Chapter Sixteen Luke
Sixteen
Luke
The journey to the island took less than ten minutes at full throttle even with five extra bodies on board, the bow of Luke’s boat cutting through the dark water with familiar ease.
As they approached, the full extent of the fire became clear: a concentrated blaze at the foot of the hill where the oldest trees grew, flames reaching toward the night sky.
Luckily, it was far enough away from the inn to not impact it.
“This isn’t natural,” Jake said grimly as Luke prepared to dock. “Something or someone started this.”
Luke nodded in agreement. “Question is, was it an accident or deliberate?”
He secured the boat, his mind racing. In all his years on this lake, he’d never seen a fire on the island.
It was too isolated, too barren to attract campers.
The only people who ever came out here were the inn’s guests, whose numbers were dwindling year by year, and locals who knew better than to leave campfires unattended, and they rarely stayed after dark.
Then he remembered the strange lights people had been reporting on that side of the island at night. That broken bottle, too. Could it all be connected?
As he began the work of containing the blaze with the rest of Jake’s crew, Luke looked back toward shore where the festival lights looked like fireflies caught in jars. Sophie was over there somewhere, probably watching the same flames he was fighting.
Damn inconvenient timing. His body was still running hot from her touch, his mouth still tasting like her cherry blossom punch. Bad enough he’d been interrupted mid-kiss like some teenager discovered behind the boathouse. Worse that it was the island burning.
Luke hauled another length of hose across the rocky ground, muscles burning with the effort as he helped the others control the fire, eventually driving it back.
The air was thick with smoke and scorched sap, the heat clinging to Luke’s skin like it meant to stay.
Around him, the trees creaked and hissed, their blackened trunks still weeping resin into the ashes.
He moved carefully, boots crunching over brittle underbrush and fractured bark, every step a reminder that some of the island’s bones had been burned through.
Somewhere ahead, Jake called out, moving closer to a ridge just below the hill.
The light from his helmet cast distorted shadows between the trees.
Luke heard a low, warping sound that sent the hairs on his neck up. One of the old maples was listing hard now, its base a hollowed-out ruin.
“Jake!” he shouted.
Jake turned, confused, just as the tree gave out. Luke didn’t think, he just moved. A few long strides, a shoulder slam and then they were both hitting the ground as the tree came down behind them with a deafening crack, sending up a blast of hot air and ash that singed the back of his neck.
Jake coughed beside him. “Holy hell.”
“You good?” Luke asked.
“Yeah,” Jake said hoarsely. “Just singed and stupid. Come on,” he said, managing to stand. “Let’s check the north side. Just in case.”
They moved in silence, cutting across the rocky rise that shielded the far edge of the island. Not many people bothered coming this way—too steep, too isolated—but Luke knew every inch of it. Or thought he did.
It wasn’t until Jake slowed that Luke saw it, tucked into the crook between two boulders, half-hidden by the curve of the rocks. A tarp. Weatherproof. Pinned tight. And beneath it, containers, a neatly rolled sleeping bag, even a small stone-ringed fire pit.
Someone had been living out there.
Jake knelt and touched one of the plastic tubs. “Been here a while. Weeks, maybe.”
Luke’s gaze swept the set-up: the way the tarp faced away from the town, the way even passing boats wouldn’t catch a glimpse of it. It was smart. Too smart to be accidental. And whoever it was…they were gone now.
Maybe back on the mainland…back to Sophie.
He felt a protective surge.
You’ve got it bad, Rhodes, he thought grimly.
“That’ll be the cause of the fire,” Jake said, pointing to a toppled-over gas grill. “Damn it. When I get my hands on who did this…”
“You and me both, bud; you and me both,” Luke said.
They continued searching over the next hour, making sure every hint of fire was out.
Luke got back sometime after midnight, muscles aching, clothes stinking of smoke and ash, boots caked with mud from the island.
Every inch of him wanted to cross the few yards between his and Sophie’s docks, to knock on her door and finish what they’d started beneath that cherry tree.
His body still hummed with the memory of her: the soft curves pressed against him and the sweet taste of her mouth.
But her windows were black and he was filthy, exhausted, in no state to be touching something as clean and perfect as Sophie Bennett. Besides, Coral was anxious from the smell of smoke clinging to him. The dog needed some reassuring.
He managed to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep then woke to head out onto his dock and check the island was looking okay.
As he sat watching the sun climb higher, willing Sophie’s curtains to open, he found his mind wandering back to her mouth under his, her hands on his back, the way she’d whispered “yes” when he’d hesitated at the curve of her breast.
Christ, he was gone on her. Completely, utterly gone.
“You look like hammered shit,” a voice said, disturbing his thoughts.
Luke didn’t need to turn to know it was Grace approaching along the dock. Those Dr. Martens she wore made the same distinctive sound. She settled into the chair beside him, passing over a paper bag that smelled of Mabel’s cinnamon rolls.
