Page 88 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“Wow, that suddenly took a turn,” Grace said. “I hope Luke’s not out there.”

The thought seized Sophie with sudden choking panic. Luke practically lived on that lake; of course he’d be out there. Would he have seen the storm coming?

But the knot in her stomach tightened anyway.

“He’ll be fine,” Grace said softly, clearly sensing Sophie’s panic. “Luke’s a human barometer when it comes to the lake’s moods.” She paused. “So, still not going well between you two?”

“Nope, he seems convinced I’m some kind of vacuous social media obsessive.”

“Typical man,” Grace said with a sigh. “Turning to insults when they’re scared.”

“Scared?”

“Of course, you ninny.” Grace threw up her hands. “Just like you’re scared. You’re both so terrified of repeating past mistakes that you’re creating new ones.”

“I’m not scared,” Sophie protested.

“You’re not scared of ending up with someone like Marcus, that horrible ex you told me about? Sounds to me like Marcus wouldn’t have helped you renovate, would he? Wouldn’t have dedicated hours to bringing your vision to life?” Grace raised an eyebrow. “I know for a fact Luke respects your plans enough to suggest changes, not to control you, but because this is a man who knows these structures inside and out.”

Sophie stared down at her hands, memories surfacing—Luke carefully measuring twice before every cut; the way he’d ask questions about her design choices not to criticize but to understand; how he’d shown her three different color options for the bookshelves, wanting her to have exactly what she envisioned.

“I’ve known Luke a long time, Sophie,” Grace continued. “Sure, he’s not perfect. But he’s a good man. And I worry you’re pushing him away because you’re trying to find your ex in him, just like he’s probably trying to find his ex in you. You’re both ruining something that could be amazing because you’re so busy fighting ghosts.”

Sophie sighed. Maybe she had been too quick to write Luke off. Too ready to slot him into the Marcus-shaped box in her head rather than create a Luke-shaped one. God, she was exhausting sometimes. When faced with a genuine disagreement, her first instinct wasn’t to work through it like a proper adult—oh no, that would be far too sensible—it was to build a fortress of righteous indignation and hurl verbal grenades from behind its walls.

Before Sophie could dwell on it even further, a movement caught her eye. Someone running down the dock toward her boathouse, head bent against the driving rain. Even through the downpour, she recognized Jake’s muscled silhouette.

Something was wrong.

She flung open the door just as Jake reached the porch, rainwater cascading off his firefighter jacket.

“What’s happened?” she demanded, already knowing it involved Luke. Why else would Jake be sprinting through a thunderstorm to her door looking like the harbinger of doom?

“Abbey called,” Jake panted, water dripping from his beard. “Luke’s boat’s in trouble. Coast Guard’s been dispatched.”

“Oh God,” she heard Grace say from behind her.

Sophie’s legs went liquid beneath her, one hand gripping the doorframe for support. “Where? How long ago? Is he—”

“East side of the lake. About twenty minutes ago.” Jake’s grim expression told her everything his words didn’t. “Storm hit faster than anyone expected. A few of us are waiting at the marina. I thought you’d want to head down, too. I can drive you?”

“Yes, please,” Sophie said, already reaching for her raincoat hanging by the door.

“I’m coming, too,” Grace said.

The drive to the marina passed in a blur of windshield wipers fighting a losing battle against the downpour. Words like “experienced” and “survivor” and “strong swimmer” washed over her without sinking in.

All she could think was: Luke is out there. Luke is in danger. And the last thing I said to him was that I understood why Claire left him.

The marina was in chaos when they arrived—emergency vehicles with flashing lights, Coast Guard personnel shouting into radios, a small crowd of locals huddled under the shelter of the office awning.

Abbey spotted them immediately, breaking away from the group to meet them. Her strawberry-blonde hair was plastered to her head, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Even in crisis mode, she still looked like she’d stepped out of a L’Oréal commercial. If Sophie weren’t so terrified, she might have been impressed.

“Any news?” Jake asked.

Abbey nodded. “Maybe. They think they spotted something near Deadman’s Cove—” She broke off, wincing at her word choice. “Sorry, near the eastern cove.”

Sophie didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her throat had closed up entirely, vision tunneling until all she could see was the angry water stretching out before them. The same water that might have swallowed Luke whole.