Page 30 of Designing Love
He gestures toward the couch, exhaling softly. “Make yourself at home. Want something to drink? Tea, water… leftover pizza?”
“Leftover pizza? Tempting,” I tease, setting my books down on the coffee table with a satisfying thump. “I’ve got my coffee! I’m fine. Thanks.”
I settle onto the couch, flipping open one of the volumes. Beautifully restored Victorian rooms fill the pages, each more breathtaking than the last. My mind races with design concepts — textured wallpapers, salvage wood, maybe even a reading nook.
But even as excitement bubbles up, I can’t ignore Ethan’s earlier distress.
He joins me on the couch, our knees nearly touching, sending a flicker of warmth up my leg. And just like that, I forget what I was about to say.Who knew knees could short-circuit brain function?
“So…” I clear my throat, testing the waters. “Want to share what happened that has you looking like you picked a fight with a ghost?”
He sets his glass on a coaster, brows knitting together. “Daniel is in town. He was at the art gallery, looking for you.”
My heart nearly skips a beat. Daniel, ex-husband, unexpected Vancouver wildcard. “Oh.” I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “Did he, uh, say something about me?”
Ethan offers a tight, humorless laugh. “He said a few things, yeah. Enough to get my head spinning.”
“Damn him. I thought this would be over when we signed the divorce papers. We’ve been done for months, years! And now… now… he’s here! What does he expect?!”
Ethan chuckles, seemingly relaxing for the first time. “Apparently, I’m the reckless local flavor distracting you from your high-powered city life. The horror.”
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “He thinks you’re ignoring real opportunities in Vancouver. And that you might… eventually go back.”
“Well, I guess that’s Daniel’s perspective.”
Ethan sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just… It’d be unfortunate if you went away. What would I do with all the raccoons?” He forces a chuckle.
My chest tightens. “Please. Bluewater Cove runs on raccoons. They’re practically on the town council.” I bump my shoulder with his.
He nods, eyes downcast. “Yeah — I guess. But it wouldn’t be the same.”
We fall silent.
I inch closer on the couch, touching his forearm tentatively. “Hey, can we just… I don’t know. Keep building the Miller House dream for a bit? Even if it’s uncertain? Sometimes uncertain is good.”
He looks up, meeting my gaze. His expression softens noticeably, as though my words are an unexpected lifeline. “Yeah. I like uncertainty. Especially if it means we’re in this together.”
A wave of relief washes through me, joined by an undeniable flutter in my stomach at the thought of being “in this” with him. My eyes fall on the open book, a full-page illustration of a Victorian parlor with deep green walls and wood detailing.
“Okay,” I say with a breathy laugh, picking up the book and turning it to show him. “Let’s dive back into uncharted territory. I have so many ideas. Imagine incorporating this kind of built-in shelving along one wall, and maybe…”
He leans in, brushing my shoulder in the process. The contact is tiny, accidental — and ridiculously electric. My pen stalls mid-sketch, heartbeat stuttering like I’ve hit a live wire. My heart thumps, but I focus on the pages, pointing out the details. With each passing second, the tension around him melts a little more.
“You still haven’t told me if you envision this as a rental or office space. But I guess you’ll say it’d work for both,” he murmurs, peeking at the open page in front of me. “We can salvage the wood from the old barn I saw for sale outside of town. It’d be perfect — rustic but sturdy.”
“Look at you, full of solutions. Don’t get cocky, Mr. Reed, or I’ll start calling you my contractor.”
Ethan grins. “Only if I get a tool belt and a nickname. Something rugged. Like... Chip.”
“More like Moose,” I shoot back, laughing. “Ooh, and maybe a little reading nook near the window. You know, for lazy mornings.”
He chuckles softly, nodding. “Absolutely. Lazy mornings with good coffee.”
His voice dips a little, and for a second, I wonder if he means just coffee. But I don’t ask.Not yet.
I smirk, flipping another page, but the atmosphere between us shifts again — this time more hopeful. Our shoulders bump as we lean in to admire a photo of a gracefully curved staircase, and I feel the gentle press of his arm against mine.
We sit like that momentarily, lost in possibilities and each other’s presence. The doubt still simmers, unspoken, on the edges of my consciousness — Daniel’s reemergence, my unresolved future, Ethan’s openness. But for now, the future feels wide open, teeming with color and promise, like a half-renovated house waiting for a new coat of paint.
