Chapter Thirty-Nine Sophie
Thirty-Nine
Sophie
It had been a few days since the storm. That time had consisted of many things.
By day, Sophie found herself wrangling invoices, paint colors, and last-minute book deliveries while sweet-talking local journalists into running fluffy features about the “cherry blossom rebirth of a lakeside literary gem.” By night, she was tangled in Luke’s sheets (or sometimes just tangled in Luke).
And then there was Finn.
Still guarded. Still unpredictable. But slowly letting them in. She’d helped him write the first awkward email to a rehab clinic. He was booked in now—just a local place to start—but it felt like something real.
Luke still hadn’t worked up the courage to contact his mum and maybe that was okay. Maybe the two men needed some time.
But the realest thing now was the fact that her bookshop was about to launch.
“Is the dress too much?” she asked Grace.
“Absolutely not. You look stunning. Proper bookshop launch material.”
“I should finish setting up the refreshment table,” she said. “The festival starts in an hour and I still need to make sure all the mini quiches are arranged in perfect concentric circles and—”
She stopped mid-sentence, her attention caught by movement outside the window.
Luke was walking up the path toward the boathouse looking pretty relaxed for someone who supposedly hated crowds.
Sunlight glinted off his dark hair, the sleeves of his navy sweater were shoved up like he meant business and that easy, lopsided smile he sometimes dared to show was firmly in place.
She squinted. Behind him trailed what looked like a small tour group—six or seven people, chatting animatedly and pointing at the boathouse. Sophie tried to make out their faces in the late-afternoon light.
“Is that…Juniper?” she asked, recognizing the BookTokker’s distinctive purple hair.
Then a woman with red hair and oversized glasses came into sight.
BookishBee92, one of her most active crowdfunding supporters…
all the way from Glasgow! And the tall man beside her looked remarkably like StorytellingSailor, who’d left thoughtful comments on every one of her renovation updates.
“What on earth…?” Sophie turned to Grace, who was unsuccessfully trying to suppress a smile. “What’s going on? Did I accidentally ingest hallucinogens with my morning tea? Am I having some sort of bookshop-owner fever dream?”
In response, Grace pulled out her phone and handed it to Sophie. On the screen was an Instagram account called @LukeRhodesNotOnSocialMedia, a profile picture featuring a shot of Solace Lake at sunrise.
There was only one post:
Win a trip to the grand opening of The Cherry Blossom Boathouse. Nominate someone who supported @SophieBennettBooks’ journey to tell me why they deserve to be here. Five winners announced Friday. #CherryBlossomSurprise #SolaceSpringsWelcomesYou
The post had thousands of likes and hundreds of comments.
“He did this?” Sophie whispered, looking up as Luke and the small group reached the path leading to her door. “Luke ‘The Internet Is for Cat Videos and Conspiracy Theories’ Rhodes did this for me?”
“Of course he did it, Sophie,” Grace said with an eye roll. “Don’t you get it by now? He’d do anything for you. Except maybe smile too much, or speak in full sentences.”
Sophie’s legs moved of their own accord, carrying her outside into the golden afternoon light. Luke stopped when he saw her, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. Behind him, the group—her online supporters, her virtual community made flesh—watched with barely contained excitement.
“You did this?” Sophie asked Luke.
“Thought your opening should have the right people here. The ones who believed in it from the start.”
“But…social media…you hate all that,” Sophie said. “You once said hashtags were ‘the death of meaningful conversation’ and that was one of your less extreme opinions.”
“I don’t hate it,” Luke said, stepping closer.
“Just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why it mattered to you.
” He jerked his chin toward the group gathered behind him.
“Took another look at that crowdfunding page of yours. Read what they wrote.” He shrugged, a little awkward.
“Figured out it’s not all noise. Sometimes it’s people giving a damn. About you. About what you’re building.”
She noticed Finn was standing among the crowd, a small smile on his face.
But the biggest surprise of all was Lisa.
Her sister. Right there in the flesh, wearing wide-leg rust-colored trousers, a silky cream blouse tucked just-so and a statement blazer with shoulder pads sharp enough for a knife fight.
Her light brown waves were swept into a low knot, and her lipstick was the kind of red that said, I own the room and probably the building, too.
She rolled a compact carry-on suitcase behind her like it was a fashion accessory, not a piece of luggage.