“Heard you found evidence someone’s been camping there,” Grace said as they both looked over at the island.
“Yep.” Luke took a bite of the still-warm roll. “Been there a while, from the looks of it. Smart set-up, too. Hidden in those rocks on the north side.”
“Any idea who?”
“Not yet. They cleared out before we got there. Jake’s heading back out today with Steffan,” he said, referring to the local sheriff, “to check for anything we missed.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the lake lapping gently against the pilings beneath them. Coral padded out to join them, settling at Luke’s feet with a contented sigh.
It had been this way between Luke and Grace since they were kids, Grace tagging along after him and Jake like an annoying shadow until, somewhere around middle school, she’d become the person who knew every one of his secrets without him having to say a word.
She’d been there when his mom left, when his dad then his grandparents died, when Claire broke everything he thought they were building together.
In a town where everyone had an opinion about everything, Grace was one of the few people who’d earned the right to tell him when he was being an idiot.
“So,” she said finally. “You and Sophie.”
Luke had known this was coming the moment he heard those damn DMs on the dock.
“Not sure there is a ‘me and Sophie’ yet,” he admitted, eyes drifting back to the still-dark window. “We were interrupted before we could figure that out.”
“But you want there to be.” It wasn’t a question.
Luke exhaled slowly, considering how much to say. He wasn’t good at putting feelings into words, at admitting things that made him vulnerable. But this was Grace. If anyone would understand, it was her.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I do. She’s different, not just from Claire.
From anyone.” He smiled to himself. “You know, she’s got this whole system for everything, complete with little notes and these tiny sticky things everywhere.
Looking at her renovation binder is like staring at NASA’s control room. ”
Grace made a small sound of agreement. “I’ve seen it. She’s definitely organized.”
“But it’s not just that.” Luke struggled to find the right words.
“She cares about doing things right. Not just to look good or because it’s trendy, but because she genuinely gives a damn about the details.
She doesn’t look at the lake like it’s just pretty scenery or real estate, either. She sees the stories in it.”
“Sounds serious,” Grace observed, a smile in her voice.
Luke ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable with how exposed he felt. “It’s…I don’t know what it is. Too soon to tell. But I haven’t felt this way in a long time.” He paused, then admitted, “Maybe ever.”
“Hmm.”
He shot her a suspicious look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Grace said innocently. “Just thinking it might be good for you to, you know, take your time. Make sure you’re both on the same page.”
“Which page would that be?”
“The one where you both know what you want from this. From each other.”
“That idiot ex of yours has turned you cynical, Grace Sullivan.” Luke still found himself smarting from the way Grace’s ex had walked out on her and Zach, leaving Grace heartbroken and in debt.
She raised an eyebrow. “Says you.” Grace picked at a splinter in the dock. “All I’m saying is, Sophie came here to start a new life, a new business. To prove something to herself. Just make sure you’re not rushing her into being part of your story before she’s finished figuring her own out.”
Luke frowned, a prickle of unease running down his spine. “Has she said something to you?”
“No, nothing like that,” Grace assured him quickly. “She’s obviously into you. Like, embarrassingly, heart-eyes-emoji into you. But she’s also trying to find her footing here. She’s only been here a week, Luke.”
Luke nodded slowly, digesting this. It made sense. Sophie had crossed an ocean to start over. The last thing she needed was some man barging in, demanding space in her carefully planned fresh start.
“Good advice,” he acknowledged gruffly.
“I’m full of good advice,” Grace said. “I also recommend showering before you see her again. You still smell like a campfire.”
Luke’s mouth twitched. “I was getting to that.”
Grace stood, brushing crumbs from her jeans. “For what it’s worth, I think you two could be good for each other. Just…don’t screw it up by being, you know, you.”
“Your confidence is touching.”
“That’s what friends are for. All right,” she said. “I better head back before Mom throws a fit.”
As Grace disappeared around the corner, Luke turned back toward Sophie’s boathouse. This time, he was rewarded with a curtain being pulled back, sunlight catching dark hair as a figure appeared at the window.
His heart did something uncomfortable in his chest, a feeling so foreign he almost didn’t recognize it for what it was: hope. Pure, undiluted hope that maybe, just maybe, this time could be different. He just needed some time with her to see if she wanted the same.
“Pull yourself together,” he muttered as he headed for the shower. Coral trailed after him, parking herself in the doorway with that judgmental stare she’d perfected over the years. “Don’t start,” he told the dog as he scrubbed the last traces of smoke from his skin.
Clean and dressed in jeans that weren’t stained with boat grease and the navy button-down Mabel had given him for Christmas (tags removed approximately ten minutes ago), Luke got to work. He wanted to take Sophie somewhere special. Do something special.
And he had the perfect idea.