Page 9 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

“Welcome!” called a tall red-haired woman arranging peonies and sweet peas outside a store called Stems & Gems. “Hope you enjoyed your early-morning swim!”

“Oh, hi!” Sophie called back. How did this woman know about her sodden lake adventure already?

A guy dressed in a fireman’s T-shirt emerged from the hardware store then, all tattoo-sleeve glory and close-cropped dark hair. He threw her a knowing grin. “Welcome to Solace Springs. Nice swimming technique earlier.”

Perfect. Apparently her near-drowning experience had already spread via the town’s grapevine. Still, there was something oddly comforting about being known, even if it was as “that girl who fell in the lake.” In London, she’d lived in the same apartment building for three years and still didn’t know most of her neighbors’ names. Wasn’t this one of the main reasons she’d decided to move here, a chance to find a sense of community and connection?

Blossoms & Brew sat at the other end of the curve, closest to the lake. The wraparound porch was dotted with mismatched chairs in soft yellows and lavenders, while window boxes overflowed with primroses and trailing vines. A specials board in swirling chalk letters announced “Wild Blueberry & Primrose Scones” and “Spring Meadow Tea with Local Honey.”

The café’s bell tinkled as Sophie stepped inside, and the aroma of fresh coffee and vanilla enveloped her like a warm embrace. Vintage teacups hung from delicate hooks along pastel-toned walls, catching the morning light that streamed through tall windows. Wooden tables in varying shades of white and cream dotted the space, each topped with a mason jar of fresh wildflowers.

The focal point was a magnificent antique counter at the back of the café made of worn wood and a glass display of amazing-looking cakes and rolls. Above it hung a vintage map of Solace Lake marked with little notes about fishing spots and sailing routes. A woman who looked to be in her early thirties with pink-tipped hair stood behind it.

The place hummed with morning activity. Two elderly men played chess in a window nook, debating their next moves. A group of women occupied the largest table, half-finished blankets and delicate shawls in spring pastels draped over the backs of their seats. Their knitting needles clicked rhythmically as they worked, punctuating their conversation like percussion in an orchestra of gossip.

When Sophie walked in, the clicking ceased as suddenly as a conductor dropping their baton.

“Well, if it isn’t our lake-diving friend!” one of the men at the chess table winked at her.

“Oh lord,” Sophie muttered as more heads turned her way. “Is there anyone in town who hasn’t heard about my morning swim?”

“Probably Ethan up at the lighthouse,” the pink-haired woman at the counter said, “but give it an hour.” She extended her hand as Sophie walked over. “I’m Grace. And for what it’s worth, the story gets more elaborate with each telling. Last version I heard, you were rescuing a drowning puppy when Luke swooped in to save you both.”

“Swooped, did he?” Sophie couldn’t help saying. “Funny, I remember more scowling than swooping.”

“Oh, the scowling’s just Luke’s default setting,” Grace said with a knowing smile. “Kind of like how those old boat engines of his sputter before they warm up. Don’t let it fool you, though. Man’s got a heart bigger than the lake itself.”

“That’s true,” called a young woman from the knitting circle, bouncing a fussy baby in a sling while her hook never missed a beat. “You should see him with this one. Acts like holding a baby will give him hives, but the minute little Sam here starts crying, he’s got this special bounce-and-walk thing that works like magic. Only person besides me who can get him to sleep.”

“I wish he’d rock me to sleep,” a woman who looked to be in her eighties with short white hair said, peering up from her intricate lacework. “You should see him splitting wood down by the boat shed. That boy’s got arms like tree trunks.”

“Margaret!” The baby’s mother laughed. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m eighty-two, dear, not dead.”

Sophie felt her skin prickle with heat, remembering exactly how those arms had felt fishing her out of the lake. Not that she was noticing. Or thinking about it. At all.

“The Rhodes men have always been lookers,” Margaret continued. “Frank—Luke’s father—was something in his day. Those shoulders, those hands.” She sighed wistfully.

“What would Abe say?” Grace said with a laugh.

Margaret waved her hand. “Pah, he’s too busy with the inn to notice.”

“So is there anything my new neighbor can’t do?” Sophie asked. “Town handyman, kayak repair…”

“In small towns, it’s all hands on deck,” Grace explained. “Officially, Luke divides his time between running boat tours and repairing boats and boathouses, has done since he was a teen. But he’s often roped into all sorts. And that can include helping you with your renovations,” she added with a wink.

“I think he made it very clear that isn’t going to be happening.”

“We’ll see,” Grace said. “Come on, I’ll fix you something that’ll warm you up properly. Mom’s gone to fetch her special cherry blossom cookies from the stove. Says they’re mandatory for welcoming new neighbors.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Fair warning, though, half the town’s likely to ‘pop in’ this morning. You’re the most exciting thing to happen since Chester over there’s dog learned to kayak,” she said, gesturing to one of the chess-playing men.

“The dog does what now?” Sophie asked.

“Long story,” Chester shot back. “Involves a steak sandwich and—”

“Some questionable decision-making on everyone’s part,” Grace added. “Even Caleb—” She was interrupted by the slam of a door behind the counter and the thud of boots. A lanky teenager burst through from the kitchen, wavy dark hair falling in his eyes, backpack hanging off one shoulder.

“Zach!” Grace called after him. “Move faster! You’ll be late.”