Page 18 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

WAITING GAME

Sophia

T he sunlight paints the porch in gentle strokes of gold, warming the weathered wood and softening even the most eccentric of Sage’s decorative choices. I curl up in my chair after dinner, balancing a blueberry muffin on my knee and breathing in the salty breeze drifting lazily from Lake Huron.

Sage sits opposite, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, hands curled comfortably around her ever-present mug of herbal tea. Mr. Darcy sprawls dramatically beside her chair, eyeing my muffin.

“So,” Sage begins, lifting her eyebrows in playful curiosity, “how are we feeling this evening? Calm and confident? Mildly panicked? Full-blown spiritual unraveling?”

I chuckle softly, picking crumbs from the muffin top. “Hovering somewhere between mildly panicked and DEFCON-1 panic mode.”

She tilts her head sympathetically. “Because of Ethan’s meeting tomorrow?”

“Exactly. That and…” I sigh, watching a sailboat drift lazily across the lake. “I know Ethan’s trying not to show it, but the Miller House fiasco worries him. And now I feel responsible.”

Sage waves dismissively. “Please, you didn’t create this problem. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Didn’t I? What if this is all Daniel? It’s too coincidental that suddenly there’s a ‘confidential informant’!” I admit reluctantly. “Ethan bought the house to get me to stick around, and now it’s turning into a problem. He deserves better.”

Sage gives me a knowing look, sipping her tea carefully. “You’re forgetting Ethan chose this chaos. Chose you.”

My heart lifts slightly at the thought, a quiet smile appearing despite myself.

“I guess he did. And — well, I can’t deny it feels…

nice. It’s really nice, actually. Spending time with Ethan is as easy and natural as breathing.

Like someone finally hit the pause button on my life, and I didn’t even realize how badly I needed that. But still…”

Sage nods encouragingly. “Slow pace suits you. You’re happier. You’re even enjoying design again — no frantic deadlines, no demanding clients. Just you, your ideas, and endless Pinterest rabbit holes.”

I laugh softly, warmth filling me at her insight. “Exactly. I’d forgotten how much I love researching old houses and choosing paint colors without someone breathing down my neck. It’s freeing, even if it is just temporary.”

Sage leans forward slightly, raising one elegantly skeptical eyebrow. “Who says it’s temporary?”

“Reality,” I reply dryly. “Leisurely research and design don’t exactly pay the bills.”

Sage gives a gentle snort, leaning back in her chair. “And what bills, exactly, are we worrying about?”

I blink, momentarily speechless. “You know, life bills? Rent, groceries, retirement…”

She gestures toward the house around us, filled with mismatched furniture, brightly colored fabrics, and collections of whimsical art pieces.

“Rent’s free — beach house is family property.

Groceries? We grow vegetables, I have the art gallery for income, and maybe we spend too much on takeout sushi. Retirement is for boring people. Next?”

I roll my eyes, laughing despite myself. “OK, fair. But I can’t freeload off you forever. At some point, I have to be responsible.”

“You have always been responsible. Maybe too responsible.”

“What’s wrong with responsibility?” I ask defensively, setting down my muffin.

“Nothing if it’s balanced. But your whole life, Sophia, you’ve made cautious choices. Good school, steady career, safe relationships. Isn’t it possible you’ve earned the right to be less careful now? And…”

Sage starts playing with the edge of her tunic.

“And what?”

“You have an inheritance from your parents… There’s a cushion for you to fall back on.”

I scrunch my eyebrows. “What inheritance?”

“They didn’t like Daniel,” she says, gently but with a firmness that makes it clear this isn’t news.

“That was never a secret. But what you didn’t know is.

.. they had excellent insurance policies.

Quiet, long-term planning types. When they passed, they left everything in a trust. They asked me to manage it, to keep it safe in case you ever really needed it. ”

My jaw drops. “Sage…”

“They were afraid Daniel would convince you to invest in something risky or bleed you dry in a breakup. So they came to me. And I’ve kept it tucked away all this time, just like they asked.”

I lean back in my chair, stunned. “You created a trust fund... for me?”

“For you. For rainy days. For new beginnings. For moments when you might need to take a leap without knowing where you’ll land.”

“But why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I don’t know,” she interrupts gently. “They were proud of your independence. But Sophia, this wasn’t about money. It was about protection. They wanted to give you freedom without strings. They just didn’t think you’d have it while Daniel was in the picture.”

The silence between us stretches, weighty but not uncomfortable.

Then I exhale a shaky breath. “So what you’re saying is... I’m not broke if I walk away from the business, I’m just emotionally frugal?”

Sage snorts. “Exactly.”

I sigh heavily. “OK… I need a minute to process all of this, Sage. But what if this — being here, this easy pace — is just running away from reality? What if it’s not sustainable?”

Sage shrugs lightly, smiling. “Or what if this is your reality? Maybe Vancouver was the illusion — stress, competition, constantly chasing something that didn’t really matter. Why can’t this be real?”

