Chapter Seventeen Sophie
Seventeen
Sophie
Sophie stole a glance at Luke as he maneuvered the boat through a narrow channel.
The morning light caught in his dark hair, highlighting strands of chestnut she hadn’t noticed before.
His profile against the bright sky was painfully handsome, strong jaw dusted with stubble, straight nose, those unfairly long eyelashes.
His hands on the wheel moved with casual confidence, the same hands that had cupped her…
Down, girl, she admonished herself. We’re not even at breakfast yet.
Though if breakfast went well, perhaps they could move on to…brunch activities?
Oh God, I did not just think that. I am not the sort of woman who makes food-based sexual innuendos, she thought. Except apparently I am now.
He’d arrived at her boathouse half an hour ago, telling her he had a surprise for her, looking at her with that same expression he’d had the night before: hunger.
“See something interesting?” he asked her now, catching her staring at him.
“Just admiring the local wildlife,” Sophie replied, refusing to be embarrassed about being caught.
“You clean up rather nicely for someone who spent the night battling a forest fire. I, meanwhile, spent fifteen minutes trying to get my hair to do that effortless wavy thing instead of its usual ‘recently electrocuted’ look.”
Luke’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Had motivation to make an effort. And your hair looks nice.”
The casual admission sent a pleasant flutter through her stomach. This slightly softer-around-the-edges, almost playful version of Luke was a revelation. She wondered how many people in Solace Springs had seen this side of him.
“So,” she said, “are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is the mysterious lake captain routine part of your charm offensive?”
“We’re almost—” Luke began, then nodded ahead. “There.”
Sophie turned to follow his gaze and felt her breath catch in her throat.
In a small, sheltered inlet ahead of them, something extraordinary floated on the water’s surface.
At first glance, it looked like an island had broken free from the shore.
A lush, flowering oasis perhaps twenty feet across.
But as they drew closer, she realized it was a carefully constructed platform, its edges softened by trailing plants that dipped into the water.
What looked like wisteria branches were woven into an arbor overhead.
“What is this place?” Sophie breathed.
“Something I built a few years back. Started as a project to study lake plant growth. Turned into something more.”
He guided the boat alongside the floating garden, securing it to a small dock that extended from one edge.
The platform bobbed gently with their movement, but remained remarkably stable.
Up close, Sophie could see the ingenuity of its construction in the form of a base of weathered wood supporting beds of soil where spring blooms created a riot of color: purple crocuses, yellow daffodils, tiny blue forget-me-nots, and delicate white snowdrops.
“It’s incredible,” she said as Luke helped her from the boat, his hand warm and steady in hers. “You must be some kind of water wizard.”
Sophie breathed in the scent of flowers mingled with fresh lake air as birds darted overhead; the gentle lapping of water against the edges created a soothing rhythm beneath them.
At the center, a clear space held what looked like a handmade table fashioned from smooth driftwood, surrounded by cushions instead of chairs.
“I thought you might like breakfast here,” Luke said, suddenly looking almost shy, so at odds with his usual confidence. “It’s private. Peaceful.”
“It’s perfect,” Sophie replied honestly, while her brain helpfully chimed in: And deeply romantic, you impossible man. Who DOES this? Marcus’s idea of romance was remembering to order extra spring rolls with the takeaway.
“Though I’m beginning to suspect you’re actually some kind of water nymph disguised as a local lake hermit with a hero complex,” she added.
Sophie wandered the small space, marveling at the details. Small solar lights were strung along the arbor, waiting for evening to illuminate them. Clever irrigation systems kept the plant beds watered. It was both wild and meticulously planned…rather like the man who’d created it.
“How does it float?” she asked, crouching to examine the edge. “I mean, I assume there’s not a team of mermen underneath holding it up, though at this point I wouldn’t rule anything out.”
“Recycled dock materials underneath, sealed and reinforced,” Luke explained. “The plants keep it balanced. Took some trial and error to get the weight distribution right.”
“I’m impressed,” Sophie said, rejoining him at the center. “Though not entirely surprised. You seem to have a knack for making impossible things work.”
