Chapter Seven Sophie
Seven
Sophie
“I still can’t believe the estate agent’s photos were that misleading.
” Lisa’s voice crackled through Sophie’s phone, the background noise of a Brighton pub bleeding through.
Of course her sister would be video-calling her while out having lunchtime drinks in a busy pub while Sophie was frantically preparing for a sunrise boat ride.
They’d always been opposites that way—Lisa chasing the next adventure while Sophie packed for holidays three months in advance.
But somehow that had made them even closer growing up, like two sides of the same coin.
“Is it really as bad as you said in your texts?” Lisa asked.
Sophie adjusted her phone against her shoulder as she frantically searched her suitcase for something that qualified as “practical and warm” by American lake standards.
“Remember that aesthetic fixer-upper cottage we drove past on our way to the Cotswolds last year? This is like that, except replace ‘charming vintage features’ with ‘actual holes in the walls.’ ”
“Christ.” There was a shuffling sound, followed by Lisa’s muffled voice ordering another gin and tonic. “And you actually slept the night there? Alone?”
“Well, ‘slept the night’ might be generous. More like huddled in a sleeping bag while making a mental list of every part of my body that might get frostbite first.” Sophie held up a soft yellow sweater with a pretty teacup sitting on top of a pile of books on its front, debating if it was thick enough to combat pre-dawn lake winds.
She glanced out of her bedroom window at Luke’s boathouse, where a light had just flickered on.
“Besides, I have bigger problems than that.”
“Like potentially losing your toes to hypothermia?”
Sophie smiled. “That and the fact that I have to get on a boat with my new neighbor in”—she checked her watch—“twenty minutes.”
“Ah yes, the hot neighbor who tried to run you out of town yesterday. Totally normal sunrise activity.”
Sophie groaned, yanking her hairbrush through her wild dark curls. “I know how it sounds. But it’s not like that. I can’t let it be like that.”
“Because…?”
“Because the last thing I need right now is to fall for another man who’ll just end up telling me I’m not enough.” The words came out in an unexpected rush.
“Oh babe,” Lisa said with a sigh as she shoved a drunken man trying to get in on the shot. “Marcus was a pretentious twat who thought writing coffee shop reviews made him Jack Kerouac.”
Sophie couldn’t help smiling, but the familiar ache in her chest remained.
“Maybe. But I’m so done with men, especially judgmental know-it-alls who’ve already decided I’m some clueless city girl who doesn’t belong here.
” She gestured helplessly at the window, watching as Luke appeared from his boathouse and began coiling thick mooring ropes, his chunky white fisherman’s sweater making him look inconveniently handsome.
“At least Marcus pretended to respect me for a few months before showing his true colors.”
“Oh my God, you’re doing The Look.”
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re staring at something delicious. Like when we visited that old bookshop in York and you spotted an illustrated edition of Wuthering Heights and went all starry-eyed. You’re even licking your lips in the same way. You’re watching Captain Crush now, aren’t you?”
Sophie immediately pressed her lips together, mortified to realize she had been. “I hate you.”
“You love me. Now I demand you turn your camera around so I can drool over him, too.”
Sophie hesitated, then quickly flipped her view.
“Oh. My. God.” Lisa’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s like some sort of rugged boat-captain fantasy come to life. Those shoulders! That jaw! Mum would love him!”
Sophie felt that familiar flutter of pain at the mention of their mum. “I had no idea Mum had a thing for American boatmen.”
“Her love of seafaring men wasn’t confined to one nationality. Honestly, don’t you remember how much she loved it when Dad wore that captain hat when we went canal boating?”
Sophie laughed as the memory came back to her.
“I do!” Outside, Luke was lifting something heavy on to his boat, the movement making his sweater stretch across shoulders.
“Oh my God,” she said miserably, “it’s like every Maritime Monthly’s Hottest Helmsmen calendar came to life and decided to torture me specifically. ”
“And this is a problem because…?”
“Because we mix about as well as library books and lake water. Every time he opens his mouth, I want to push him overboard.”
“While noticing how his perfect forearms flex when he’s pulling himself back out of the lake?”
Sophie found herself imagining just that but then shook her head.
“That’s also the problem. I need to focus!
I have four thousand people counting on me to make this bookshop work.
I have a boathouse that’s one strong sneeze away from falling into the lake.
