Page 13 of Designing Love
I grin despite myself. “Okay, yeah. She’s... something else.”
Claire pops open the chips and crunches thoughtfully. “You’ve never lit up like this over anyone. Not even when you thought you were in love with that grad student who wrote her thesis on minimalism and gave you panic attacks with her white walls.”
“That was a phase,” I mutter.
“It was a design trauma.”
We both laugh. The kind that comes from history — from having been through enough awkward milestones together that you can’t help but know each other’s cringe points.
After a few quiet moments, Claire glances sideways at me, her tone shifting. “You know... it’s wild, isn’t it? To think five years ago we thought we might have been something.”
I chuckle, surprised. “You mean our three-month test run of romantic compatibility?”
She raises her beer in a mock toast. “To the world’s most amicable breakup.”
“I still maintain our biggest issue was dueling thermostats.”
She laughs. “That and your irrational fear of brunch lines.”
“You tried to get us into that place with the lavender foam. I still have trauma.”
“Okay, valid.” Claire leans back into the couch cushion. “But seriously, I’m glad we figured it out early. That we’re better like this.”
I nod, my smile softening. “Me too. I think I knew it the first time you suggested we co-buy a kayak but then immediately followed it with ‘no pressure — I already have a backup paddling partner.’”
“Hey, I like to be efficient.”
“And honest. You’ve always been honest with me. That’s rare.”
“That’s what friends are for. Especially the ones you’ve tried to kiss and failed to set fireworks with.”
We sit in that small pocket of memory for a moment, filled with gratitude rather than regret. It’s one of the rare things I’m proud of — not just that we tried, but that we knew when to pivot without losing each other.
“So,” she says, bringing us back to the present, “when do you plan on telling Sophia about the house?”
“I don’t know yet. Everything’s moving fast. And I don’t want her to think I’m trying to leverage the situation or make her feel obligated to see me again.”
Claire gives me a look. “You mean like buying a haunted house just to start a project with someone random you met once?”
“She’s Sage’s niece. It’s not that random.”
“The whole thing is completely random.” She grins. “But it’s also very you. And I think she’ll be flattered. Just maybe... lead with the job, not the emotional declaration.”
I nod slowly. “You think she’ll say yes?”
“She smiled at you like you were the first cup of coffee after a red-eye flight. That’s a yes smile.”
My heart stutters at the memory. “I might need her phone number first.”
Claire blinks. “You don’t have it?”
I shake my head. “Didn’t ask. Felt weird.”
“Ask Sage.”
“That also feels weird.”
Claire smirks. “Then embrace the weird, my friend. You’re already halfway to rom-com territory — haunted house, accidental meet-cute, a meddling best friend.”