“I hope so.” The look he gave her then was warm enough to chase away any lingering morning chill, something unguarded and hopeful in his blue eyes. “Hungry?” he asked, gesturing for her to sit.
“Starving,” Sophie admitted, sinking onto one of the cushions.
He nodded and busied himself with retrieving a picnic basket from the boat—a proper wicker picnic basket, complete with baby-blue gingham lining and little leather straps.
“Bloody hell,” she said, then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. It’s just…Where on earth did you find something that perfect?”
“It was my ma’s,” he said, setting the basket down carefully. “She used to say if you were going to eat outside, you might as well do it with style.”
She watched as Luke unpacked the basket with methodical care.
First came a checked tablecloth, spread precisely across the driftwood table.
Then plates, cups, utensils, all organized with unexpected attention to detail.
When he began setting out the food, Sophie couldn’t suppress her delight.
Each container was neatly labeled with contents and date, arranged by type.
He’d even color-coded them with small stickers: green for savory, red for sweet, blue for beverages.
Her heart seemed to explode.
“Luke Rhodes,” she said, picking up a jar of perfectly sliced fruit, “did you organize this picnic for me? With labels? And color-coding?”
A flush crept up his neck. “Thought you might appreciate it,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes. “No hockey romances, though.”
“Oh, it’s fine; I have that covered,” she said, gesturing to the book in her bag.
He laughed. “Always prepared.”
A wave of tenderness swept through Sophie. Marcus had relentlessly teased her organizational tendencies, treating them as neurotic habits. Never once had he thought to speak Sophie’s language, to show he valued this fundamental aspect of how she navigated the world.
Yet here was Luke—supposedly gruff, emotionally unavailable Luke—presenting her with color-coded containers and labeled jars as if offering a piece of his heart.
“I love it,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
They ate in a calm, easy silence for a few minutes, the platform rocking gently beneath them, surrounded by the quiet awakening of spring. Sophie savored each bite: fresh berries bursting with sweetness, warm bread slathered with honey, cheese that melted on her tongue.
Luke leaned back on his elbows, more relaxed than she’d seen him yet.
But the way he looked was making her anything but relaxed.
The movement pulled his shirt taut across his chest, showcasing his muscles.
His legs stretched out in front of him, denim hugging thighs that could probably crack walnuts.
And that position—casual, confident, slightly sprawled—did frankly obscene things to his already unfair attractiveness level.
Sophie tried not to stare, but seriously, the man lounging there like some kind of rugged lake deity was making it very difficult to focus on breakfast rather than… other appetites.
“So,” Sophie said, curling her legs beneath her, “what happened last night? With the fire?”
Luke’s expression sobered. “Someone’s been camping on the island. Had a shelter set up in the rocks, hidden from view.”
“Any idea who?”
He shook his head. “They cleared out before we got there.”
“Well, if you need help solving lake mysteries, I happen to have excellent deductive skills,” Sophie said. “I’ve listened to every true-crime podcast worth mentioning. I’m practically the female Sherlock Holmes.”
That earned her another of those rare smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
A comfortable silence fell between them again, broken only by birdsong and the gentle lapping of water against the platform. Sophie found herself studying Luke’s face, the way tension seemed to have melted from his features out here on the water, away from watchful eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” she said finally.
“Just did.”
She rolled her eyes. “Another thing, smart arse.”
He gestured for her to continue, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Why did you bring me here? Really.”
Luke’s gaze shifted to the water for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. When he looked back at her, the vulnerability in his expression took her breath away. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said simply. “About last night. About that kiss.”
Sophie’s heart fluttered against her ribs. “I can’t stop thinking about you either. And yet we’ve only known each other…” She looked at the date on her digital watch. “A week. Exactly a week.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I know. Why’d you think I did all this?” he said, gesturing to the picnic. Then his smile faltered. “I want us to get to know each other properly. Do this right.”
“And what does ‘right’ look like?”
“Hell if I know,” he admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “Been a while since I tried this.”
Sophie shifted closer. “For what it’s worth, I’m not exactly an expert at relationships either. Every time I think I’ve figured things out…”
“Life throws you in a lake?”
“Something like that.”