Chapter Seven Sophie #2
“So, erm, you sleep okay?” he asked awkwardly, like polite conversation was physically painful for him.
“Some,” Sophie replied as she fussed over Coral. “Between trying not to freeze to death and convincing myself the walls weren’t about to collapse.”
He paused, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “You didn’t use the heater?”
“What heater?”
“I left one outside your door last night. I knocked, called through that it was there.” He gestured to a small, portable heater sitting by her front door.
Something warm that had nothing to do with borrowed sweaters spread through Sophie’s chest. He’d thought about her being cold. He’d tried to help.
Why was he suddenly being so nice?
“I didn’t hear you,” she said. “But…I really appreciate it, thanks.”
“I know a good plumber. Can get him out to sort your pipes this week, if you want?”
“Very much, thanks.”
He wasn’t quite looking at her now, suddenly very interested in a coil of rope. “So, you ready?”
“As ready as someone whose only experience of boating is a swan pedalo in Hyde Park can be.”
“A swan what?”
“A pedalo. In a swan shape.” He still looked confused. Sophie shrugged. “You gotta see it to believe it.”
“Clearly.”
Luke turned the key in the ignition and the boat’s engine purred to life, a deep, satisfied rumble that echoed across the water.
His hands moved over the controls—adjusting the throttle, checking gauges that Sophie couldn’t begin to understand.
She watched him as he guided his boat. The morning light caught the angles of his face, softening the hard lines that seemed permanently etched there on land.
His usual tension had melted away, replaced by something magnetic in the way he stood—legs braced slightly apart, his body moving in perfect rhythm with the boat’s gentle sway, like they were dancing to the same private melody.
Beside him now, Coral’s ears flapped back like small flags as she gazed intently at the water, occasionally turning to look up at her owner with undisguised adoration before returning to her self-appointed job as first mate.
Every so often, Luke would murmur something to the dog that Sophie couldn’t quite catch, and Coral would respond with a soft woof as if they were having a conversation about navigation.
This was Luke in his element, she realized. Not the grumpy neighbor warning her away from his lake, but a man who knew every ripple and wave like old friends.
“She’s behaving today,” he murmured.
“She?” Sophie asked. “You mean, the lake?”
“Yeah. She’s got moods, personalities. Can be the gentlest thing you’ve ever known one minute, turn wild the next.
” His voice had taken on a quiet reverence.
“Most folks just see water, but there are secrets in those depths of hers.” He peered over his shoulder at Sophie, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
“Course, sometimes those secrets include eating tourist purses.”
“Are you telling me your beloved lake moonlights as a luxury handbag thief?” Sophie asked. “That’s quite the side hustle. Though, if she’s developing a taste for designer items, she might want to work on her discernment. That purse was a clearance special.”
Luke shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he scanned the horizon, reading something in the way the mist curled over the water that Sophie couldn’t yet understand.
They glided past a line of boathouses, their weathered wood glowing golden in the sunrise. Cherry blossoms drifted around them, caught in the gentle wake of their passage.
“When did you learn how to drive a boat?” Sophie asked Luke.
Luke laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Drive? We captain boats, Sophie. Or pilot them, if you’re feeling humble.”
“Oh, excuse me, Captain.” She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “When did you learn to pilot this very impressive vessel?”
“Been on the water since before I could walk,” Luke replied. “Though according to my grandmother, my first solo attempt involved stealing her favorite cushions for a raft and nearly giving her a heart attack.”
“A born rebel, clearly.”
“More like a born idiot. Took me weeks to get the lake smell out of those cushions. And even longer to earn back my dock privileges.”
“So, you grew up around here, then?”
Luke nodded, gesturing to a yellow boathouse. “Right there. My grandparents lived in the boathouse I live in now, and my grandpa ran his boatbuilding business out of your place.”
No wonder he’s so protective, Sophie thought, suddenly understanding the intensity behind his reactions. I’ve basically moved into his family museum.
“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of Solace Springs royalty,” she said. “The great Rhodes dynasty, rulers of all things floating and wooden. Should I curtsy before asking permission to change a lightbulb, Your Lakeness?”
“Not sure the dynasty thing is right. Sounds kinda pretentious when you’re scraping barnacles.”
“So how come my boathouse isn’t in the Rhodes family anymore?”
His smile faded slightly as he looked over his large shoulder at Sophie’s boathouse. “My pa had to sell it. He inherited it from my grandpa.” Luke adjusted the throttle. “Always thought I’d buy it back someday.”
Sophie grimaced. Yet another reason he’d looked at her like she was personally responsible for ruining his life yesterday.
He wasn’t just protecting the lake’s history, he was protecting his own.
And here she was, the stranger who’d swooped in and bought a piece of his childhood with money raised from the internet, of all things.
Not that he knew that part yet.
“I promise I’ll take care of it,” she said.
“Hmmm,” he replied.
“So, how old is this boat?” Sophie asked, keen to change the subject.
Luke ran his hand along the wheel, his touch almost reverent.
“She was my grandpa’s wedding gift to my grandmother back in sixty-two.
He worked three jobs to afford her, then spent six months restoring her himself.
Called her Dawn’s Promise because that’s when he proposed.
Sunrise on the lake.” His lips quirked. “Though, truth is, my grandmother used to tell me it’s because he promised to have the boat ready by dawn and actually finished her closer to midnight. ”
Sophie smiled. “Your grandpa sounded like a romantic. Do you still sleep out here sometimes? I noticed all the clothes.”
“Only on the good nights. When the stars are out and the water’s calm enough to mirror them. Makes you feel like you’re floating in space.”
As they drew closer to Maple Island, Sophie smiled to herself.
It looked like someone had plucked it straight from the pages of a particularly lovely fairy tale, all smooth stones and driftwood scattered along its crescent shoreline like nature’s own decorating scheme.
Dozens of maple trees covered the island in that impossibly fresh spring green, their new leaves so bright and tender they practically glowed.
Through the gaps, she glimpsed the tower attached to the inn: weathered gray stone rising from the heart of the island, perched among the maples on a gentle hill, all storm-colored walls and decades of ivy.
“I get it now,” she said quietly. “Why you were worried about changes to the lake. It’s not just about the buildings, is it?”
He peered over his shoulder at her. “No, it’s not. No excuse for the way I talked to you yesterday, though. I tend to get protective of things I care about, especially when people are trying to mess with them.”
“Like when your ex tried to change things?” Sophie asked before she could stop herself.
Luke went completely still, his knuckles whitening around the wheel. “That’s not your business,” he said, his voice low and brittle as lake ice. He turned away sharply, suddenly very interested in adjusting the boat’s speed.
Sophie mentally slapped herself. Way to go, Sophie. Five minutes of civil conversation and you’ve already poked the emotional bear trap.
Now she’d have to endure a morning on an island with a man whose family home she’d accidentally stolen and whose romantic wounds she’d just salted for good measure.
The silence stretched between them like the widening wake behind the boat, and Sophie found herself staring at the approaching island, wondering if it was too late to claim she suddenly remembered an urgent appointment with literally anyone else.