Page 83 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“Thanks for a lovely afternoon,” the wife said, her smile surprisingly genuine. “Solace Lake is even more beautiful than the pictures.”

Luke helped them onto the dock, forcing himself to focus. “Glad you enjoyed it. Best time of year to see it.”

“Best we got in now, too,” the husband said, peering at the dark clouds forming on the horizon. “Looks like a storm’s coming.”

The man was right. Luke had sensed it during the trip, how the wind had picked up, whipping around him with sudden fury. Now thunderheads were building on the horizon, dark and ominous. The spring storm they’d been predicting for days was finally gathering strength.

The old-timers around Solace Springs had a saying: “When the lake speaks, best listen.” His grandpa had been a believer, despite his usual practical nature. “The water knows,” he’d say, tapping his temple with a finger. “Been here longer than any of us. Got its own way of setting things right.”

Luke had always dismissed it as the kind of superstition that small towns bred like mosquitoes in summer. But right now, with his blood still running hot and his conscience colder than January ice, the brewing storm felt like some kind of sign. Maybe it was telling him he’d had no place getting all mixed up with a girl like Sophie Bennett, no matter how soft her skin or how bright her smile or how perfectly those lips traced his skin…

The wind gusted again, stronger this time, carrying the sharp tang of impending rain. A warning. Stop thinking about her, Luke.

After Luke helped the couple disembark, he watched them walk off, arm in arm. Made him think of Sophie. Everything did.

He’d tried to settle into a rhythm of avoidance the past few days that would make professional dodgeball players envious. He’d rearranged his tour schedule to leave before Sophie typically emerged for her morning coffee on the dock. He’d taken the long route to the marina, adding fifteen minutes to his walk rather than pass her boathouse. He’d even started shopping at the general store in Elmsworth Falls, despite the Solace Springs shop owner asking if he was “mad at her blueberry muffins.”

It hadn’t helped. Everywhere he went, something reminded him of Sophie.

The stationery section at Henderson’s, where she’d spent twenty minutes debating between cream and eggshell cardstock for her bookshop’s loyalty cards. (“There’s a difference, Luke. A big one.”) The corner booth at the café, where she’d once spilled coffee in her lap and hadn’t even cursed, just laughed that full-bodied laugh that made his chest cinch like a drawn cord. Even the damn tree stump on the path where she’d sat to retie her boot laces, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration.

He kept watch on her boathouse each night, too. Pure neighborhood watch stuff after the break-in, he told himself. Nothing to do with wanting to watch that silhouette and imagine himself in there, with her.

He shook his head and headed for the marina office. The first fat drops of rain splattered against his face as he yanked open the door. Abbey was behind the counter, tapping away at the ancient computer. Mabel was there too, both of them deep in conversation. They both looked up as the door banged shut behind him.

“Cutting it close with the weather,” Mabel said, nodding toward the darkening sky as Abbey handed him a coffee.

“Been through worse.” Luke tossed his keys on the hook by the door, shrugging out of his jacket. Water beaded on the worn leather, dripping onto the faded linoleum. “What are you doing here, Mabel?”

“Just to chat,” she said, making herself comfortable in the seat across from him as Abbey smiled to herself. “Heard you and Sophie still aren’t talking. Why?”

He shrugged. “Sophie’s busy with her opening on the weekend.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Luke turned away, focusing on the lake through his window. “Nothing to discuss.”

“Luke Rhodes, you look at me when I’m talking to you.”

The tone in her voice—pure maternal authority—had him turning despite himself.

Abbey stood up. “Just gotta make a call,” she said, leaving the room.

“So,” Mabel said, leaning forward and fixing Luke with her beady eyes. “I’m tired of watching you avoiding each other these last few weeks. I’ve heard the basics. Now you can tell me the details. What happened between you and Sophie?”

For a long moment, Luke considered brushing her off. But something about Mabel’s patient expression, the way she’d been there for him after his pa passed, made the words come.

“People leave, Mabel. They lie, they keep secrets, they decide you’re not worth the truth. I’m done pretending otherwise.”

Mabel shook her head. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve heard since Caleb tried to convince me lavender belonged in chili.”

Luke didn’t say anything.

“Well,” Mabel said, “if you carry on thinking like that you’ll turn into a bitter, lonely old man.”

“Better lonely than gutted like a fish.”

“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” Mabel quoted.