Page 23 of Designing Love
Her eyes brighten with mischief. “The beach?”
I narrow mine. “I sense a trap.”
She laughs, raising her hands innocently. “Hey, I’m just a helpful librarian. Any romantic coincidences are purely accidental.”
“I’ll take my chances at the art gallery. But I might come back later if you promise fewer matchmaking attempts.”
“No promises,” she says cheerfully while we walk to the cash register.
Once I’ve paid and I’m walking out the door, I hear her say, “Good luck, Sophia. You might need it.”
I laugh, the door jingling behind me as I step out, feeling just a little lighter than when I’d walked in.
I step back onto the sunny sidewalk, Mia’s words ringing softly in my ears.Ethan Reed, stubbornly single.Interesting.
As I clutch the heavy book tighter against my chest, heading back toward the art gallery, I realize I’m not just renovating rooms and choosing paint colors.
I’m tiptoeing carefully into Ethan’s mysterious, independent life, and I’m worried about the impact I’ll have on it, especially since I’m unsure whether I’ll stay long.
10
DUST AND DETAILS
Ethan
I’m barely out of my truck before Sophia waves from the front steps of the Miller House, coffee cups raised victoriously.
“I come bearing caffeine and bribery,” she announces, smiling brightly enough to make my pulse stumble.
“Is the bribery in muffin form?” I ask, eyeing the paper bag in her hand as I approach.
“Freshly baked and still warm,” she confirms with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Consider it an apology for mocking your raccoon hotel.”
“You’re forgiven,” I say solemnly, accepting my coffee. Our fingers brush for just a fraction of a second, and warmth rushes up my arm. “Though, just for the record, raccoons pay rent in snacks. It’s a solid business model.”
She laughs, a carefree sound that echoes through the porch and into places inside me I didn’t even know needed laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind for my next project. Maybe a raccoon Airbnb?”
“Careful, that’s dangerously close to Simon’s latest pitch,” I warn, unlocking the front door. It opens reluctantly, hinges groaning. “And thus begins the chaos.”
Sophia steps inside, eyes immediately scanning the space.
“Ready to tackle the parlor first?”
“I was born ready,” she says, pushing the sleeves of her sweater up playfully and making a show of preparing for battle. “Lead the way.”
The next hour melts away as we sort through boxes stacked haphazardly, our easy rhythm punctuated by laughter and occasional teasing. Sophia holds up a tarnished brass candlestick, wiggling her eyebrows. “Vintage charm or cursed relic?”
“Definitely cursed,” I reply dryly, earning another infectious laugh.
“Perfect, let’s put it in the ‘definitely keep’ pile,” she says without hesitation, causing me to snort softly. Her humor is effortless, her presence comforting in a way that feels oddly natural despite how new it is.
From a corner, she lifts a dusty, carved wooden bench, running a finger thoughtfully over the worn details. Her eyes sparkle with inspiration. “This would be perfect near the front entryway. Imagine it sanded down, refinished… a welcoming place to pause and take off muddy boots.”
“You’ve spent enough time in Bluewater Cove to appreciate good mudroom aesthetics?” I tease gently.
“It’s a universal truth,” she insists playfully. “Every house deserves a good entryway — mud optional.”
I nod thoughtfully. “I could sand and repair it,” I offer casually. Her surprised, pleased expression makes me instantly grateful I spoke up. “It’d be easy.”
