Page 37 of Designing Love
His admission catches me off guard. I stare, momentarily speechless, heart fluttering wildly.
“Oh,” is all I manage at first. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he says, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I know, it’s ridiculous. Believe me, Claire won’t let me forget it.”
“I met Claire at the Purring Page the other day. Quite the exuberant personality!” I chuckle nervously and swallow hard, my pulse racing. “Please tell me this isn’t something you did on a whim? An impulse buy?”
“Claire is something, isn’t she?” he says softly, eyes holding mine steadily.
“Ethan!”
He sighs, reluctantly. “Yes and no. I’ve been meaning to buy and flip the Miller House for a while, just didn’t have the vision of what to do with it. I thought you could help, so I fast forwarded my plan.”
My breath catches, an electric tension pulsing between us. Ethan’s gaze dips briefly to my lips before snapping back to my eyes, uncertain. I tilt my head slightly toward him, daring to close the distance…
But then a loud crash sounds from inside the house, followed by the frantic scrambling of claws.
We both jump, the moment shattered.
“What on earth?” Ethan asks, startled.
“It’s Mr. Darcy,” I sigh, standing quickly and moving toward the door. “He probably decided the frog sculpture offended him. He’s picky like that.”
We find Mr. Darcy calmly perched atop the couch, utterly unbothered by the broken remnants of the driftwood raccoon-man scattered across the floor. Ethan chuckles, surveying the mess.
“Guess he didn’t appreciate the symbolism.”
“Or the craftsmanship,” I agree wryly. “He’s a harsh critic.”
We clean up quickly, sharing quiet laughter as we piece together driftwood limbs and broken raccoon ears. When we finish, Ethan meets my gaze again, tenderness replacing the earlier tension.
“You okay now?” he asks gently, nudging my shoulder.
I nod slowly, genuinely grateful. “Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for checking on me and surviving my accidental assault.”
He grins playfully. “Anytime. Just maybe warn me next time before you throw furniture.”
“No promises,” I reply with a smirk, my heart lighter than it’s felt all day.
Ethan smiles, reaching up and brushing another stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger briefly, sending sparks dancing across my skin.
“Well, I should probably let you finish your therapeutic grunge session,” he says reluctantly, stepping toward the door.
“Or…” I hesitate, pulse suddenly racing again. “You could stay. I’ve got plenty more cushions to throw, and I could really use the company.”
His eyes soften, warmth spreading through them. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, surprised by my boldness. “Stay.”
He steps closer, his gaze earnest. “In that case, we better find something other than lemonade to drink.”
“Let me guess,” I tease gently, taking his hand and tugging him back toward the porch. “You secretly hope to find coffee hidden somewhere in Sage’s magical kitchen?”
“I’m an optimist,” he says with mock seriousness, settling comfortably beside me on the rocking chair. “And if we don’t find coffee, at least we have lemonade and questionable sculptures to keep us company.”
I lean my head lightly against his shoulder, letting myself relax fully for the first time since Daniel left. Mr. Darcy hops gracefully onto Ethan’s lap, eyeing us both smugly as if he planned this all along.
“See?” Ethan whispers, laughing softly. “Even the cat approves.”
