Page 77 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

Juniper and the other two women with her chatted away, but Sophie barely heard them. All she could focus on was Luke’s rigid posture as he reached his door.

Had she ruined everything?

Thirty-Two

Luke

“And if you look to your right, you’ll see the osprey nest that’s been here since the nineties. Same family returns every spring.”

Luke guided the boat through the water, his mind a thousand miles from the tour script he could recite in his sleep. The Vance family—middle-aged couple with twin boys who hadn’t looked up from their damn phones once—nodded politely.

“Is that the same as an eagle?” Mrs. Vance asked, shielding her eyes.

“Different bird. Ospreys are smaller, dark around the eyes,” he said, cutting his explanation short. No point wasting words on people who weren’t listening.

The lake stretched out ahead, steady and reliable, unlike certain British women with secret fundraising schemes and a few thousand strangers bankrolling them.

Four thousand of them.

Four thousand nosy outsiders with opinions about his lake. His town. His—

Luke’s grip tightened on the wheel.

“How deep is the water here?” Mr. Vance asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“Sixty feet. Deepest part’s near the bluffs. Hundred feet there.”

“Wow. Hear that, boys? A hundred feet deep!”

Neither kid looked up. Christ.

“Sorry, they’re watching some TikTok live with a gamer they love,” Mrs. Vance explained. “Apparently only happens once a year.”

TikTok. Same bullshit platform that purple-haired girl had mentioned. Fucking perfect.

Luke steered them through the standard route, pointing out landmarks with the bare minimum of explanation, just wanting the hour to end. By the time he docked back at the marina, his mood had turned as dark as the storm clouds rolling in from the west.

“Thanks for the tour!” Mrs. Vance chirped as they climbed out. “The boys can post all the videos I took when we get back to the hotel. We have a family channel, you know! Such great content.”

Content. Like his lake. The one his grandfather had taught him to fish on. It was just material for their internet popularity contest.

Just like it was for Sophie.

The marina office was empty, Abbey probably on lunch. Luke dropped into the chair, jabbing at the power button on the ancient desktop.

He shouldn’t do this. Should just leave it alone.

His fingers typed anyway: Sophie Bennett crowdfunding bookshop.

The results loaded instantly. Page after page about “The Cherry Blossom Boathouse” project. The first link was to something called Kickstarter, with a banner and video showing Sophie smiling into the camera.

Luke clicked.

“Help a Boring Girl Buy a Bookshop” the page announced in some fancy font.

Below was a video. Luke hesitated, then hit play.

Sophie appeared, sitting in what looked like a London apartment, wine glass in hand, eyes too bright. He drew in a sharp breath as she turned her laptop to show pictures of his lake. His town. The boathouse he’d fixed for her.