Chapter Thirty-Seven Sophie
Thirty-Seven
Sophie
Sophie’s mind went completely blank, her usual torrent of thoughts evaporating like morning mist on the lake. Did he just—Did I hear—Did Luke Rhodes actually say he loves me?
Or maybe he meant to say “I’d love you to leave” and just forgot some words? Or “I loathe you” and he was really terrible at pronunciation? Or perhaps “I glove you” because he wanted to buy her mittens for the winter? Though that would be oddly specific and not at all in keeping with the moment.
Her thoughts raced frantically. No, he definitely said love. Luke Rhodes loved her. Her. The woman who nearly drowned in his lake, who argued with him about windows, who brought internet strangers to his sacred hometown.
She must have been silent too long, because uncertainty flickered across Luke’s face, his hands loosening slightly against her skin.
“I love you, too,” she blurted out, her voice catching. “So much.”
And she really did. Every last stunning part of him.
She knew it the moment she saw him standing under that rocky shelter, his face a map of fresh scratches, his dark hair dripping lake water onto the pebbles below.
She knew it the moment she could see he was alive.
Magnificently, infuriatingly, beautifully alive.
They stood there in the rain now, holding each other’s faces, until Sophie became aware of someone clearing their throat behind them. It was a man she’d barely noticed when she first arrived on the island, too wrapped up in making sure Luke was alive.
But now she took him in: mid-twenties, soggy beard, curly brown hair plastered to his skull. But bloody hell, the resemblance was unmistakable. It was like someone had put Luke in a photocopier and accidentally hit the “scruffy vagrant” setting.
“Erm, Soph,” Luke said, not letting go of her but turning slightly so she could see the man standing awkwardly by the fire. “Let me introduce you to my brother, Finn.”
“Brother?” a voice asked from behind them. It was Jake, Ray next to him, both puffing from exertion at having to catch up with Sophie.
“Long story,” Luke said, his arm still firmly around Sophie’s waist. He peered through the trees. “Let’s head to the inn before we all catch pneumonia.”
The five of them made their way through the maple trees, Sophie’s mind spinning with questions that tumbled out faster than she could stop them. “So you’re actually related? How did you find each other? Are you the one who’s been camping on the island?”
Luke answered most of her questions while Finn remained largely silent beside them, occasionally nodding or offering a one-word confirmation.
Up close, Sophie could smell the faint scent of whiskey clinging to him, mixing with smoke and rain and that particular staleness that came from too many nights sleeping rough.
“Of course, it makes sense now,” Sophie said as it dawned on her. “You’re the one who left that belt buckle at my place. It had a rose on it. The Flores family buckle, as I’ve learned since.”
Finn nodded. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “My mom left the buckle for me when I was a baby. Must’ve fallen off during…” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.
“During your breaking and entering phase,” Jake finished for him, glaring at him.
Sophie wasn’t angry, though. Hard to stay mad at someone who looked like a drowned puppy and happened to be Luke’s long-lost brother.
As they crested the small hill, the inn appeared before them through the trees, and Sophie felt her breath catch.
Even through the rain and storm, the old building looked like something from a fairy tale: all gray stone and ivy-covered walls, windows glowing yellow against the dark, stormy sky.
The inn’s tower was amazing—a tall, circular column of stone rising from the far end of the inn, proud and imposing, as if the rest of the building had simply grown around it out of respect.
Up close, she could see the details she’d missed before.
The stones were rough and pitted, moss gathering in the cracks like green lace, and the ivy looked determined to conquer the whole thing by next spring.
Tiny arched windows spiraled up its side, each one spilling a soft, golden light that looked far too cozy for a day like this.
They drew closer, the wraparound porch stretching across the front like welcoming arms. Smoke rose from the massive chimney, promising warmth and dry clothes and the kind of old-fashioned comfort that made you want to curl up with a book and never leave.
Luke pushed open the heavy wooden door, and they all stepped into warmth that felt like a physical embrace.
The interior was exactly what Sophie had hoped for: all worn Persian rugs scattered across wide-planked floors, mismatched armchairs gathered around a massive stone fireplace, and walls lined with bookshelves that looked like they’d been collecting stories for decades.
Sure, it needed updating, but still, it was the kind of place where you could imagine forgetting the outside world existed.
