Page 37 of Bottle Shock
“What?” he nearly shouts. “What do you mean you don’t have a budget?”
My lips press into a smirk I just know irritates the hell out of him. “Exactly that. No budget.”
“But how? Everyone has a budget. That’s the financially responsible thing to do.”
“Well, for starters, I’m rich.”
He chokes on a cough. “Fucking hell, Gavin. You’re not supposed to say that.”
“Why? It’s just us. I’m rich. You are too, so don’t judge me for saying the quiet part out loud.”
“It just sounds…” he trails off before we both say, at the same time, “dickish.”
I’m only fucking with Ethan because it’s easy to do. Ofcourse I have a budget—it just happens to be a large one. And if he knew anything about Wallula Lake, he’d know the median home price is well below the national average. It’s a small, quirky town, not Malibu.
“I get that you want Lily to feel connected to her mom, but couldn’t you get a rental on weekends instead?”
When this first began, it went from a far-fetched idea to a full-blown plan faster than I’d like to admit. I guess there’s still an impulsiveness in me that refuses to let go. Only now, instead of jetting off for my next adrenaline rush, I’ve decided buying a house on the lake Allison loved is exactly what Lily needs. So maybe, one day, when she’s grown, she’ll know I did everything I could to honor her mother.
It’s not rational, but it makes sense to me. And once I decide on something, that’s it. It’s final. There’s no changing my mind—I’m relentless until the goal is achieved.
“It’s not the same,” I tell him. “Besides, if I do end up finding the right house, I’ll use it as an investment property when we’re not there.”
He nods, seeming to approve of my idea to rent it out on occasion.
The rest of the drive is quiet, which is exactly how I like it. Ethan is probably overthinking the upcoming harvest season, creating stress where there doesn’t need to be any. Our meeting earlier was with one of our more challenging distributors, whose warehouse sits about fifteen minutes south of Wallula Lake in Echo Springs. Ethan invited me to tag along because, apparently, being tall makes me intimidating enough to keep the guy from being a complete asshole. Since there wasn’t enough time to drive back to Red Mountain and then turn around for the open house, it only made sense for him to drop me off on his way back.
The GPS instructs us to turn down a narrow, tree-lined road. Sunlight filters through the branches, flashingin and out across the dashboard until the land falls away to reveal the shimmering expanse of Wallula Lake.
Even after seeing the listing photos, the real thing puts them to shame. The water is a mirror—still, endless, a perfect reflection of the sky above. The house sits back from the road on a gentle slope, framed by cedar and wrapped in weathered gray siding, with a deep front porch that curves around one side.
Ethan whistles low. “Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” I say quietly.
It’s more than not bad. It’sperfect.
My excitement is quickly doused in ice water when I finally notice the long line of cars parked along the shoulder—at least a dozen, with more coming down the driveway.
I was expecting some interest, but nothing like this. This is unreal.
Ethan notices. “Looks like you’ve got competition.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, staring at the cluster of people already walking toward the house. “I’m fucked.”
Scanning the area, my eyes search for that familiar flash of red hair. But there’s no sign of her yet.
The sound of my phone vibrating pulls my attention.
Scottie
Running behind. Be there in ten. Sorry!!!!
My reply is instant.
Nothing to be sorry about. Your text better have been sent hands free. Drive safe.
Ethan pulls the truck to a stop and throws it in park.
