Page 8 of Designing Love (Bluewater Cove #2)

THE MILLER HOUSE

Ethan

I tap my fingers nervously against the steering wheel of my truck, waiting outside Sage’s colorful beach house.

The morning sun warms my arm through the open window, and I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror, attempting to smooth down my perpetually rebellious hair.

It refuses, sticking up stubbornly in all directions.

Great. Bedhead chic. Exactly the look I’m going for.

The passenger-side door swings open and Sophia slides into the seat, sunglasses perched on her head, a fresh, citrusy scent filling the cab. My heart immediately leaps into a frantic rhythm, betraying any semblance of calm I might have tried to project.

“Morning,” she greets, fastening her seatbelt. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Sage insisted I try her special ‘energy tea’ blend before leaving.” Her voice drops conspiratorially. “I’m pretty sure it’s just lemon water.”

I chuckle, pulling onto Main Street. “You got off lucky. Once, she convinced me to drink some mysterious purple liquid. I’m still not sure I didn’t hallucinate afterward.”

Sophia laughs — a melody that sets something fluttering in my chest. “That might explain your decision to buy a haunted fixer-upper.”

“I maintain it’s not haunted. Just... misunderstood.”

She raises an eyebrow playfully. “I thought that was my line.”

Her presence next to me feels effortlessly comfortable, as if we’ve shared easy banter for years, not days. Yet beneath the ease, there’s a pulse of electricity, almost tangible.

We turn onto the coastal road toward the Miller House, winding past cottages painted cheerful blues, yellows, and greens. Sophia gazes out the window, the lake sparkling beside us.

“I’d forgotten how peaceful this place is. One moment, you’re immersed in city chaos; next, it’s birds, water, and raccoons.”

“Don’t forget the ghosts,” I remind her solemnly.

She turns back, studying me with mock seriousness. “Right, of course. Ghosts, raccoons, and Ethan — the trifecta of mystery.”

“I aim to intrigue. Speaking of intrigue, have you decided on that job offer?”

Her smile fades a little, and her gaze falls to her hands. “Honestly? I’m still not sure. I haven’t taken a vacation in forever…”

My stomach twists nervously. “But it’s a good opportunity, right?”

“Maybe too good. Too predictable. Too... everything I’m supposed to want...” She trails off, uncertain.

“Sometimes unexpected, impulsive decisions are exactly what we need.”

She glances up, eyes hopeful. “Like buying an old house filled with furry tenants?”

“Exactly. Who wouldn’t find raccoons appealing?”

She laughs, tension easing again, her eyes lighting up as she turns to me. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Heart quickening beneath her gaze, I chuckle. “Something you don’t know... I used to play drums in a terrible garage band called ‘The Loud Llamas’ in high school.”

She bursts into laughter, delighted. “Loud Llamas? Seriously?”

“Sadly, yes. Mostly off-key covers. Somehow, we convinced ourselves we’d be famous.”

“Tragic.” She sighs. “Maybe you missed your true calling.”

“No one missed out on our musical greatness,” I assure her.

Our laughter fades into a comfortable silence, broken only by the tires humming against the road. I glance sideways. “Your turn. Embarrassing teenage dreams?”

She gives a solemn shake of her head. “None. Absolutely perfect adolescence.”

“Really?” I challenge, skeptical.

She sighs theatrically. “Fine. I might’ve briefly dabbled in interpretive dance — ribbons included.”

I grin, raising an eyebrow. “Ribbon-dancer extraordinaire. Interesting.”

She punches my arm lightly, laughing.

Feigning pain, I rub my arm exaggeratedly.

“Seriously?”

“Careful — your dance strength is intimidating.” I wink at her.

“Oh, please,” she scoffs, cheeks flushing. “I barely tapped you.”

We both laugh, settling into easy silence until the Miller House comes into view, perched with quiet authority on its hill. Sophia gasps softly.

“Wow.”

“Good wow, or ‘run away’ wow?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Both. But I see your point. There’s something… special about it.”

I park, shutting off the engine. For a moment, we sit quietly, staring at the house.

“You ready?” she finally asks.

I smile, heart fluttering. “With you here? Absolutely.”

Heat rises to my cheeks immediately at my unintended honesty, and Sophia notices, smiling shyly.

“Then let’s meet your ghosts.”

We step out, and she stumbles slightly on an uneven stone. Instinctively, I catch her elbow gently.

“Careful,” I murmur, my hand lingering a heartbeat too long.

She looks up at me with grateful eyes, our gazes catching for a breath.

A loud squawk interrupts sharply as a crow flaps noisily from a tree. Sophia jumps back, hand pressed to her chest.

“Definitely haunted,” she whispers breathlessly.

“Clearly,” I agree with exaggerated seriousness. “Ghost birds are the worst.”

We share a shaky laugh before stepping onto the porch. Sophia touches the brass handle, running fingers gently along the carved trim.

“See?” I nudge her elbow lightly. “There IS something special here, like you said.”

She bites her lip, fighting a smile. “I know, and I haven’t even stepped inside yet.”