I have—” She stopped, throat tight. “I have to prove I can do something brave and unexpected, that I’m not just the girl who needs everything to be safe and planned and perfect. ”
“You flew across an ocean and bought a derelict boathouse with strangers’ money,” Lisa said, laughing. “I’d say you’re already proving that.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m one wrong move away from everything falling apart?”
“Because you’re sleep-deprived and about to get on a boat with a man who looks like he could bench press your emotional baggage?”
Sophie couldn’t help laughing. “I hate that you know me so well.”
“That’s what family’s for. Now, go show Hot Boat Man that being organized doesn’t make you boring. It makes you capable of anything, including turning that wreck into the coziest bookshop that lake has ever seen.”
“Even if he thinks I’m crazy for trying?”
“Especially if he thinks you’re crazy for trying.” Lisa paused, and Sophie could see her grin. “Though maybe try not to fall in the lake this time. The wet look only works once.”
“True,” Sophie said with a sigh, then quickly added: “Of course, I don’t care how I look so…”
“Sure, sure.” Lisa paused a moment, face going serious. “Mum would be so proud of you, Soph. Honestly.”
Sophie felt herself get choked up. “She’d think I was mad.”
“Yeah, that, too. But mainly proud.” Another pause. “I take it you haven’t read the letter yet?”
Sophie peered toward the copy of Wuthering Heights where the letter now lived, safe between its pages. It was the first book she’d sneaked from her mum’s collection. Her first taste of what it meant to have a “book boyfriend” and a couple to root for.
“No,” she admitted. “Soon, though.”
“You’ve been saying that for a year.” Lisa peered over her shoulder. “Look, I better go, my friend’s just walked in. But keep me posted on your maritime adventure, okay?”
Sophie ended the call and tucked her phone into her pocket, Lisa’s laughter echoing in her ears. She looked at that copy of Wuthering Heights again. Almost went to reach for it and tear open that letter. But again, something stopped her.
Time to face another kind of music—in this case, the annoyingly attractive neighbor who was about to take her out on his boat.
“Professional,” she reminded herself firmly. “Completely professional.”
Sophie stepped out onto her dock, the pre-dawn air biting through her sweater. Solace Lake stretched before her like mother-of-pearl, cherry blossom petals dotting the water around the gentle bob of Luke’s boat.
And wow, what a boat. It was nothing like the sleek boats she’d seen in London marinas.
And it sure was nothing like the small wooden paddle boat that was moored from her dock and now supposedly belonged to her.
Luke’s boat was all vintage charm and well-loved wood, the kind of vessel that had stories etched into every brass fitting.
Dark cedar gleamed in the morning light, the name Dawn’s Promise hand-painted in elegant gold script across the bow.
The cabin looked cozy enough to live in, with its arched windows and blue trim that matched a cushioned bench on deck.
At the front, Coral stood with her front paws propped on the edge of the boat, her copper-colored fur ruffling in the breeze.
Luke looked up at Sophie’s approach, his blue eyes catching on her outfit. “You planning on joining a book club meeting or going out on a lake?”
Sophie glanced down at herself—a sensible sweater over jeans, sturdy ankle boots that had seemed perfectly practical five minutes ago. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Nothing, if you want to spend the next three hours shivering.” But there was something softer in his voice than yesterday’s judgment, and before she could respond, he was shrugging out of his cream fisherman’s sweater to reveal a thermal layer beneath. “Here.”
“Oh. Thanks but…I could just go get my coat?”
“No time.”
“But what will you wear?”
He reached into a chest built into the boat’s side, extracting another chunky knit for himself, this one blue. The casual way he had spare clothes stored away made Sophie wonder just how many nights he spent out there on the water, letting the lake keep him company.
Sophie pulled his cream sweater on. The wool was still warm from his body, and something inside her fluttered at the way it enveloped her in both heat and his scent—cedar and coffee and something distinctly him.
When he pulled his sweater on, she could see why he hadn’t lent that one to her, noting the holes around the shoulders.
He extended his hand to help her into the boat, and when their fingers met, a jolt of awareness shot straight up her arm. His hand was warm, rough from rope and weather, steady as the dock beneath them.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then the boat rocked slightly, breaking whatever spell had momentarily descended. But Luke didn’t let go of her hand until she was safely aboard, his grip gentle but sure as he showed her where to step.