, complete with gold braid and a slightly faded brim.

“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

“Every captain needs her hat.” His blue eyes danced with mischief as he placed it carefully on her head. “There. Now you look almost seaworthy and very hot.”

“No,” she said, catching sight of herself in the shine of the bell above. “I look like I’m auditioning for a very low-budget production of Titanic.”

“Good thing there aren’t any icebergs in the lake, then.” He adjusted the hat’s angle. “Here, take the wheel, Rose.”

“Why thank you, Jack.” She walked in front of him, placing her hands on the wheel.

“Just keep her steady,” he said, his voice closer now, his breath warm against her ear. “Feel how she wants to move.”

He came up behind her, putting his hands over hers on the wheel. Sophie tried very hard to focus on the lake rather than the solid warmth of him against her back and the way his calloused fingers adjusted her grip gently.

“Most folks try to force their will on her,” he murmured into her ear. “But she’s got her own ideas about where she wants to go. You’ve got to work with her, not against her.”

The boat hit a ripple and Sophie tightened her grip.

“You’re gripping that wheel like it’s gonna bite you,” he said.

Sophie huffed out a breath. “Well, considering this boat is older than I am and smells like a cross between engine grease and wet dog, I’d say a little caution is warranted.”

Luke fought a smile. “You planning on insulting my boat all the way to the food truck?”

She glanced up at him, her lips twitching. “That depends. Does it have feelings?”

“No, but I do.”

She leaned against his chest as she continued steering the boat. In the distance, Solace Springs was showing off its night-time charm. Cherry trees dotted the shoreline, their branches swaying in the breeze, while the town lights clustered cozily. Not London’s dazzling display, of course, but there was something oddly comforting about a place small enough to actually go dark at night, where stars could still outshine streetlamps.

“God, this place is beautiful.”

“Sure is,” Luke murmured. But he wasn’t looking at the view. He was staring at Sophie.

A few moments later, they moored and walked up the hill to Ray’s food truck. It was exactly as promised: a weathered red vehicle parked at a scenic overlook where the whole lake spread out below. A string of mismatched fairy lights hung around the service window and the scent of butter and seafood made Sophie’s mouth water. Only a handful of people were there, including Abbey, the strawberry blonde Sophie had met with Grace.

“Rhodes!” boomed a voice from inside the truck. “Thought I recognized that scowl pulling up. Been wondering when you’d grace the truck with your presence.”

“Been busy keeping half the town’s boats from sinking,” Luke replied.

Up close, Ray looked to be anywhere from forty to seventy. His deeply tanned, weather-beaten face making age impossible to determine. He had a lean, wiry build, with forearms like knotted rope and hands that looked capable of shucking oysters by sheer intimidation. A salt-and-pepper beard covered most of his face, but couldn’t hide the permanent laughter lines around his eyes. He wore a faded Yankees cap that had clearly weathered many seasons, both baseball and maritime.

Ray snorted, turning his attention to Sophie. “This poor girl letting you taxi her around in that death trap you call a boat?”

Sophie felt herself blush as she remembered what Ray had interrupted the day before.

“That ‘death trap’ has rescued your sorry behind twice,” Luke shot back.

“Twice? Nah, that was just one time,” Ray protested.

“Twice,” Luke insisted. “The second time was after the fishing derby when you insisted on loading ‘just one more cooler of beer’ and broke your boat in the process.”