Page 43 of Bottle Shock
“Unique?” I echo, incredulous. “Do you think anyone else here knows about their little plan?”
“You’re acting like it’s some kind of conspiracy,” he says, fighting a smile, like he think it’s funny I’m getting worked up. “I think it’s kind of sweet, actually. They care about who lives here. Obviously, they’re having a hard time letting it go.”
I scoff. “Elyse was right. Youaretoo nice. Honestly, I should report this—or at the very least talk to the listing agent and find out what the hell is going on.”
“I don’t think we need to take it that far,” he says calmly. “Maybe I heard them wrong. It could be a misunderstanding.”
“Really?” My eyebrows lift. “Because you seemed pretty certain when you sucked my face in front of everyone.”
It’s then I realize our voices have risen, drawing a few unwanted glances in our direction.
Normally, I can improvise my way through anything. It’s literally my job to think on the fly. But with Gavin, it’s different. He throws me off-balance—emotionally, mentally, hormonally. Add in the spike of panic crashing through me in waves and the fact that I’ve been off my medication too long, and my brain can’t sort through any of this. “I need some air. It’s too warm in here.”
Not that the outside is much better.
The moment the door shuts behind me, the fresh lake air is a welcome reprieve from the crowded home. I inhale in a lungful and immediately feel its calming effects.
Gavin follows a few seconds later, his footsteps crunching over the gravel. “Scottie.” His tone is low, almost apologetic. “We should just go. The house isn’t worth lying this much to get it.”
I cross my arms, still wound tight.“You think?”
“I’m serious,” he says, glancing back toward the porch where a steady stream of people continues to come and go.
“It’s a great place, but there will be others. I can wait.”
His voice softens on that last word, and it does something funny to my chest.
Before I can answer, the sound of heels clicking against the path pulls our attention. The listing agent approaches, tablet in hand, her blazer crisp even in the afternoon heat.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ledger,” she says brightly, stopping a politedistance away. “I wanted to thank you both for coming. Carl and Maggie mentioned how much they enjoyed meeting you.”
Of course they did, I’m a delight, if I do say so myself.
Her smile is professional, practiced. “They’ll be reviewing all offers at the end of the month, but if you’re interested, they’d love for you to come back and stay for a weekend—consider it an extended private showing. They want to get a better sense of who the home might be the right fit for.”
I blink. “Is that normal?”
She laughs, and there’s a tinge of unease behind it. “In a tight market, some sellers like to take a more personal approach, especially with long-held family homes. Of course, all offers will still go through me and follow the usual process.”
So notillegal. Just a little unorthodox.
I glance at Gavin, who looks like he’s trying to figure out how to politely decline even though I know he wants this house. “That’s very kind of them,” he says finally, every word measured.
“We’ll have to think about it,” I interject, ignoring the way Gavin stiffens beside me.
“Of course.” She tucks her tablet under one arm. “Take the evening, talk it over. If you’re still interested, give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll set something up.”
She offers a final goodbye before heading back toward the house.
The silence that follows feels heavy. I can practically hear Gavin thinking beside me.
“Well.” I exhale. “Should we think about it?”
“I gave you an out. Why did you say we’d think about it?”
“Because,” I drag out as I begin walking toward my car. “Obviously you made an impression on them.” I pause and turn to meet his gaze. “Maybe it’s worth entertaining. You want the house. I need the commission.”
He cocks his head, skeptical. “And you’re fine pretending to be my wife if we go through with this?”