“Lisa?” Sophie blinked. “Are you—What—How?”
Lisa flashed her a grin and swooped in for a hug. “Had to come, didn’t I? You’re launching a bookshop in a dress covered in blossoms, with a brooding handyman-turned-boyfriend gazing at you like you’re the actual sunrise. Frankly, it’s rude you didn’t ask me to plan it.”
Sophie laughed, still stunned. “But how did you even know?”
“Your guy messaged me.” Lisa released her and turned briefly to appraise Luke like she was checking the craftsmanship on a bespoke armchair.
“Very polite. Offered to cover my travel, which was sweet. But I sorted it. And let’s face it, watching my little sister live out her literal Pinterest board?
Worth the trip. Plus, you know,” she added, giving Sophie’s hand a squeeze, “I had to represent Mum, right? She’d be unbelievably proud, Soph. ”
The two sisters smiled at each other, tears filling their eyes. “No tears on your big opening,” Lisa said softly.
Sophie nodded, pulling herself together, then turned to Luke, who was suspiciously focused on adjusting a stack of books by the door. “You contacted my sister?”
“Yep,” he replied, looking cute and awkward. Sophie fought back the ridiculous urge to cry. She was not going to be that girl, sobbing over a grand romantic gesture in front of her entire online community. Though if ever there was a time for dramatic tears, this was probably it.
“How did you even manage all this?” she asked Luke. “Did you have to trade in your flip phone and carrier pigeon messaging system?”
“I had a lot of help from my little brother…” he said, gesturing to Finn. “Turns out I’m not completely hopeless at this community thing after all.”
Sophie couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face. “Luke Rhodes, are you telling me you’ve joined the twenty-first century?”
“Parts of it,” he admitted, returning her smile. “The parts that matter to you.”
Sophie ran at him, throwing her arms around him in a hug that nearly knocked him backward. His arms came around her automatically, solid and warm. He smelled like pine and lake water and something uniquely Luke.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his chest.
His hold tightened in response, and she felt rather than heard his quiet “You’re welcome” rumble through him.
When they pulled apart, both a little flushed, the group behind them erupted in applause. Sophie laughed, embarrassed but delighted, and turned to greet them properly.
BookishBee92 let out a little squeal. “I’m witnessing an HEA in the wild!”
Luke gave her a confused look. “Happily Ever After,” Sophie whispered to him.
She turned to the crowd, clutching her sister’s hand, too.
“I can’t believe you’re all here,” she said, recognizing faces she’d only seen in tiny profile pictures.
“Please, come in! Let me show you what your support helped create. Though I should warn you, if I start crying about bookshelves, just nod politely and pretend it’s completely normal. ”
The next half hour passed in a blur of introductions and exclamations as Sophie led the group through the boathouse.
Their genuine excitement at seeing the physical manifestation of what had once been concept sketches and mood boards was overwhelming.
These weren’t faceless internet strangers, they felt like real people with real connections to her vision.
When their tour reached the corner with the Rhodes and Flores family display, Luke froze, staring at the photographs and artifacts with undisguised surprise.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“Your family’s history,” Sophie said, suddenly nervous.
“I wanted to show that the past and present can exist together. That progress doesn’t have to erase what came before.
” She paused, then added with a touch of her usual dryness, “Also, it turns out your grandfather”—gesturing to the framed photo of him—“was devastatingly handsome, which explains a lot, genetically speaking.”
Luke stepped closer to the display, examining the boat plans with something like reverence. “My grandfather’s designs. Where did you find these?”
“The historical society archives. Ella helped,” Sophie explained.
“And here I thought I was the one with the grand gesture.”
They stood there, staring at each other with matching giddy smiles like teenagers.
Luke’s eyes crinkled at the corners in that way that still made Sophie’s stomach do Olympic-level gymnastics.
For a brief, lovely moment, the boathouse seemed to exist in its own perfect bubble of time.
Just them, surrounded by books and history and possibility.
“Are we having a moment?” Sophie whispered conspiratorially. “Because I feel like we’re having a proper rom-com moment and I’d hate to waste it by saying something inappropriate about your grandfather’s cheekbones.”
Luke’s laugh was interrupted by Lisa jingling a small silver bell with unnecessary enthusiasm.