Chapter Two Luke
Two
Luke
Luke Rhodes slammed his boathouse door with more force than strictly necessary. But hauling city girls out of his lake before a morning cup of coffee tended to do that to a man.
“Of course she has to be cute,” he muttered, carefully laying her mother’s letter out over the heater.
He walked into his front office, home to the organized chaos of his working life: navigation charts spread across his grandfather’s old desk, the model ships he restored during sleepless nights, photos of easier days Luke couldn’t quite bring himself to put away.
He continued muttering to himself, yanking open the cupboard where he kept his emergency supplies, a habit from all these years of watching tourists underestimate the lake.
“Another tourist who thinks Solace Springs is just some kind of backdrop for their Insta-face-whatever accounts,” he continued.
Coral, his Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, lifted her head from her favorite perch on the back of the sofa and gave him a look that clearly said: You’re not fooling anyone, pal.
“Don’t start,” Luke said as he grabbed a towel. “And stop staring at her through the window like you’re plotting something. I know that look. You’re as bad as Mabel with her matchmaking schemes.”
Coral’s tail thumped against the cushions, completely unrepentant.
Traitor.
The mutt had a point, though. It was hard not to stare.
Even dripping wet and shivering, his new neighbor was exactly the kind of trouble Luke didn’t need living next door.
Petite enough that she’d barely reach his shoulder, all soft curves that her soaked clothes weren’t doing much to hide.
Dark hair plastered to her head in wet tangles—the kind a man’s hands might get lost in, not that he was thinking about that.
Those big brown eyes framed by thick lashes, full lips that kept moving like she was having some internal argument with herself.
Her pale blue sweater clung to every curve, paired with no-label jeans—hell, did her socks really have tiny books printed on them?
A pair of beaten-up Converse sat abandoned on the dock beside her, as mismatched with that expensive designer bag as everything else about her.
Even soaked through, she held herself like she belonged here, chin up and defiant.
Something bookish and cute about her that made his jaw tighten.
She even had the kind of English accent that made near-drowning sound charming.
He couldn’t miss how she’d tried to hide her trembling hands when he’d rescued the letter either, or the way she’d flinched when she’d mentioned her mother.
That look on her face had hit him like a punch to the gut; and that right there was the problem. He’d spent years building walls thicker than the hull of a submarine, and here he was, letting them crack over one waterlogged girl.
“Don’t have time for this,” he told himself.
He had two tours booked for later, a kayak that needed fixing, and about a dozen other tasks that didn’t involve playing lifeguard to the new kid on the block.
The spring season would be kicking off in the coming weeks, and his reputation for running the most reliable tours on Solace Lake hadn’t come from rescuing pretty girls in wet sweaters.
“Should have let her fish out her own damn bag,” he added.
Coral gave him a look. They both knew he didn’t mean it.
Solace Springs had its own rules about looking out for people.
He grabbed his old fleece hoodie and a thermos of coffee—the real stuff, not the fancy vanilla-caramel concoctions Mabel and Grace served in the town’s Blossoms & Brew café (though even he had to admit their pumpkin spice blend in autumn was worth breaking his black-coffee-only rule for).
Speaking of Blossoms & Brew, he guaranteed half the town would know about the new British arrival by now: Noah from the hardware store had caught the whole rescue scene as he’d strolled by.
Luke could already hear Mabel’s delighted voice: “Our Luke playing the hero! And to such a pretty young girl, too. Must be fate, her moving right next door.”
At least it would take their minds off the strange lights people kept noticing on the island at the center of the lake.
Not that anyone believed Luke’s logical explanation about car reflections from the hills, or moonlight bouncing off the water’s surface.
Though given the choice between alien invasion theories or speculation about his love life, he’d take the aliens any day.
Luke glanced up from gathering supplies, his eyes drawn back to the girl on his dock.
Her long, dark hair was starting to dry into waves, and even from here he could see those big brown eyes scanning the boathouse like she was already planning what to do with it.
The same way he’d been looking at it ever since Julie Chen first mentioned selling up after her husband passed.
All he’d needed was a year or two more of saving and he might have managed it.
Luke had watched it deteriorate after Julie moved out, doing what repairs he could manage just to keep it from completely falling apart.
Now here was this city girl, who probably didn’t know the first thing about maintaining a waterfront property despite all her claims, looking at what was once a beloved Rhodes family boathouse like it was some kind of fairy tale waiting to happen.
She looked…hopeful. Like someone who hadn’t yet learned that dreams had a way of sinking.
As he thought that, he spotted Mabel making her usual morning rounds outside.
“Christ,” he muttered, watching the café owner methodically stop at each boathouse, no doubt collecting enough gossip to fuel a week’s worth of breakfast service. Coral’s tail started wagging frantically. The traitor loved Mabel, probably because she always had treats in her pockets.
Luke sighed. If he didn’t get out there soon, Mabel would have the new arrival signed up for every committee in town before the girl had even dried off.
Some rescue missions, it seemed, never really ended.