Page 5 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

UNPACKING THE PAST

Sophia

S age’s beach house always smells like rosemary, driftwood, and mischief.

Tonight, it’s also garlic, butter, and something spicy that turned out to be — in her words — “a bold amount of cayenne.” We’re sitting across from each other at her kitchen table, which is half reclaimed wood and half chaotic altar.

The table legs don’t quite match, and neither do the plates, but it feels. .. good. Comfortable. Familiar.

Sage twirls linguine on her fork like she’s preparing for a pasta commercial and tilts her head at me. “So,” she says, voice light but clearly hunting for depth, “you going to tell me what’s really going on, or am I going to have to break out my tarot deck and incense?”

I poke at a cherry tomato, watching it roll listlessly across my plate. “It was over with Daniel long before we signed the papers. I think I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Sage hums softly. “It’s always easier to stay on the train than jump onto the tracks.”

I set my fork down. “He made me feel like I was... too much. Too loud. Too opinionated. Too curvy, too bold, too... something. I started editing myself — shrinking a little each day just to fit his version of what I was supposed to be.”

Sage’s expression sharpens. “Let me guess: that version was beige?”

I huff a laugh, low and bitter. “With a splash of greige for excitement.”

She shakes her head, curls bouncing with defiance. “Sophia, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again — you’re not a feature wall. You’re the whole damn gallery.”

I smile, surprised by the sting in my eyes. “Thanks, Sage.”

She pins me with a laser-sharp gaze. “He tried to design you like a minimalist condo. But you’re a cathedral. You echo. You shimmer. You have details. He just didn’t know how to live in something so full of wonder.”

My throat tightens, but the knot in my chest loosens a little. I sip my wine and let the silence settle. There’s comfort in Sage’s presence — like her chaos is a shield from the outside world. She’s always been my safe place, even when I didn’t know I needed one.

“Was he ever…” Sage sits back, an uncomfortable expression on her face.

“Never. He’s a jerk, yes... but not a violent one.”

She nods.

After a few quiet bites, she nudges me with her foot under the table. “So... what were you up to today?”

I try to keep my face neutral, but I already know I’ve failed when her eyes narrow like a hawk spotting prey. “What?” she demands, grinning now.

“Nothing,” I lie badly, stabbing another tomato. “I just... bumped into someone.”

Her entire face lights up. “Someone?”

“His name’s Ethan,” I admit, pretending to focus on the garlic bread. “He literally ran into me — well, my table — at the coffee shop.”

Sage sets her fork down with a flourish. “Oh, I see. And did this Ethan happen to have charming grey eyes, unruly hair, and a quiet-but-noticeable awkward streak?”

I blink. “How do you?—?”

“Bluewater Cove isn’t Vancouver, sweetheart. Ethan is loved by everyone, and known for his runs every morning like the lake owes him something.”

I laugh, then falter. “Wait. You know him?”

“Of course I do. He fixed my Wi-Fi when it exploded last fall. Didn’t ask for anything but coffee — and even then, he apologized like he was demanding my inheritance. Total sweetheart. Quiet. Hasn’t dated seriously in, oh, forever.”

I try to look unimpressed, but Sage can see through me with one glance.

“He’s cute. In a ‘he might accidentally trip over his own kindness’ sort of way.”

Sage grins, satisfied. “And?”

“And young,” I say firmly. “Too young. This isn’t a rom-com.”

She shrugs, sipping her wine. “So are you, my dear niece, 46 years young if my math is good?”

“Forty-seven,” I wink, raising my glass.

“And you’re not marrying him. It’s okay to let someone be nice to you, Sophia. Especially someone who doesn’t flinch at your shine.”

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “It’s just... I’m not looking for anything. I came here to unplug. Rethink things. Reconnect with my love of interior design.”

“Exactly,” she says, voice softer now. “And maybe you were meant to connect with him, too.”

I roll my eyes. “You sound like one of your tarot cards.”

“Those tarot cards have more relationship wisdom than most men I’ve met.”

We both laugh, and the air between us shifts — lighter, more playful. But then Sage fixes me with a look that means she’s about to drop something weighty.

“You know,” she says, reaching for the salad bowl, “Ethan’s the kind of man who doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it means something. He listens more than he speaks. And when he does speak, it’s with care. With purpose.”

I nod slowly. “He didn’t even flirt. Not really. He was just... there.”

“Exactly. And after what you’ve been through, that’s not nothing.”

We lapse into silence again, our forks scraping softly against ceramic plates. The lake outside shimmers in the moonlight, and a gentle breeze lifts the linen curtains.

After a while, Sage clears her throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“What are you planning to do with the business?”

I freeze. The question lands with more weight than expected. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

She waits. Patient. Calm.

“I came here for space. Not just from Daniel, but from the hustle. The pressure. I haven’t looked at a contract in weeks. Haven’t opened my business email since I landed. My phone’s basically in witness protection.”

Sage raises an eyebrow. “So... you’re on vacation?”

“Exactly,” I say, grateful for the out. “It’s a future-me problem.”

She nods. “Fair. But just so you know, future you is allowed to build something new, too. Maybe even something that doesn’t involve Daniel or deadlines or proving anything to anyone.”

I smile faintly. “We’ll see.”

“You’ll know when you’re ready. And until then — eat your pasta and flirt with Ethan a little.”

I throw a crouton at her.

She dodges it expertly and lifts her glass. “To vacation, flirtation, and future Sophia. May she be fierce, free, and only slightly overwhelmed.”

I clink my glass against hers. “And may she avoid cayenne overdoses.”

Sage winks. “No promises.”