Page 42 of Bottle Shock
Understatement of the century.
We pass through the living room toward the entry, and that’s when he slows, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His hand brushes my arm—a subtle nudge—and my brain instantly shifts into alert mode.
“What?” I whisper.
He nods toward an older couple by the front windows, chatting easily with the listing agent and a few other potential buyers. “Those are the owners,” he says. “Carl and Maggie. They’re the ones selling.”
I follow his gaze. They’re adorable. He’s tall and silver-haired, wearing a chambray button-down tucked into jeans, and she’s in linen pants and a loose cream blouse—very effortlessly chic.
“Oh,” I say quietly, leaning closer. “The ones who started this whole mess?”
His lips twitch. “Those would be the ones.”
“Well,” I whisper, straightening my posture and fixing my hair, “if you want me to give them a show, I’ll give them one.”
Before he can stop me, I hook my arm through his and give him a sugary smile. “Aren’t you glad you roped me into this?”
His quiet groan almost makes me laugh.
As we walk down toward the great room, I can sense his gaze flicking to me in his peripheral vision, probably questioning if forcing me into this charade is the best idea. But he plays along—his hand resting casually over mine, his thumb brushing against my fingers in a way that should not be as distracting as it is.
The couple looks up when we approach. The woman’s face lights up instantly. “Oh, you made it back around! Is this your wife?” she asks, turning her focus toward me.
Gavin’s smile doesn’t falter. “Yes.” He tightens his arm around my shoulders like I might make a bolt for it. “This is Scottie—my wife.”
The words roll off his tongue with unnerving confidence, as if he’s been saying them for years. He looks down at me the way I imagine a man actually in love would look at his spouse.
I swallow and tear my gaze from his. He’s much better at this than I would’ve expected—or maybe I’m already rusty.
The woman steps forward, beaming as she extends her hand. “I’m Maggie, and this is my husband, Carl. This is our home.”
I shake her hand, hoping she doesn’t notice how clammy mine suddenly is. “It’s beautiful.” I smile, attempting to turn on the charm.
Carl takes my hand next. “We’ve loved it here. It’s going to be hard saying goodbye.”
Gavin’s thumb grazes the top of my arm, slipping just beneath the strap of my dress. Totally innocent. Probably accidental. My brain knows that. My body, however, isn’t quite up to speed—heat unfurls low in my stomach, a slow ache building against all reason. I’m going to have to find a way to stop reacting to him like this. Otherwise, the only person falling for this act will be me.
I shift just enough to free my arm, pretending to adjust mydress. Gavin’s hand falls away, a beat of hesitation following before he clears his throat.
“I can only imagine,” he says to Carl, his voice carrying what sounds like genuine empathy.
Dragging a breath, I will myself to focus on why we’re here—and the people we’re pretending for. Because honestly, this whole thing is wildly unethical.
There’s no way this is legal. Yes, Gavin only overheard their conversation, and there’s no actual proof they’re trying to hand-select a buyer, but I don’t think it’s common for the owners to mingle with buyers like this is an episode ofThe Bachelor. It’s weird.
Technically, sellers are allowed to choose who they sell to—as long as it’s not discriminatory—but this feels off.
I want to ask them what exactly it is that they’re doing, but I don’t know how to ask without coming off as rude.
Before I can work up the courage, something catches their attention, and they politely part ways from us.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “They seem nice…for people committing real estate fraud.”
Gavin exhales a slow, weary sigh. “It’s not fraud. At least I don’t think it is.”
I take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Then what would you call it?”
He rests his hands on his hips, scanning the room like he might find an answer hidden among the throw pillows. “I don’t know. It’s definitely unique.”
