Page 19 of Designing Love
I grin playfully. “Your fingerprints are already everywhere.”
She pulls back, feigning innocence. “You’re trouble.”
“I prefer persuasive visionary.”
Sophia rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Show me the rest.”
We enter the front room, sunlight illuminating dust motes dancing lazily. Sophia twirls slowly, her eyes mapping imaginary furniture placements.
“You know, working here could be a perfect distraction. Might help you avoid calls about dream contracts you don’t really want.”
She pauses mid-spin, eyes narrowing playfully, though uncertainty flickers beneath. “Who says I want distractions?”
“Everyone needs them,” I say, stepping closer cautiously. “Especially when they’re figuring out what they really want.”
Her eyes soften, voice quieter. “And you think renovating this beautiful disaster is the answer?”
“Maybe,” I say carefully, stepping closer still. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to see you more often. Professionally speaking, of course.”
“Professionally speaking,” she echoes, eyes twinkling mischievously.
I hold her gaze, feeling gravity pull us subtly closer, my pulse racing.
“Ethan,” she whispers gently. “Are you sure this isn’t too big a project? You barely know me. What if my taste is terrible?”
I feign seriousness. “There’s the interpretive dance thing. That’s concerning.”
She punches my arm again lightly, laughing. “Be serious.”
“Alright,” I concede, voice sincere now. “I trust my instincts about you. Maybe it’s reckless, but I’m optimistic.”
She tilts her head, gaze flickering briefly to my lips. “Optimistic. Is that what we’re calling it?”
Heart racing, I lean slightly closer, breath catching as her lips part slightly. The moment hangs, suspended delicately between us, until a sudden loud crash from upstairs shatters the tension.
Sophia jumps back, startled. “What was that?”
I sigh, reluctantly stepping back. “Probably the raccoons welcoming us.”
She exhales, smiling sheepishly. “Right. Raccoons. Or ghosts of raccoons, since we have yet to see one.”
“Already getting distracted. Clearly, this place is working.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “If this is your charm, your strategy needs work.”
“I have no strategy,” I admit, relaxing again. “Just questionable optimism, apparently.”
She grins, nodding toward the hallway. “Well, lead the way.”
And as we explore further, laughter echoing off creaking floors, I realize that each dusty corner and noisy interruption only increases the odds Sophia will stick around.
Exactly as I’d hoped.
* * *
Downstairs again, I pause by the front door and flip through my notes. “So, floors, paint, roof repairs, kitchen gutting —”
“Don’t forget exorcism,” she teases.
