Page 17 of Designing Love
Great. Bedhead chic. Exactly the look I’m going for.
The passenger-side door swings open and Sophia slides into the seat, sunglasses perched on her head, a fresh, citrusy scent filling the cab. My heart immediately leaps into a frantic rhythm, betraying any semblance of calm I might have tried to project.
“Morning,” she greets, fastening her seatbelt. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Sage insisted I try her special ‘energy tea’ blend before leaving.” Her voice drops conspiratorially. “I’m pretty sure it’s just lemon water.”
I chuckle, pulling onto Main Street. “You got off lucky. Once, she convinced me to drink some mysterious purple liquid. I’m still not sure I didn’t hallucinate afterward.”
Sophia laughs — a melody that sets something fluttering in my chest. “That might explain your decision to buy a haunted fixer-upper.”
“I maintain it’s not haunted. Just... misunderstood.”
She raises an eyebrow playfully. “I thought that was my line.”
Her presence next to me feels effortlessly comfortable, as if we’ve shared easy banter for years, not days. Yet beneath the ease, there’s a pulse of electricity, almost tangible.
We turn onto the coastal road toward the Miller House, winding past cottages painted cheerful blues, yellows, and greens. Sophia gazes out the window, the lake sparkling beside us.
“I’d forgotten how peaceful this place is. One moment, you’re immersed in city chaos; next, it’s birds, water, and raccoons.”
“Don’t forget the ghosts,” I remind her solemnly.
She turns back, studying me with mock seriousness. “Right, of course. Ghosts, raccoons, and Ethan — the trifecta of mystery.”
“I aim to intrigue. Speaking of intrigue, have you decided on that job offer?”
Her smile fades a little, and her gaze falls to her hands. “Honestly? I’m still not sure. I haven’t taken a vacation in forever…”
My stomach twists nervously. “But it’s a good opportunity, right?”
“Maybe too good. Too predictable. Too... everything I’m supposed to want...” She trails off, uncertain.
“Sometimes unexpected, impulsive decisions are exactly what we need.”
She glances up, eyes hopeful. “Like buying an old house filled with furry tenants?”
“Exactly. Who wouldn’t find raccoons appealing?”
She laughs, tension easing again, her eyes lighting up as she turns to me. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
Heart quickening beneath her gaze, I chuckle. “Something you don’t know... I used to play drums in a terrible garage band called ‘The Loud Llamas’ in high school.”
She bursts into laughter, delighted. “Loud Llamas? Seriously?”
“Sadly, yes. Mostly off-key covers. Somehow, we convinced ourselves we’d be famous.”
“Tragic.” She sighs. “Maybe you missed your true calling.”
“No one missed out on our musical greatness,” I assure her.
Our laughter fades into a comfortable silence, broken only by the tires humming against the road. I glance sideways. “Your turn. Embarrassing teenage dreams?”
She gives a solemn shake of her head. “None. Absolutely perfect adolescence.”
“Really?” I challenge, skeptical.
She sighs theatrically. “Fine. I might’ve briefly dabbled in interpretive dance — ribbons included.”
I grin, raising an eyebrow. “Ribbon-dancer extraordinaire. Interesting.”
