Page 16 of Designing Love
“Figured?” I gently prompt, enjoying the sight of Ethan looking genuinely flustered as the redness in his cheeks betrays him.
He rubs his chin, avoiding eye contact. “Okay, hear me out. I thought maybe you could come take a look and give me your professional opinion.”
“You mean — my professional interior designer’s opinion?”
“Yes, exactly,” he says enthusiastically, relief evident on his face. “You used to flip old houses. This could be perfect. Fresh perspective, all that. Maybe tell me if I’ve lost my mind or if the raccoons should stay.”
I laugh despite myself, folding my arms across my chest and giving him a teasing look. “Hmm, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’ve impulsively bought a dilapidated, critter-infested old house, and now you’d like me to come inspect your new kingdom and possibly confirm your madness?”
“Exactly.” Ethan’s eyes crinkle with humor, though there’s genuine hopefulness behind his smile. “Interested?”
“I’m intrigued, that’s for sure,” I admit softly, heartbeat quickening at how he gazes at me — openly, earnestly. I bite my lip, hesitating. “But are you sure? I’m not really looking for work right now…”
“Hey,” he interrupts gently, his voice reassuring. “No pressure. It can just be a walk-through, a casual consultation between friends. Friends can critique questionable real estate decisions, right?”
“Friends already, huh?” I tease, punching his shoulder lightly.
Ethan reels back a full step, one palm pressed dramatically to his chest while the other swoops to his forehead like a fainting Victorian. “Friendly acquaintances, who share an affinity for good coffee and impulsive decisions?”
“Better.” I grin, nodding decisively. “Okay, I’ll look at your raccoon palace.”
“Great!” Ethan’s face lights up immediately, relief washing over his features. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow works,” I confirm, surprised by how easy it feels to agree. How easy it feels to imagine spending time with Ethan, wandering through a broken-down house and dreaming together. I shake off the thought quickly, clearing my throat.
“I can’t promise miracles, though,” I add with mock severity. “There’s only so much even I can do about ghosts.”
Ethan chuckles, his eyes catching the fading sunlight, reflecting warmth and laughter. “As long as the ghosts pay rent, we’re good.”
I shake my head, amused. “Deal.”
We pause, standing together in the gentle hush of the waves, the quiet space filled with an unspoken understanding. He shifts his weight slightly, moving closer. A soft gust of wind brushes hair across my face, and instinctively, Ethan reaches out to tuck the stray lock gently behind my ear, his fingertips lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary. The brief brush scorches hotter than the July sun; every reasonable thought tumble-slides straight into the lake.
My breath catches, skin tingling beneath his brief, gentle touch. I stare up at him, heart thumping loudly in my chest, suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing.
Before either of us can speak, a distant shout echoes from the direction of Ethan’s house.
“Ethan! Did you forget we have paperwork to finish?” A figure waves exaggeratedly from the porch.
Ethan sighs, stepping back and shaking his head ruefully. “Apparently, my real estate agent needs me to dot the i's and cross the t’s. Duty calls.”
“Clearly.” I smile, grateful and slightly relieved for the interruption.What am I doing?“I’ll let you go then.”
He steps backward slowly, reluctance visible in every small movement. “Tomorrow, then? I’ll pick you up?”
“Tomorrow,” I confirm softly, warmth blooming gently within me.
“Perfect.” He flashes me another charming grin before turning and jogging up the steps toward his visitor.
I watch him go, a smile lingering on my lips, heart fluttering gently.Tomorrow, indeed.
8
THE MILLER HOUSE
Ethan
Itap my fingers nervously against the steering wheel of my truck, waiting outside Sage’s colorful beach house. The morning sun warms my arm through the open window, and I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror, attempting to smooth down my perpetually rebellious hair. It refuses, sticking up stubbornly in all directions.
