Page 22 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

RISK the clock hurts him more than us”).

By the time plates are scraped clean, my nerves have settled into something that feels a lot like confidence.

Sam signals for espresso and folds his hands. “One more thing. After this is done, don’t second guess the peace. Use it.”

“I plan to.” An image flickers — lake water, sun-bleached porch boards, Ethan’s lopsided grin. My chest tightens in a good way. “There’s… someone worth returning to.”

Sam gives me a knowing smile. “Ah yes. The fixer-upper tech guy.”

“Ethan.”

“Sage sent a three-page email titled ‘Why Ethan Is a Cinnamon Roll.’ I skimmed.” He smirks. “You like him.”

I swirl what’s left of my wine. “I’m smitten, apparently.”

Sam offers his cup in a mock toast. “To closing chapters and opening new ones.”

We clink. The wine is rich and deep, exactly what I need before tomorrow’s final round.

* * *

B ack in my hotel room, the city hum feels sterile after Bluewater Cove’s quiet nights. I change into leggings, scrub off meeting makeup, and flop onto the bed, ready to review notes — when my phone pings.

Claire : Yo, cabinet king just fell asleep with his phone on his face. Ring him before he drools on it.

I laugh out loud. Leave it to Claire to be the unofficial Ethan whisperer. I tap the video icon.

The screen fills with a dark room, ceiling fan spinning lazily. Then Ethan’s face appears, pillow-creased and adorably disoriented. “Sophia?”

“Surprise,” I whisper. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He fumbles upright, hair everywhere. “I was… uh… meditating.”

“Snoring is a bold new mantra.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling. “Claire ratted me out, didn’t she?”

“Like a proud sister.” I tuck my knees up, camera propped against a pillow. “How’s Bluewater Cove?”

“Missing its interior-designer-in-residence.” He rubs sleep from his eyes, and the sincerity in his smile twists something sweet inside me. “Things okay there?”

“We’ve got a plan. Tomorrow should end it.” I fill him in — skipping the dollar amounts but highlighting the strategy. “If all goes well, papers get signed by Friday.”

“And then you’re free.” His voice is soft, hopeful.

“And then I’m on the first flight east.” I hesitate, then add, “Assuming you still need shelf-installation help.”

He grins sleepily. “The raccoons demanded proof of your return. I promised them your cinnamon-scented measuring tape.”

I snort. “Tell them it’s lavender.”

A comfortable silence settles; the distance feels smaller when he’s blinking at me through the phone like I’m sitting on his couch.

“Hey, Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… everything.”

He leans back against his headboard, expression earnest. “My pleasure to involve you in this monster-sized project.”

I roll my eyes affectionately. “You’re meeting with the mayor tomorrow?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Keep me posted.”

“You too!” he replies, yawning.

“Sleep,” I order. “Big day of diplomacy tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He lifts two fingers in a sleepy salute. “Night, Sophia.”

“Night, Ethan.”

The call ends and I stare at the dark screen, pulse steady, mind clearer than it’s been in months. Tomorrow I’ll face Daniel, armed with numbers, resolve, and the quiet certainty that a different life is waiting—one I actually chose.

I set an alarm, slide the inheritance envelope under my laptop, and turn off the lamp. Beneath the city’s distant traffic, I swear I can hear waves. And I fall asleep smiling for the first time since arriving in Vancouver.