Page 1 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

SURPRISE ARRIVAL

Sophia

T he bell above the gallery door jingles brightly, startlingly loud in the otherwise peaceful space. I pause mid-step, wince, and shoot the offending bell an accusing glare. Sage never bothered with subtleties; I shouldn’t expect her doorbells to be any different.

“Sage? Sage, are you here?” My voice echoes slightly, ricocheting off walls painted with every color imaginable. A sculpture in the corner — metallic arms and legs sprouting feathers — staring at me judgmentally. Great, even the artwork’s giving me side-eye. It’s definitely a Sage original.

A rustle comes from behind a beaded curtain. Sage appears, all billowy skirts and bangles jingling like wind chimes. Her silver curls are piled high, held by chopsticks that I’m pretty sure she stole from our favorite sushi place.

“Sophia!” Sage throws her arms open, bracelets clinking. “My lovely, favorite niece. What a surprise!”

I sigh, dropping my purse by a wooden sculpture that vaguely resembles a moose... or a giraffe?

Sage beams. “That bag looks heavy.”

“Just my hopes, dreams, and possibly some regret.”

She laughs, guiding me toward the small counter cluttered with paintbrushes, crystals, and an alarming number of mismatched teacups. “Tea first, existential crisis second.”

“How about coffee?” I counter, hopefully.

She frowns as if I’ve suggested we sacrifice a small animal. “Soph, how many times do I have to tell you? Caffeine’s an anxiety amplifier.”

“And exactly what I need right now.” I pull up a stool, my fingertips grazing a sticky spot on the counter. “Is this honey or —?”

“Oh! Resin!” she chirps, busying herself with tea bags. “Art waits for no one. Neither does sticky resin.”

I grin despite myself. Sage’s chaotic charm feels oddly comforting after years away.

She hands me a cup covered in tiny daisies. I sniff cautiously. “Chamomile?”

“Lavender and sage, obviously. A soothing concoction.”

“Subtle,” I say, taking a hesitant sip. Not bad, but coffee would’ve soothed better.

She leans forward, eyes sparkling mischievously. “So, spill it. Why the sudden visit?”

I stare into my tea, swirling it like it holds answers. “We signed the divorce papers yesterday, and I needed breathing room. Needed to be in a different city. Different province.”

Her eyebrows shoot upward. “So... he finally accepted the divorce.”

“Yup. After that, I packed a suitcase, got on a plane to Toronto, and then drove here.”

“Oh, honey,” she breathes softly, resting her hand gently over mine. Rings sparkle on every finger, some I remember twisting around as a kid, imagining they held magical powers. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… not — not alright,” I admit slowly, voice softer now. “It’s been over for ages. I just… was he always such a douchebag?”

Sage laughs, making her crow’s feet even more evident. There is an undeniable glimmer that says she knew. Did the entire world know?

“I woke up and realized I’d been chasing something. But then I didn’t know what the something was anymore. It was just… gone. I wasn’t happy with him anymore, and I wonder if I ever was.”

She squeezes my hand tighter. “That’s life, sweetheart. One day you wake up, and your GPS is screaming ‘recalculating,’ and then suddenly you realize you’ve been headed to Florida when you really wanted Quebec.”

“Quebec?” I wrinkle my nose.

“Maple syrup, quaint towns — “

“Cold winters,” I interrupt, grimacing.

“Fine, metaphorically speaking,” she huffs playfully. “So, what now?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I want a break. I was between clients anyways, so I thought I’d surprise you and reconnect with myself...”

She smiles, wrinkles deepening around her eyes. “I’m glad you picked me and this place to reconnect with yourself.”

The gentle clink of mismatched china fills the quiet lull between Sage and me as we sip our tea in comfortable silence.

Her gallery is a delightful chaos — half art studio, half eclectic tea shop — with canvases stacked precariously and brushes scattered like forgotten toys.

The soothing aroma of lavender and sage floats gently in the air, blending with hints of turpentine and something suspiciously like cinnamon.

I run my thumb along the delicate rim of my cup, tracing tiny painted daisies that seem to dance beneath my touch. “You know, Sage,” I begin carefully, eyeing her over the edge of the teacup, “I didn’t exactly plan this out. Leaving Daniel, coming straight here… It’s a bit impulsive, even for me.”

She smiles knowingly, her fingers absently tapping rhythmically against the ceramic cup. “Soph, life’s best decisions are rarely planned. Especially the big ones. They’re usually spontaneous — like ordering dessert first or dyeing your hair neon pink.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “Neon pink hair? Really?”

“Just a suggestion,” she shrugs, her silver curls bouncing playfully. “But speaking of unplanned spontaneity, what’s your next move?”

“Well,” I pause, biting my lower lip thoughtfully, “I was actually hoping I could crash at your beach house for a while. Just until I figure things out.”

Sage’s face lights up instantly, as though this is precisely the plan she’d hoped I’d propose. “Of course! I’ve been craving company… this is perfect.”

I laugh more openly this time, feeling warmth bloom comfortably in my chest. It’s been too long since I laughed like this — freely, easily, without trying. “Thanks, Sage. Seriously. You have no idea how much this means.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she says, winking conspiratorially. “But first, we need the key.”

Her expression shifts instantly from serene to dramatically frantic.

“Now, where did I put that blasted thing?” she mutters, patting herself down, skirts fluttering like the colorful sails of a ship caught in a storm.

Bracelets jingle musically as she checks pockets and hidden folds, increasingly agitated.

I watch in fascination as she moves around the gallery, opening and shutting drawers noisily, her skirts swirling around her feet. “Sage, maybe check near the teacups?” I suggest helpfully, grinning into my tea.

She pauses, hands on her hips. “Very funny, Soph. Although...” she squints suspiciously at the tea set as though the cups might conspire against her.

“Oh, come on,” I tease, barely stifling a laugh. “You know you’re secretly thinking I might be right.”

“Hardly,” she mutters, moving determinedly toward her painting station. Her hands dive into an apron pocket splattered with an explosion of teal, crimson, and gold, and she shouts triumphantly. “Aha! Found it!”

She brandishes the key victoriously, holding it aloft like a hard-earned trophy. “Your beach house key, my dear niece,” she announces, striding back over to me with regal flair. “The perfect place for self-reflection, soul-searching, and any other existential activity you might have planned.”

I take the key gratefully. Its metal is cool and solid in my palm, grounding me somehow. “Thank you, Sage. Truly.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she says, gently squeezing my hand. “Just don’t lock yourself out. I’m terrible at finding things twice.”

“Clearly,” I say, smiling fondly.

Sage pats my hand affectionately before pulling back, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Now, go settle in. Let the lake soothe your weary soul and all that poetic nonsense.”

I rise, grabbing my bag and hesitating briefly at the door. “Wait — do you have coffee at the beach house?”

Sage’s eyes widened, her hand fluttering to her chest as though scandalized. “Coffee? Sophia, caffeine is — “

“An anxiety amplifier, yes, I know,” I sigh, rolling my eyes but unable to suppress a smile.

She grins wickedly, clearly pleased with herself. “Lucas’ coffee shop – Beans & Brew, two doors down. Tell him I sent you. He makes an incredible latte when the machine isn’t broken.”

“Already outsourcing my caffeine needs,” I mutter with mock indignation, smiling as I shake my head. “Great start.”

Sage laughs, waving cheerfully as I step back into the sunshine. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”