I push the door open. Dusty, stale air greets us. Sophia coughs lightly, and I swear the tiny puff of cinnamon gum breath curls straight up my spine. The hallway is suddenly too narrow, the distance between her shoulder and mine criminally small.

“You might consider air freshener. Or an exorcism. It could go either way.”

I chuckle, watching as she steps further inside, eyes wide with wonder. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers, fingertips tracing the elegant banister.

“I told you. Imagine it fully restored. Fresh paint, polished floors, sunlight streaming through windows. Admit it, you’re tempted.”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow, but a smile dances in her eyes. “You’re really selling this. But tell me, what’s your vision for this? You already have a beach house. You want another house?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure. I thought about flipping it into an Airbnb, or maybe an office. I’m waiting to see what your thoughts and vision are.”

She laughs. “So, now I’m an accomplice.”

I grin playfully. “Your fingerprints are already everywhere.”

She pulls back, feigning innocence. “You’re trouble.”

“I prefer persuasive visionary.”

Sophia rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Show me the rest.”

We enter the front room, sunlight illuminating dust motes dancing lazily. Sophia twirls slowly, her eyes mapping imaginary furniture placements.

“You know, working here could be a perfect distraction. Might help you avoid calls about dream contracts you don’t really want.”

She pauses mid-spin, eyes narrowing playfully, though uncertainty flickers beneath. “Who says I want distractions?”

“Everyone needs them,” I say, stepping closer cautiously. “Especially when they’re figuring out what they really want.”

Her eyes soften, voice quieter. “And you think renovating this beautiful disaster is the answer?”

“Maybe,” I say carefully, stepping closer still. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse to see you more often. Professionally speaking, of course.”

“Professionally speaking,” she echoes, eyes twinkling mischievously.

I hold her gaze, feeling gravity pull us subtly closer, my pulse racing.

“Ethan,” she whispers gently. “Are you sure this isn’t too big a project? You barely know me. What if my taste is terrible?”

I feign seriousness. “There’s the interpretive dance thing. That’s concerning.”

She punches my arm again lightly, laughing. “Be serious.”

“Alright,” I concede, voice sincere now. “I trust my instincts about you. Maybe it’s reckless, but I’m optimistic.”

She tilts her head, gaze flickering briefly to my lips. “Optimistic. Is that what we’re calling it?”

Heart racing, I lean slightly closer, breath catching as her lips part slightly. The moment hangs, suspended delicately between us, until a sudden loud crash from upstairs shatters the tension.

Sophia jumps back, startled. “What was that?”

I sigh, reluctantly stepping back. “Probably the raccoons welcoming us.”

She exhales, smiling sheepishly. “Right. Raccoons. Or ghosts of raccoons, since we have yet to see one.”

“Already getting distracted. Clearly, this place is working.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “If this is your charm, your strategy needs work.”

“I have no strategy,” I admit, relaxing again. “Just questionable optimism, apparently.”

She grins, nodding toward the hallway. “Well, lead the way.”

And as we explore further, laughter echoing off creaking floors, I realize that each dusty corner and noisy interruption only increases the odds Sophia will stick around.

Exactly as I’d hoped.

* * *

D ownstairs again, I pause by the front door and flip through my notes. “So, floors, paint, roof repairs, kitchen gutting —”

“Don’t forget exorcism,” she teases.

I chuckle. “Of course. Raccoon relocation specialist, paranormal expert, contractor — we’ll need them all.”

She laughs softly, and I can’t help but grin at her playful sense of humor. “Sounds like you have a busy afternoon ahead,” she says.

I rub the back of my neck. “Actually, yeah, I should start calling around.”

She hesitates momentarily, then asks lightly, “Do you need help? I’m not sure I can help with ghost removal, but…”

“You want to handle the infamous realtor or contractors?” he asks with a smirk.

“Are you implying I’m not local enough?” she chuckles.

“Are you sure you want to make calls and not dive into research? I’m happy to let you make them…” I say, putting my hands up in surrender.

“Maybe you’re right…”

I wink. “I’ll handle the calls, and you can do your magic.”

She bites her lip thoughtfully. “No pressure, eh!”

“None whatsoever,” I say, trying to sound confident. Then I tilt my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “You can focus on sketching some designs? Something tells me you’re already mentally redecorating.”

“You caught me,” she admits, cheeks flushing the faintest shade of pink. “I might already have a few ideas.”

I nod, feeling a surge of excitement. “Perfect.”

A gentle pause settles between us, a hint of comfortable tension in the air.

“Oh!” I snap my fingers suddenly. “You should check out the Purring Page. It might inspire your creative juices.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Good idea. Do they have coffee?”

“Best cappuccino. And two lovely cats.”

We head outside into the sunshine, and I feel lighter — her enthusiasm making me hopeful despite the ridiculous scale of this project.

“I’ll drop you off at the Purring Page then. It’s not far from Sage’s art gallery.”

“It’s a plan!” She glances back at the house, then meets my gaze with a smile.

I’m in so much trouble.