Chapter Twenty-Seven Sophie
Twenty-Seven
Sophie
Trust me. The words pinged around Sophie’s brain like a rogue tennis ball. Marcus standing in her flat, rearranging her carefully organized bookshelves because he thought they’d “look better” with the spines alphabetized rather than color-coded. Trust me, Sophie. I’ve got an eye for these things.
“We planned to have a wall erected there for the bookshelves,” Sophie said to Luke, “not replace the window already there.”
“It works better this way. Your bookshelves can go against the back wall. This way you get light and storage.”
“That’s not the—” Sophie took a steadying breath. “The point isn’t whether it’s a better layout or not. The point is that you made a pretty significant decision without actually checking if I, the person who owns the actual bookshop, was on board.”
His expression faltered. “I thought we were on the same page.”
“Well, clearly we’re not reading the same book.” She flinched, realizing how hard that sounded. “What I mean is, this is my project and I really want floor-to-ceiling shelves there. Like, really.”
A flash of irritation crossed Luke’s face. Sophie followed him down to find Ray and another man she didn’t recognize struggling with a large, flat package wrapped in protective covering.
“Morning, Sophie!” Ray called cheerfully. “Got your fancy window here! It’s a beaut, let me tell you.”
“Let’s have a look, then,” Sophie said, forcing brightness into her voice.
Ray and the other man carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a tall, narrow stained-glass window depicting delicate scenes of lakeside life rendered in blues and greens and amber.
“Wow,” she said softly, reaching out to trace the work with her fingertip. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
Luke’s expression brightened slightly. “Told you.”
Sophie tilted her head, admiring how the light played through the glass. “It would look lovely in the kitchen east wall. Could we use it there instead?”
Ray and Luke exchanged glances.
“Won’t fit,” Luke said. “The back windows are standard size. This is a custom frame, specific to the east-wall configuration of these boathouses.”
“Oh,” Sophie said.
She looked at the beautiful window again, then at the east wall. She could picture it there, casting a little bit of rainbow light across the space each morning. But she could also picture her original plan: floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with carefully curated books and a rolling ladder.
Marcus’s voice echoed in her head: You’re so set in your ways, Sophie. So boring and predictable.
Her boss, rearranging her projects: We need someone more flexible in this role, Sophie.
As much as Luke made her knees (and everything else) turn to jelly, as much as this window was objectively beautiful…she’d come to Solace Springs to build something that was truly hers. To make her own decisions. To be more than just the accommodating Sophie Bennett who always gave in when pushed.
“It’s beautiful,” she said gently, “but I have a very specific vision for this space, and I’d really like to stick to it. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the eastern wall are nonnegotiable for me.”
She held her breath, waiting for a response. There was a flicker of something in Luke’s eyes—disappointment? Frustration?—but then he exhaled slowly and nodded.
“You’re right,” he said stiffly. “I should’ve checked with you first. My mistake.” He turned to Ray. “Let’s get this loaded back up. See if they’ll take a return, or if Fitz knows anyone else looking for a period window.”
“I’m sorry about the trouble,” Sophie said, feeling strangely deflated.
Luke shook his head. “No trouble. Your place, your call.” He gave her a quick, distracted peck on the lips. “I’ll help Ray load it up and be back in an hour or so.”
Sophie nodded, watching as the three men carefully rewrapped the stained-glass panel.
Had she handled that right? The window was beautiful, and clearly Luke had thought he was doing something nice. But it was the principle of the thing, wasn’t it? The fact that he’d made the decision without her?
Or was she being stubborn just to prove a point?
No. The fact remained: he’d made the call without her.
She then had to remind herself of another fact, too: Luke wasn’t Marcus. This time was different. It had to be.