Page 16 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

GRUNGE THERAPY

Sophia

I shove another pile of Sage’s colorful fabrics into the wicker basket beside the fireplace, muttering furiously.

Our Lady Peace’s ‘Superman’s Dead’ blasts through my noise-canceling headphones, fueling my angry tidying session.

Apparently, rage-cleaning is now my favorite sport, and Daniel is my most effective motivator.

“He thinks he knows what’s best for me,” I growl toward Mr. Darcy, who lounges lazily on the couch, watching me through half-closed eyes. “Can you believe the nerve? ‘Sophia, you’re throwing your life away!’ Ha! Like he knows anything about?—”

I pause to wave a duster dramatically in the air. Mr. Darcy flicks his tail dismissively.

“You’re not helping,” I scold him, pointing the duster in his direction. “At least look sympathetic!”

He yawns elaborately and turns over, uninterested in my drama. Typical cat.

The music surges again, guitars screaming through my head, and I match its intensity by scrubbing fiercely at a spot of dried paint on the coffee table. Soundgarden’s ‘Black Hole Sun’ fills my ears, and I belt along badly, off-key and unapologetic. Rage therapy at its finest.

I’m so deeply entrenched in my grunge-fueled cleaning marathon that when a hand taps my shoulder, I jump a mile, shrieking as I whirl around and hurl the first thing I can grab — an offensively bright sunflower-patterned couch cushion — straight into Ethan’s bewildered face.

He stumbles back, eyes wide with surprise, and the cushion bounces harmlessly to the floor. My heart rockets into my throat, embarrassment and shock coloring my face.

“Oh my gosh! Ethan!” I rip off my headphones, panting as if I’ve run a marathon. “I — I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed,” Ethan says dryly, rubbing his face but grinning. “Nice throw. You ever consider pitching professionally?”

I let out a shaky laugh, mortified. “Sorry. Self-defense reflex. Or, you know, just regular old insanity.”

His expression softens, eyes searching mine carefully. “I was walking along the beach and heard... well, let’s just say I was concerned Chris Cornell was murdering you.”

“Just my dignity dying a little,” I mutter, unable to suppress a smirk.

He steps closer, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my flushed face. His eyes flicker briefly over me, and his expression shifts from amused to concerned.

“Hey — are you okay?”

The tenderness in his voice cracks my fragile composure. The laughter fades, replaced by a sudden tightening in my throat. I blink rapidly, horrified when my eyes fill with tears.

“I’m fine,” I say weakly, betraying myself immediately as a tear spills down my cheek.

Without hesitation, Ethan pulls me into his arms. My resistance crumbles instantly, and I bury my face against his chest, absorbing his comforting warmth. He holds me securely, not saying anything, just letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothe away my anxiety.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble after a moment, reluctantly pulling back and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I guess I’m still a little on edge after meeting with Daniel earlier.”

Ethan’s eyes darken slightly. “You don’t need to apologize, Sophia. Honestly, throwing a cushion at my face was probably therapeutic.”

“It was, actually,” I confess sheepishly. “Highly recommend.”

He chuckles softly, rubbing my arm in gentle reassurance. “How about I make us some coffee?”

“Coffee?” I raise an eyebrow skeptically. “In Sage’s house? You do realize whose kitchen you’re in, right?”

He groans lightly, realization dawning. “Right. The great caffeine embargo. I blocked that trauma from my memory.”

I laugh, tension draining further. “There’s lemonade in the fridge. It’s the best comfort drink I could manage in this caffeine-free zone.”

“Perfect.” He smiles. “I’ll pour us a glass.”

Watching Ethan navigate Sage’s kitchen is equally adorable and comedic. He opens one cabinet after another, each revealing increasingly bizarre items — teacups, paint tubes, crystals, something that looks suspiciously like a dried starfish — before finally discovering the lemonade pitcher.

“You know,” he announces seriously, pouring two glasses, “Sage might actually be a wizard.”

“You’re just realizing this now?” I tease, accepting my drink and following him out onto the porch. We sink into two rocking chairs overlooking the lake, the morning sun shimmering across the water, the air fresh and calming.

Silence settles between us, comfortable and peaceful, until Daniel’s lingering words begin gnawing at my thoughts again. I set down my lemonade, turning hesitantly toward Ethan.

“So… how old are you?” I ask bluntly, instantly cringing at how abrupt it sounds.

He nearly chokes on his lemonade, coughing lightly and glancing at me in surprise. “Uh, how is that... relevant?”

I flush, feeling suddenly awkward. “Just trying to get to know the man with whom I’m partnering.”

Ethan’s lips quirk upward. “What did Daniel say? Let me guess. He implied I’m too young and entirely untrustworthy?”

“Something like that,” I admit sheepishly, fiddling with my glass. “He made me second-guess a lot of things.”

He’s quiet for a moment, gazing thoughtfully toward the water. Eventually, he sighs softly. “I’m thirty-six, Sophia. It’s just a number, you know.”

“Thirty-six. Wow.” That makes him 11 years younger than me. Am I a cradle robber?

He shakes his head. “Glad you approve,” he teases.

“It’s not that…” I trail off.

“How old are you?” he quips.

I exhale loudly. “It’s not important.”

“I’m just trying to get to know the woman I roped into helping me with my crazy project…” he retaliates with a smirk.

“I’m a forty-seven-year-old divorcee…” I bury my face in my hands.

He leans in and whispers, “You don’t look a day over thirty-six. Must be because of what you were able to leave behind.”

I laugh and bite my lip, still unsure about my growing feelings.

“But what about the house? I mean, you didn’t exactly strike me as the ‘fixer-upper’ type when I first met you.”

Ethan’s eyes flicker briefly away, a blush creeping up his neck.

I take a breath before continuing. “Honestly? I didn’t buy it because I needed another property.

You mentioned loving restoring old houses.

I thought it would be something you enjoyed, and that it would give you a reason to stick around so I could get to know you. ”

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.”

I smile, warmth flooding through me. Rage-cleaning therapy might’ve helped temporarily, but sitting here, sharing lemonade and laughter with Ethan — this is exactly the comfort I needed.

The grunge music can wait until later.