Chapter Thirty-Three Sophie #2
“Day fifty-eight at the boathouse,” she narrated, panning across the area.
“As you can see, the shelving is coming along nicely. I’ve decided on a combination of fixed and floating options to maximize the space while keeping the airy feel we all loved from the concept drawings.
” She zoomed in on a satisfying corner. “What do you think? Should the nautical fiction go here by the window or would it be too on-the-nose?”
She posted the video, then firmly set her phone face-down on the counter. By noon, her stomach was making the kind of noises that couldn’t be ignored.
—
The café was busy with the lunch crowd when she arrived, but Grace spotted her immediately and waved her over to a small table in the corner.
“Saved it for you,” Grace said with a wink. “Figured you’d be in around now. Your usual?”
Sophie sank gratefully into the chair. “You’re a mind reader. And possibly a saint.”
“Just a woman who recognizes the signs of someone who needs caffeine and carbs,” Grace replied. “Coming right up.”
While waiting for her food, Sophie pulled out her notebook, sketching ideas for the children’s corner she planned to install next week.
She was so absorbed in calculating how many beanbags she could reasonably fit into the space that she didn’t notice Grace returning until a steaming mug of coffee appeared at her elbow.
“You look different today,” Grace commented quietly after bringing her food over. She slid into the seat opposite Sophie. “More…focused.”
Sophie took a grateful bite of the wrap she’d ordered. “Yep, don’t have a fortress disguised as a man questioning my life choices every five minutes.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Paradise has been downgraded to a war zone, I’m afraid.” As she said that, a dart of hurt shot through her.
Grace lowered her voice. “What happened?”
Sophie sighed and told Grace everything. “I know I should have told him from the start. But it just…never seemed like the right time.”
Grace tilted her head thoughtfully. “He’ll get over it. You’ve gotta remember, Luke Rhodes’ DNA is probably fifty percent lake water at this point, and after what happened with Claire—”
“The ghost of girlfriends past,” Sophie said with an eye roll.
“Not just Claire,” Grace said gently, “his mom, too. He’s used to the women he loves just leaving.”
Another jolt of pain.
The café door swung open then, bringing with it a gust of cool air and two women: Victoria and Abbey. Victoria scanned the café with her cool blue eyes before alighting on Sophie.
She marched over as Abbey rolled her eyes. “Mom, please,” Sophie heard her say under her breath.
“I met a very interesting purple-haired tourist this morning,” Victoria said. “She mentioned you’ve been financing your…project…through some sort of internet donation scheme?”
Sophie’s spine stiffened. “It’s called crowdfunding.”
“And a perfectly legitimate way to finance a small business,” Grace added.
“Hmm. Around these parts, if you want to start a business, you go to the bank or find a proper investor.” Sophie noticed Abbey flinch.
She couldn’t imagine what it must be like having a mother like that.
Sophie’s mum had been all smiles and kindness, whereas Victoria seemed intent on making those around her feel uncomfortable.
Victoria glanced at her daughter. “Isn’t that right, Abbey? That’s what you did when you took over the marina office?”
Abbey shifted uncomfortably. “Times change, Mother.”
“But some values shouldn’t,” Victoria countered, turning her attention back to Sophie. “That boathouse has been part of this community for generations. And now you’re what, turning it into some kind of trendy spectacle for your internet followers?”
Sophie set down her fork, any appetite now thoroughly extinguished. “I’m turning it into a bookshop. A place for the community to gather, read, connect.”
“After gutting its history.” Victoria sniffed. “Luke told Abbey you rejected the window he suggested.”
The words hit Sophie like a physical blow. Luke had talked to Abbey about that? The thought of him discussing her work and her decisions—criticizing them—with his gorgeous ex made something twist painfully inside.
“Yes, because it’s my boathouse,” Sophie said as other diners grew quiet to listen in. “I make the decisions.”
“Mother, come on,” Abbey said. “It is Sophie’s place and she has every right to choose which window she wants.”
Damn it. Beautiful and kind.
Mabel appeared at the table then, giving Victoria a cold look. “Everything all right over here?”
“Fine,” Sophie said quickly, gathering her things. “I was just leaving.”
“But you haven’t even—” Grace started, but Sophie was already standing.
She walked to the door, Abbey mouthing a sorry to her. Then she paused, turning to face the café’s occupants.
