Page 6 of Designing Love
He smells of early fall and coffee; the combination closes the distance faster than his apology, and for one dizzy second, I wonder whether he can hear my pulse banging in my ears.
He shakes his head, grinning sheepishly. “I’m Ethan. Clearly, gracefulness is my superpower.”
I smile. “Sophia. Professional coffee drinker, and apparently a magnet for dramatic entrances.”
He laughs again, tension melting from his shoulders. He glances toward the empty chair across from me, hesitating.
“Would you like to sit?” I offer, waving toward the seat invitingly.
“Yes, thanks,” he says gratefully, settling across from me with a relieved sigh. “Standing seems to be risky business for me today.”
“Maybe you should stick to safer hobbies.”
He chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Good advice. Though usually I’m less clumsy, I promise.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I joke, taking another slow sip of coffee. The ease between us surprises me — pleasant, comfortable, and thrilling. Certainly unexpected.
“So, you’re Sage’s niece?” He lifts an eyebrow curiously.
“Wait, how did you —?”
“Oh,” he interrupts quickly, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I overheard you telling Lucas when you ordered. But just so you know, small-town gossip travels faster than Wi-Fi.”
I laugh openly at that. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Sage always warned me that there are no secrets here.”
“None at all. But it’s not all bad. Sometimes, people knowing your business means they actually care.”
“Speaking from experience?”
He shrugs, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s just say I’ve had plenty of dramatic entrances.”
“More dramatic than today’s?”
“Oh, today’s performance definitely ranks in my top three,” he admits with an exaggerated grimace.
I giggle softly, a fluttering warmth spreading through me. It’s easy with him — easy to laugh, easy to talk.
He leans forward slightly and gazes thoughtfully yet playfully. “So, Sophia, what brings you to our little corner? And out of tourist season, no less!”
I grin, shaking my head lightly. “I’m on a bit of a spontaneous journey. You know, soul-searching, existential crises — the usual.”
“Ah. The classic mid-life adventure. But you seem too young for that!”
Our eyes meet again, lingering this time. His gaze feels inviting and curious, stirring something unexpected in my chest. What can I say to that?I’m too old for you?
He notices my hesitation. “Ok, what do you do when you’re not rescuing strangers from embarrassing falls in coffee shops?”
“I’m an interior designer,” I reply, tracing the rim of my mug thoughtfully. “Currently between contracts, though. Hence the trip to Bluewater Cove out of season.”
“Interior designer? That’s impressive,” Ethan nods appreciatively, genuine curiosity lighting his eyes. “So, you make rooms pretty, or is there more to it?”
I laugh softly.
“I used to breathe life into forgotten houses — peel away decades of bad decisions and find original moldings hiding underneath. It felt like rescuing history.”
Across from me, Ethan’s brows lift. “You flipped old houses? That’s incredible. Ever think about doing it again?”
I give a small laugh. “Honestly? Every time I walk past a boarded-up Victorian. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity to land in my lap.” I swirl the foam in my cappuccino, remembering the thrill of those first projects. “Things started simple — make a room beautiful and move on. Now it’s spreadsheets, budget battles, convincing clients that neon-green wallpaper is a crime against humanity, and assuring them their house isn’t haunted, it’s just terrible lighting. I miss the creativity from the beginning.”