I sit quietly, watching a seagull hop across the sand below, absorbing her words. My heartbeat slows slightly, a strange weight lifting off my shoulders at the idea of accepting happiness without guilt.

“Do you really think Ethan fits into that reality?” I ask softly, the question slipping out before I can censor myself.

Sage chuckles. “I think Ethan’s practically built for your new reality, Sophia. He’s patient, kind, funny. And he makes you smile like I haven’t seen you smile in years. Isn’t that reason enough?”

I blush, smiling shyly into my lap. “He is pretty great.”

She lifts her tea smugly. “Pretty great, indeed.”

We momentarily fall into a comfortable silence, the lake breeze gently ruffling our hair. It’s peaceful — perfect, even. Until the shrill ring of my phone cuts through the quiet.

I reach for it distractedly, answering before checking the screen. “Hello?”

“Sophia,” Daniel’s smooth voice cuts in sharply, instantly shattering my calm. “Ready to end this little vacation and come back to work?”

Anger floods me immediately, and I stand abruptly, knocking crumbs onto the floor. Mr. Darcy startles awake, eyeing me reproachfully. “Daniel. What do you want?”

“To discuss the inevitable. Your Miller House project fell apart, as I knew it would. There’s nothing left holding you there. Come back to Vancouver and our design company.”

I feel heat burning my cheeks. “You did this, didn’t you? You sabotaged Ethan’s project just to punish me. I thought it could be you, but I didn’t want to accept that you’d stoop so low.”

He sighs condescendingly. “You’re being dramatic. I simply pointed out legal oversights. A favor, really.”

“Favor? You’re trying to ruin Ethan’s investment, ruin his project. This is beneath even you.”

“It’s reality,” Daniel replies, chillingly calm. “And the reality is you belong back here, in Vancouver. This little small-town fantasy isn’t you. You have responsibilities. Enough with this adolescent escapade.”

“You have no idea who I am anymore,” I retort sharply, my voice trembling. “I’m not your puppet. Leave me — and Ethan — alone.”

“Fine,” he says dismissively, “but eventually, you’ll realize I’m right.”

I hang up abruptly, chest heaving, pulse pounding through my temples. My vision blurs slightly as frustration and anger mingle with a quieter, colder dread.

Sage sits in stunned silence, her mug of tea frozen mid-air, observing me.

“Daniel strikes again?” she asks gently, slowly setting her tea down.

“Of course,” I mutter bitterly, running a shaky hand through my hair. “He’s decided this is all just some… whim. That I’ll run back as soon as things get tough.”

Sage leans forward, eyebrows raised in concern. “And what do you think?”

“I think…” My voice trails off, and I stare at the lake, the glistening waves deceptively calm and inviting. “I think he will keep causing trouble unless I do something.”

Sage frowns, worry edging into her usually serene expression. “Define ‘something,’ Sophia. Because Daniel’s form of something usually involves unnecessary drama.”

I swallow tightly, my pulse racing faster. The decision forming in my mind isn’t one I’m taking lightly, but the ache in my chest feels heavy enough that I know avoiding it is no longer an option. My fingers move quickly, pulling up the airline’s website on my phone and tapping hurriedly.

“What are you doing?” Sage asks carefully, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“Taking control,” I say quietly, without looking up, my thumb hovering over the confirmation button.

She watches me for a long moment, eyes narrowed. “Texting Ethan?”

I shake my head. My voice is oddly steady, considering how my heart races. “No. I’m booking a flight.”

Sage’s mug clinks against the table, tea sloshing over the rim as she sits forward suddenly. “Sophia, wait — are you sure that’s the right choice?”

I meet her worried gaze, the anxiety twisting inside me, gradually fading into certainty. It isn’t the easy choice or even the choice I want, but it’s the only one I can think of that might finally stop Daniel. For Ethan’s sake, at least.

“Yes,” I whisper, finger pressing firmly against the screen. “I’m sure it’s got to be done.”

The confirmation email pops up, flight details neatly summarizing my decision in stark, impersonal letters. I exhale heavily, pocketing my phone as if hiding evidence.

Sage gives me a playful nudge before lacing her fingers through mine, her smile is enough to chase away the last of my nerves.

“I just hope you’re doing this because it’s truly what you think is right — not because Daniel’s backed you into a corner,” she says, lifting an eyebrow in mock sternness.

The tease earns a laugh from me, and the knot in my throat eases. Her confidence is contagious, and suddenly the whole situation feels a shade less daunting.

“I wish I could say I’m sure,” I finally admit, my voice barely audible. “But right now, it’s the only way I can see forward without dragging Ethan into more trouble.”

Sage squeezes my hand reassuringly, though her eyes remain worried. We both fall silent, watching the peaceful waves crashing gently against the sand below.

“No time to lose. I’ve got to go pack.”

“Wait, WHAT?”

I jump, startled by the man’s voice. Ethan’s voice.