Page 92 of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse

Luke opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words died in his throat. Because Finn could’ve been describing Luke’s own life. The same fears, the same self-sabotage, the same bone-deep certainty that people always left.

Then he stared at his brother—his brother, Christ—seeing his own wounds reflected back at him. “Yeah, well,” Luke said roughly, “that’s a hell of a way to live. Trust me, I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Spent years doing the same damn thing. But maybe…” He thought of Sophie. “Maybe repeating history and running scared isn’t the answer. Maybe some people are worth the risk.”

Then through the driving rain and wind, Luke caught sight of a figure running toward them along the rocky shore. Small, determined, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground but pressing forward with that stubborn persistence that had driven him crazy from day one.

Sophie.

When he’d been underwater, when the lake had been trying to drag him down for good, her face had been the last thing he’d seen. Not his regrets, not his fears—just Sophie. All those weeks of being a stubborn ass, of pushing her away because he was too scared to trust what they had, it had all seemed so damn petty when he thought he was about to die. She was everything. The woman who’d fallen in his lake and somehow made it feel like home again. The woman who saw possibilities where he saw problems, who brought light to places that had been dark too long.

She spotted him and her face cracked open with relief. But then she slowed down, and Luke could see the hesitation there too, like she wasn’t sure if he wanted her there.

Like hell.

Luke was moving before his brain caught up, crossing the rocky ground in long strides. He reached her just as she opened her mouth to say something and hauled her against him with enough force to lift her clean off the ground.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered as her hands found his face, her eyes searching his. “I thought I’d never get to tell you that I’m sorry, that I—”

“No.” Luke’s voice was fierce, desperate. “I’m sorry. For being an ass, for not trusting you, for wasting weeks being scared when I should’ve been holding on to you.” He kissed her, hard and hungry, tasting rain and tears. “I’m never letting you go again. You hear me? Never.”

Sophie kissed him back like she was drowning and he was air, her hands fisted in his wet shirt, anchoring him to her. Lightning split the sky above them, but Luke barely noticed. Nothing existed except Sophie in his arms, Sophie kissing him like she meant it, Sophie choosing him despite every reason she had to walk away.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he said roughly, his hands framing her face, rain streaming down between his fingers. “I love you, Sophie Bennett.”

Thirty-Seven

Sophie

Sophie’s mind went completely blank, her usual torrent of thoughts evaporating like morning mist on the lake. Did he just—Did I hear—Did Luke Rhodes actually say he loves me?

Or maybe he meant to say “I’d love you to leave” and just forgot some words? Or “I loathe you” and he was really terrible at pronunciation? Or perhaps “I glove you” because he wanted to buy her mittens for the winter? Though that would be oddly specific and not at all in keeping with the moment.

Her thoughts raced frantically. No, he definitely said love. Luke Rhodes loved her. Her. The woman who nearly drowned in his lake, who argued with him about windows, who brought internet strangers to his sacred hometown.

She must have been silent too long, because uncertainty flickered across Luke’s face, his hands loosening slightly against her skin.

“I love you, too,” she blurted out, her voice catching. “So much.”

And she really did. Every last stunning part of him. She knew it the moment she saw him standing under that rocky shelter, his face a map of fresh scratches, his dark hair dripping lake water onto the pebbles below. She knew it the moment she could see he was alive. Magnificently, infuriatingly, beautifully alive.

They stood there in the rain now, holding each other’s faces, until Sophie became aware of someone clearing their throat behind them. It was a man she’d barely noticed when she first arrived on the island, too wrapped up in making sure Luke was alive.

But now she took him in: mid-twenties, soggy beard, curly brown hair plastered to his skull. But bloody hell, the resemblance was unmistakable. It was like someone had put Luke in a photocopier and accidentally hit the “scruffy vagrant” setting.

“Erm, Soph,” Luke said, not letting go of her but turning slightly so she could see the man standing awkwardly by the fire. “Let me introduce you to my brother, Finn.”

“Brother?” a voice asked from behind them. It was Jake, Ray next to him, both puffing from exertion at having to catch up with Sophie.

“Long story,” Luke said, his arm still firmly around Sophie’s waist. He peered through the trees. “Let’s head to the inn before we all catch pneumonia.”

The five of them made their way through the maple trees, Sophie’s mind spinning with questions that tumbled out faster than she could stop them. “So you’re actually related? How did you find each other? Are you the one who’s been camping on the island?”

Luke answered most of her questions while Finn remained largely silent beside them, occasionally nodding or offering a one-word confirmation. Up close, Sophie could smell the faint scent of whiskey clinging to him, mixing with smoke and rain and that particular staleness that came from too many nights sleeping rough.

“Of course, it makes sense now,” Sophie said as it dawned on her. “You’re the one who left that belt buckle at my place. It had a rose on it. The Flores family buckle, as I’ve learned since.”

Finn nodded. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “My mom left the buckle for me when I was a baby. Must’ve fallen off during…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.