Abe looked up from the counter, taking in their bedraggled states with the unflappable composure of someone who’d seen it all. “Well, look what the storm dragged in,” he said matter-of-factly. “You look like you’ve been wrestling with the lake and lost,” he added as his eyes honed in on Luke.
“My boat lost,” Luke said grimly. “Sitting on the bottom somewhere near Deadman’s Cove, probably.”
“Damn,” Ray said, heading straight to the bar like he knew the place inside out, pouring five glasses of whiskey. Sophie noticed Luke did a discreet shake of the head before gesturing to Finn.
Ray nodded, pushing the glass to the side and getting another, pouring lemonade into it. He then handed the glasses out.
“To Dawn’s Promise,” he said, “a cranky, wheezing old bitch who leaked in three places and made sounds like a dying seal when you pushed her too hard. But damn if she didn’t carry Luke safely through twenty-something years of storms, tourists, and trying to impress a British gal with a special trip to a floating garden. ”
They all raised their glasses, and Sophie’s heart clenched as the reality of what Luke had lost hit her.
That boat wasn’t just transportation. It was his livelihood, his connection to his grandfather, years of memories guiding tourists around the lake he loved.
She squeezed his hand tighter, remembering how proud he’d looked when he’d first taken her out on the water, the way his whole demeanor changed when he was at the helm.
“You’ll build a new one,” Abe said. “Rhodes men always do. Your grandfather built three in his lifetime, your father two. It’s what you do.
” He reached behind him and grabbed a key off the wall.
“Take room four, get yourself dry.” His pale eyes shifted to Finn, taking in the hollow cheeks and threadbare clothes.
He opened his mouth to say something but Finn just headed to the roaring fire. “I’ll dry myself here.”
Abe nodded. “Suit yourself.” He tossed Luke the key.
Luke caught it and reached for Sophie’s hand. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his fingers intertwining with hers in a way that made her stomach flip.
They climbed the narrow staircase to a room that was pure romantic fantasy…
if your idea of romance involved wallpaper that looked like it had survived the Blitz and a brass bed that probably creaked loud enough to wake the dead.
Still, it was the kind of room where you could imagine Jane Austen heroines having passionate conversations about propriety and desire, all cozy intimacy and old-world charm.
And the views over the small inlet of lake it looked over were breathtaking.
Luke closed the door behind them. Sophie stood there dripping on the hardwood floor, suddenly very aware that they were alone together in a bedroom and that Luke was looking at her like she was something precious he’d almost lost forever.
“So,” she said, “does this mean you’re not going to make me return your flannel shirt because I’ve grown rather attached to it and I’d hate to have to steal another one.”
Luke hooked his finger between two buttons of the flannel shirt she wore. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and rough, “but I am going to have to remove it. Standard shirt repossession protocol. Very important.”
The air in Sophie’s lungs seemed to stall as he leaned closer, his free hand sliding to her waist. “That sounds awfully technical,” she whispered. “Are permits required for this type of protocol?”
“Special circumstances,” Luke murmured against her jaw as he led her to the bed. “Emergency protocol.”
His fingers worked at the buttons of the flannel, each one coming undone with deliberate slowness that made Sophie’s knees weak. She’d imagined this reunion a dozen different ways during their separation, but nothing compared to the reality of Luke’s hands on her skin, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I missed you,” she breathed as the shirt fell open. “Even when I was furious with you. Even when I thought—”
Luke silenced her with a kiss that stole the thoughts from her head. “No more ghosts,” he said against her lips. “Just us.”
Sophie nodded, her hands finding the hem of his shirt, tugging upward. “Just us,” she agreed. “Though your brother might come looking for you any minute.”
“Sophie,” Luke groaned, half-laughing, half-exasperated, “stop talking about my brother.”
“Excellent point,” she conceded as his shirt joined hers on the floor. “Consider the subject temporarily banned.”
Their bodies came together with the rough urgency of two people who knew exactly how to break each other open. Every touch dragged up old hunger and carved new need, familiar but volatile, like striking the same match and daring it to burn hotter this time.
“I love you,” Luke whispered against her collarbone, the words no longer a revelation but a certainty.
“I love you, too,” Sophie answered, her voice breaking on a gasp as his hands found the places that made her arch against him. “Even when you’re insufferably stubborn and—”
“Soph?”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking.”
And for once in her life, Sophie Bennett did exactly as she was told. At least for a little while.