Page 18 of Bottle Shock
“Not this afternoon.” I grab a rag to wipe down the counter. “I’ve got a meeting in town.”
His brows pull together. “Meeting? Is this something I should know about?”
“No, it’s not work-related.” I toss the rag aside and reach for my coffee, which has gone cold. “It’s with Scottie. She’s my realtor now—we’re going to look at what listings are available out by Wallula Lake.”
Ethan blinks. “Scottie? As in Elyse’s best friend, Scottie?”
“Unless there’s another Scottie I don’t know about.”
He frowns, skeptical. “Does she even know what she’s doing? You should go with Beth.”
Beth is Scottie’s mom and has been a realtor for decades. Honestly, she’s who I thought I’d be working with—at least until Elyse dropped the bomb that I’d actually be working with Scottie. I’m not sure why she couldn’t just tell me that from the start. There was no need for the secrecy.
I don’t know Scottie all that well—on purpose, if I’m being honest—but I’ve always had the sense people underestimate her, write her off as vapid or vain because she’s unapologetically herself. I’m not that kind of man. I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt, at least until they prove I shouldn’t.
“I’m sure she’s perfectly capable,” I say with a shrug, a touch defensive. “I’d rather work with her than a complete stranger.”
Ethan studies me for a second, probably trying to decide if I’m being too soft about the whole thing. “You’re too nice for your own good sometimes.”
“Or maybe you’re just quick to write people off.”
He snorts. “If you get burned enough times, you learn to doubt first, trust later.”
“Yeah, well,” I start, “not everyone is as paranoid as you.”
Scottie’s parents’ real estate firm, James Realty, sits at the end of Main Street, tucked between the florist and the bakery. The “For Sale” signs stacked in the window are faded from the sun, and the front door jingles when I push it open.
Inside smells faintly of coffee and printer ink, and even though it’s the middle of the day on a Monday, the place looks deserted.
“Just a sec!” a voice calls from somewhere in the back.There’s a clatter of something hitting the floor, followed by a muffled curse.
I bite back a smile, shaking my head. It seems Scottie’s entrances come with sound effects.
When she finally appears, she’s clutching a manila folder, her phone, and what looks like a half-eaten clementine. Her hair—red, loose, and a little wild—shines under the fluorescent lights. The sundress she’s wearing is a soft blue with tiny embroidered flowers scattered across it. As she moves toward me, it clings to her curves, her full breasts bouncing over the top of the deep V with each step she takes. I clench my jaw and shift my gaze.
“Hi!” she says, slightly breathless. “Sorry, I dropped…basically everything.” She nods toward the back room. “You’re early.”
I glance at my watch. “I’m on time.”
“Right,” she says quickly, cheeks pinking. “Then I’m late. Mentally, anyway.”
She sets her things down on the desk, immediately knocking a pen holder sideways. Pens scatter across the floor.
“Wow, okay. I’m killing it today,” she mutters, crouching to collect the pens—offering a better view of her cleavage that I definitely shouldn’t be noticing. I quickly avert my eyes and kneel to help, but she flutters a hand at me.
“I’ve got it. You’re the client; no sense in making you clean up after me.”
Ignoring her protests, I reach for a few that rolled under the desk.
“I’m not going to sit and watch you scramble without at least helping. What kind of man do you think I am?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she holds out the pen holder so I can drop in the ones I’ve gathered. Our fingers brush as I do, and my breath gets trapped in my throat. She’s standing close enough to cloud me in her citrus scent—sweet with abite—and I’d inhale deeper if I weren’t balling my fists to keep from doing so.
Her smile softens, and for a second, the space between us inflates—like we’re both remembering the bathroom incident. Whatever spell we’re under breaks when a car alarm goes off outside, jolting us apart.
Shaking my head, I step back, trying to figure out what the hell that was. I knew it would be awkward, given the circumstances, but also because I’ve never quite known how to act around Scottie.
She looks up at me, those bright blue eyes meeting mine, and all I can think about is the last time I saw her—red-faced, flustered, and babbling about my penis.
