Page 19 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

WALK ON THE BEACH

Ethan

“I 'll leave you two to talk,” Sage says, her voice gentle, but there’s a spark of something knowing in her eyes. She squeezes Sophia’s hand as she stands, then pats my arm as she brushes past me on her way into the house.

I linger. Sophia’s eyes flick to me, surprise softening into something unreadable. Maybe a little of both.

“Hey, I would have gotten here earlier if I’d known you needed a caffeine fix before making big decisions, like going to Vancouver.”

She gives me a tired smile, but it’s real. “Your timing is good. It’s something I’ve got to do.”

She takes one of the cups and nods toward the back porch. We don’t speak as we’re following the familiar path down toward the beach, side by side, the wind tugging at our sleeves like it knows we both need something to shake loose.

The silence between us stretches — I don’t want to pry, but I can’t just let her leave like that. The sun’s dipping lower now, casting the sky in soft blush and amber tones, the kind of light that makes everything look like it belongs in a photograph. Or a memory.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” I say eventually. “I was just dropping by. Thought you might want coffee.”

Sophia tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes still on the path ahead. “Honestly, I’m glad you did.”

I nod. “You’re going back?”

She stops walking. I do too. Her gaze is out over the horizon, somewhere between the line of the water and whatever’s still unfinished in her past.

“I have to. Just for a little while. There’s still stuff to close out at the firm. People I need to speak with in person. Contracts, assets, all the things that come with walking away from something you built. I don’t want to leave anything hanging.”

I swallow and take a deep breath while squeezing my coffee cup tighter. “That makes sense.”

She turns then, really looks at me. Her expression isn’t torn — it’s resolved. “But I’m not going back to stay. That life... it’s over. I just need to end it on my terms.”

The tightness in my chest releases a little. “You’re sure?”

She nods.

I reach for her hand. Hesitant. Like checking that the space between us means the same thing to her that it does to me. She meets me halfway.

“I’ve never been more sure. I need to deal with it. Deal with him and his shenanigans. And then I’m coming back. No Daniel. No business strings. No Vancouver. Just... me.”

The simplicity of it hits harder than anything else. Just her.

I reach out and squeeze her hand gently. “I’ve gotten used to having you here.”

Her smile is softer this time. “I’ve gotten used to being here. Hanging out with you.”

“I mean it. I didn’t expect you. But now? I don’t really want to imagine this place without you.”

Her fingers tighten around mine. “I’m not done here. I think I’ve barely started.”

We walk again, slower now, our feet shifting through the sand. Every so often, our arms bump, and neither of us pulls away.

We reach a driftwood log, weathered by years of wind and salt. We sit. Our coffees are left cooling in the sand. I don’t think either of us really wants them anymore.

For a while, we just listen. The waves roll in and out. Gulls cry somewhere up the shore. The air smells like sea and something green from the forest behind the dunes.

“I want you to go. Tie up the loose ends. Do what you need to do. But come back knowing there’s something here. Something you want. Not out of guilt. Not because I’m waiting. But because it’s yours to choose.”

She’s quiet a moment, eyes still on the ocean. “I do want it. And I want to choose it. Freely.”

Another beat passes. “What would that even look like? This life... with space to breathe?”

I smile. “Lazy mornings. Too much coffee. Maybe bad Wi-Fi, and a front porch.”

She laughs — really laughs — and the sound of it wraps around something fragile inside me and makes it stronger.

“I want that,” she says, voice quieter again. “Slower days. More evenings where the only decision I have to make is red or white wine.”

“Red,” I say, like it’s obvious.

“See? Already compatible.”

She leans her head against my shoulder, and I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath since the day she walked into that coffee shop.

I stare at the ocean, not trying to fill the quiet, just trying to commit to memory what it feels like to sit beside someone who fits this easily into the rhythm of your life.

“Ethan…” she starts playing with the edge of her shirt. “You know the injunction against the house… It’s Daniel…”

“WHAT?”

“I’m sorry I brought this trouble into your life...”

She buries her face in her hands.

I pull her closer to me. “I used to think maybe I was just better off alone. That I liked the quiet too much. But then you showed up, and now...”

She lifts her head, waiting.

“And now, the quiet feels different when you’re not in it.”

She doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me like she’s memorizing the moment.

“When I come back, I want to do it right. I want real.”

“I like real,” I say. “Real lasts.”

She slips her fingers through mine.

We sit like that for a while, watching the tide creep closer to the line of our footprints. The waves roll in and soften the edges, but I don’t mind.

Some things don’t need to be written in the sand to be real.

Eventually, we stand. The last of the sun is slipping beneath the horizon, and the wind’s picked up just enough to make us walk closer to each other.

We don’t say much on the way back. But we don’t need to.

She’s leaving soon. And still — I know.

She’ll come back.

Not just to the town.

But to me.