Page 73 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

A whirl of fury. “Someone was in here?”

Sophie nodded, big brown eyes glassy with tears.

Luke pulled her against his chest, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. She was shaking, fine tremors running through her body. Still in that pretty dress from the party. Still smelling faintly of flowers and Mabel’s punch. So small against him. So goddamn breakable.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips against her hair. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He held her for a long moment, until the worst of her trembling subsided. Then he pulled back just enough to frame her face in his hands, thumbs wiping away the tear tracks on her cheeks. Instinct had him pressing his lips to her forehead, her temple, the corner of her eye. Marking her with reassurance. She was safe. She was here. She was his.

“I’m calling the sheriff,” he said, fishing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the other still wrapped around Sophie. Steffan Bowden, Solace Springs’ sheriff and third-generation lake resident. No better man in a crisis.

“It’s late,” Sophie protested. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Breaking and entering isn’t a bother, it’s a crime.”

After he made the call, Luke led Sophie to the sofa, settling her down before going back to the mess in the kitchen. Glass everywhere, scattered across the counter and floor. Something else, too. An ornate belt buckle, half-hidden among the shards.

Luke picked it up carefully, examining it in the light. Silver-toned metal with some kind of etched flower design fashioned into a compass rose. Definitely didn’t seem like the kind of cheap knock-off some teenage vandal looking for booze money might own. Or maybe they’d just stolen it from someone else?

The door opened, letting in a blast of night air and Steffan’s solid presence. Six-foot-four of calm authority in a sheriff’s uniform, gun holstered at his hip, Viking blond hair and a beard to match.

“Luke.” Steffan nodded, taking in the scene with professional efficiency. Then he turned to Sophie. “Miss Bennett, heard you had some unwelcome company.”

“Yeah and they left something behind,” Luke said, speaking for her. He handed over the belt buckle and Steffan turned it over in his palm before slipping it into an evidence bag from his pocket. “Been getting reports of more break-ins around the lake last few days. Nothing taken, just…disturbances. This is the first real evidence. Best Miss Bennett doesn’t stay here tonight. Window needs boarding up.”

“She’ll stay with me,” Luke said.

Steffan’s blond eyebrows rose a fraction, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sure thing.”

He moved past Luke to talk to Sophie, notebook already in hand. Luke watched them for a moment, Sophie answering Steffan’s gentle questions, still wrapped in the blanket Luke had draped around her shoulders. All his earlier doubts about her seemed not just petty but downright cruel now there could be someone out there watching. Waiting. Breaking in. And for what? What did they want?

One thing was damn certain. They’d have to go through him to get to Sophie again.

Thirty-One

Sophie

After the sheriff had spoken with Sophie and Luke had boarded up the shattered window, Luke guided Sophie through his boathouse door, Coral dancing anxious circles around their feet.

“Tea?” he asked, voice gentle. “Or something stronger?”

She shook her head, suddenly too tired for words. The adrenaline that had carried her through the sheriff’s questions was ebbing, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and a lingering tremor in her hands that she couldn’t quite control.

Luke noticed—of course he did.

“Come on,” he said softly, guiding her toward his bedroom. “You should rest.”

His bedroom was simply furnished with a large bed covered by navy sheets, a dresser that looked handmade, a single photograph on the wall of his grandfather’s boat. No clutter, no unnecessary objects, just the essentials arranged with the same practical efficiency Luke brought to everything.

She sat on the bed and he kneeled in front of her, his fingers brushing her cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with such gentleness it made her ache.

“Let me get you something to sleep in,” he said, crossing to his dresser and pulling out a soft gray T-shirt.

“I’ll just go to the bathroom.” When she got inside, Sophie braced her hands against Luke’s bathroom sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were too pale, eyes too wide. She looked like someone from a horror film right before they make the fatal decision to investigate the strange noise in the basement.

“Get it together,” she whispered to herself, turning on the cold water and splashing some on her face. The shock of it helped clear her head, at least momentarily.

It was silly, really, getting this worked up over what? A shadowy figure she’d glimpsed for all of three seconds before they’d bolted from the boathouse? They hadn’t even touched her, hadn’t threatened her. Just legged it the moment she’d flipped on the lights.