Page 6 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

ALL WORK, NO CHILL

Ethan

M y laptop glows with graphs and code I’ve rewritten twice and still can’t seem to finish. A site integration that should’ve taken me an hour has now stretched into a third of the evening of trying to work. Because the truth is, I haven’t stopped thinking about Sophia.

About how she looked in the coffee shop light. About the ease of her laugh. About how she made a Tuesday morning feel like a turning point.

I’m still sitting in that daze, staring at a blinking cursor, when the front door swings open.

“I brought salt, hops, and wisdom,” Claire calls out, holding up a six-pack and a bag of chips as she breezes in.

I glance at the clock. “You do know it’s Wednesday, right?”

“Exactly why this calls for an intervention,” she says, kicking off her boots and plopping down on the couch like she owns the place. “Also, I figured I deserved a reward for resisting the urge to call you three times today.”

I shut the laptop and move to join her. She tosses me a beer and I catch it mid-air.

“You didn’t think I was going to just not follow up after that stunt you pulled at the Old Oak, did you?

” she says, cracking hers open. “So? Spill. What’s happened since your ‘I might hire a woman I just met because she smiled at me’ epiphany? ”

I groan. “You make it sound ridiculous.”

“Because it is,” she replies cheerfully. “But also kind of adorable. And so much like you to use your money to make other people happy. It’s like the time you made a big donation to the fire station when they needed a new firetruck.

I shrug. What else am I going to do with my money? I don’t need much to be happy.

“So, have you seen her again?”

I hesitate. “No. It’s been 24 hours since I saw you, and I’ve been busy all day with Simon and trying to wrap up this contract.” I pause to exhale. “I’ve been meaning to reach out, but... I don’t want to come on too strong.”

Claire narrows her eyes. “You bought a house, Ethan.”

“For reasons!” I defend, holding up a hand. “Good reasons. It’s a smart investment.”

“Sure. But also, reasons with cheekbones and maybe a brilliant mind for spatial flow.”

I grin despite myself. “Okay, yeah. She’s... something else.”

Claire pops open the chips and crunches thoughtfully. “You’ve never lit up like this over anyone. Not even when you thought you were in love with that grad student who wrote her thesis on minimalism and gave you panic attacks with her white walls.”

“That was a phase,” I mutter.

“It was a design trauma.”

We both laugh. The kind that comes from history — from having been through enough awkward milestones together that you can’t help but know each other’s cringe points.

After a few quiet moments, Claire glances sideways at me, her tone shifting. “You know... it’s wild, isn’t it? To think five years ago we thought we might have been something.”

I chuckle, surprised. “You mean our three-month test run of romantic compatibility?”

She raises her beer in a mock toast. “To the world’s most amicable breakup.”

“I still maintain our biggest issue was dueling thermostats.”

She laughs. “That and your irrational fear of brunch lines.”

“You tried to get us into that place with the lavender foam. I still have trauma.”

“Okay, valid.” Claire leans back into the couch cushion. “But seriously, I’m glad we figured it out early. That we’re better like this.”

I nod, my smile softening. “Me too. I think I knew it the first time you suggested we co-buy a kayak but then immediately followed it with ‘no pressure — I already have a backup paddling partner.’”

“Hey, I like to be efficient.”

“And honest. You’ve always been honest with me. That’s rare.”

“That’s what friends are for. Especially the ones you’ve tried to kiss and failed to set fireworks with.”

We sit in that small pocket of memory for a moment, filled with gratitude rather than regret. It’s one of the rare things I’m proud of — not just that we tried, but that we knew when to pivot without losing each other.

“So,” she says, bringing us back to the present, “when do you plan on telling Sophia about the house?”

“I don’t know yet. Everything’s moving fast. And I don’t want her to think I’m trying to leverage the situation or make her feel obligated to see me again.”

Claire gives me a look. “You mean like buying a haunted house just to start a project with someone random you met once?”

“She’s Sage’s niece. It’s not that random.”

“The whole thing is completely random.” She grins. “But it’s also very you. And I think she’ll be flattered. Just maybe... lead with the job, not the emotional declaration.”

I nod slowly. “You think she’ll say yes?”

“She smiled at you like you were the first cup of coffee after a red-eye flight. That’s a yes smile.”

My heart stutters at the memory. “I might need her phone number first.”

Claire blinks. “You don’t have it?”

I shake my head. “Didn’t ask. Felt weird.”

“Ask Sage.”

“That also feels weird.”

Claire smirks. “Then embrace the weird, my friend. You’re already halfway to rom-com territory — haunted house, accidental meet-cute, a meddling best friend.”

“I better get a soundtrack.”

We share a knowing smirk.

The wind rattles the porch chimes. The lake breathes against the shore. There’s a kind of quiet that only happens here — not silence, just stillness. Possibility.

Claire leans forward, brushing chip crumbs off her jeans. “So, what are you actually afraid of, Ethan?”

I’m quiet for a long moment. “That I’ll scare her off. I. Bought. A. House!”

We both laugh.

“I’m scared that she’s here to catch her breath and I’m trying to give her roots when she’s not even looking for ground.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Then don’t offer roots. Just offer a seed. Something small. A walk-through. A conversation. Let her decide if she wants more.”

“You’re really good at this,” I murmur.

Claire grins. “Trial and error, babe. Mostly error. But I’ve seen you build things from nothing. Give yourself the same chance.”

“Well, before I do anything, I need to make sure Simon doesn’t tell the whole town first.”

Claire snorts. “Too late. He cornered me in the produce aisle this morning, asking if your Miller House ‘redesign’ meant Bluewater Cove was finally getting its own ‘boutique experience.’”

I groan. “What does that even mean?”

“No one knows. But it probably involves shiplap and oat milk.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “I’ll talk to Sage tomorrow. See if she’ll share Sophia’s contact info.”

“Good.” Claire stands and grabs her coat. “And if Sophia says yes, I expect updates. And wine. Possibly a tour.”

“Deal.”

The door clicks behind her. I sit for a long moment, staring at the closed laptop.

Not heavy. Not stuck.

Hopeful.