Page 25 of Designing Love
The silence returns, but it’s charged now, filled with unspoken questions and gentle possibilities. I clear my throat, heart racing. “Think you’ll stick around Bluewater Cove for a while?”
She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I didn’t plan to, but lately it’s becoming harder to think about leaving.”
I swallow, nodding slowly. “Good. Because I might need your expertise around here for a while.”
She arches a brow, playful again. “Strictly professional?”
I smile, warmth spreading through me. “Absolutely.”
She leans slightly closer, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Then I’ll have my rates ready by morning.”
Laughing, I shake my head, feeling lighter than I have in years. “Worth every penny.”
Her smile softens, eyes lingering on mine. “You know, Ethan, beneath your tech genius and raccoon-whisperer exterior, you’re secretly quite charming.”
“Careful. That almost sounded like flirting.”
“Almost?” she asks innocently, standing and stretching lazily in the afternoon sun. “I’ll have to work on my delivery.”
A grin tugs at my lips before I can stop it — too wide, too telling — so I scrub a hand through my hair, pretending to smooth an unruly strand while I steal a breath.
“Practice makes perfect,” I reply smoothly, standing beside her, both of us reluctant to end the moment.
“I suppose it does,” she murmurs, eyes shining.
As we stand in the fading sunlight, surrounded by dust and possibilities, I realize something unexpected: clearing clutter isn’t just about reclaiming space — it’s about making room for something new. Something hopeful. And suddenly, the Miller House feels less like an impulsive investment and more like the beginning of something I’ve been waiting for all along.
11
AVOIDING REALITY
Sophia
The sky above Sage’s beach house fades softly from gold to lavender as evening slips into dusk. I climb the steps to her porch, a satisfied fatigue settling over me after the day's work at the Miller House. My bag is overflowing with sketches and notes, evidence of a productive day.
“Looks like someone's inspired,” Sage calls out from her comfortable perch, surrounded by candles and cozy blankets.
I smile, setting down my things and sinking gratefully into a cushioned chair. “It was amazing, Sage. Ethan and I got so much done today.”
Sage lifts an eyebrow knowingly, handing me a steaming mug of tea. “I bet you did.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, laughing softly.
“Start what?” she replies innocently, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’m just glad to see you so animated. Ethan seems to bring that out in you.”
I sip the tea, warmth seeping through my tired muscles. “Maybe he does. It’s nice, working with someone who listens and values my opinions. He actually likes my ideas.”
“Why wouldn’t he? You’re incredibly talented, Sophia. It’s about time you started believing it.”
Her words linger gently in the quiet evening air. I exhale softly, grateful for her unwavering belief. “It’s different, being here. With Ethan, and with you. It feels… uncomplicated.”
“And yet, something’s still bothering you,” she observes gently. I glance away, my peace momentarily disturbed. Sage never misses a beat. “It’s Daniel, right?”
Just as she says his name, my phone vibrates sharply again from inside my bag. I close my eyes briefly, sighing in frustration.
“How often has he been calling?” she asks, her tone gentle but direct.
“Too often,” I admit quietly. “He keeps insisting we have unfinished business — my clients, finalizing the accounts. Honestly, I think he’s using it as an excuse just to maintain contact.”