“I’m not here to please Luke, or any of you,” she said, looking specifically at Victoria. “This is my bookshop, my home. Mine. And I’ll run it how I see fit.”
Several other customers had turned to watch the exchange, including Abe. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think what you’re doing with the old boathouse is grand. This town needs more young blood, more new ideas.”
Others nodded in agreement.
“Thanks, Abe,” Sophie managed, but the lump forming in her throat made it hard to say more. She nodded briefly in acknowledgment then walked out, head held high, each step carefully measured until she was safely outside.
Only then, hidden from view around the corner of the building, did she let the tears come, hot and fast, blurring her vision of the path ahead.
She wished her mum was there. She wished she could call her, like she always used to, and vent down the phone.
Her mum would turn up an hour later, armed with cake, and everything would feel a hundred times better.
In fact, Sophie was pretty sure her mum would fly over to do the same now… if she could.
But she was gone.
And Sophie was alone.
She could still imagine her, though. So that was what she did, she tried to imagine what her mum would say.
Probably something practical and slightly exasperated, delivered while putting the kettle on and rummaging through Sophie’s cupboards for proper biscuits.
“Right, then, love,” she’d say, settling into the nearest chair with that no-nonsense expression she got when Sophie was spiraling.
“This is the thing. He’s just a man. One man.
You’ve got your books, you’ve got your shop, you’ve got a whole life you’ve built with your own two hands.
Don’t go shrinking yourself down to fit into someone else’s idea of who you should be.
Men come and go, darling, but a woman with her own purpose? That’s something that lasts.”
Sophie could almost hear her voice, could almost smell the Earl Grey she’d insist on making despite Sophie’s perfectly adequate tea bags. Her mum had always been fiercely practical about matters of the heart: love was lovely, but independence was everything.
She was just straightening her shoulders and hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks when she heard the familiar rumble of Luke’s voice around the corner of the café.
Sophie froze, considering her escape routes.
Unfortunately, the only path back to the boathouse would take her directly past where the voice was coming from.
Before she could decide on a plan B, Luke appeared with Jake. He was dressed in his usual flannel and jeans, looking frustratingly handsome despite her current feelings toward him.
Luke spotted her immediately, frowning as he took in her flushed face and glistening eyes.
“Sophie,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Are you okay?”
She let out a laugh that sounded brittle even to her own ears.
“Absolutely wonderful. Fantastic. Just had a lovely chat with your beautiful ex’s mother about how I’m ruining the historical integrity of my own property and how you’ve been complaining about my renovation choices to her daughter. Really made my afternoon.”
Luke’s face darkened. “I never—”
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter,” Sophie said, clutching her notebook tighter to her chest like armor.
Jake gestured over his shoulder. “Maybe I should—”
“Don’t worry, Jake,” Sophie said, “I won’t keep you. Go chat with Abbey, Luke, she seems much more concerned about your feelings than I am at this point. Clearly she’s the one you prefer to confide in, anyway.”
Luke’s jaw clenched. “Sophie, if you’d just—”
“Just what? Ask your permission before making decisions about my own property? Consult the Luke Rhodes Committee for Acceptable Boathouse Renovations? Maybe I should have a town hall meeting before I decide what color to paint the bathroom? You know what,” she continued, really on a rage now, “maybe I understand where Claire was coming from now. Maybe you were the one twisting her ideas. Maybe they were good ideas, but you caricatured them as they didn’t fit your vision? Maybe I get why she left.”
“Wow,” Jake said under his breath as he grimaced.
The words hit their mark. Luke’s face went blank, that careful mask of indifference sliding into place, but not before Sophie saw the flash of genuine hurt in his eyes.
“Right,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Because I’m just the ‘Harbor Hottie’ with the tools, aren’t I? Good enough to fix your leaks and pose in your background shots, but God forbid I have an actual opinion about my town.”
For a moment, Sophie almost apologized and reached for him. But then she saw Abbey approach from the café, watching them with her pretty, perfect eyes.
So she squared her shoulders and walked off, fighting hard to keep her steps measured until she was certain she was out of sight. Only then did she allow her shoulders to slump, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably.
So that was it. It was over. Maybe that was for the best. Time to focus on herself now.
On the bookshop, on building the life she’d come here to create.
She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a man who seemed determined to fit her into a mold she hadn’t agreed to occupy. Too much like Marcus, in the end.
Different packaging, same problem.