Page 53 of Bottle Shock
I smirk, rinsing my glass. “Her name is Cindoughrella.”
Her eyes widen. “Cindoughrella? As in the princess?”
“Lily’s idea,” I say. “We maintain it together. Gives her a little sense of responsibility.”
Her mouth softens. “Here I was, about to tease you, but then you go and say something like that.”
I grin, watching the color rise in her cheeks. “Come on, before I tell you about her feeding schedule and really ruin the mood.”
“Oh, the mood’s already ruined, sourdough daddy.” She grins, biting her lip. “Though I gotta admit, watching you nerd out over sourdough might just be the best part of my night.”
I shake my head, fighting a laugh as I gesture toward the back door. “I thought we talked about not using that nickname.”
She trails after me, clearly pleased with herself. “Daddy and sourdough daddy are not the same thing.”
“That’s not how that works.” I glance back at her over my shoulder. “Promise me you’ll never call me that again.”
“No promises.” Her smile is wicked.
I groan, more amused than I want to admit. “Can’t wait for my family to hear that one.”
CHAPTER 15
Scottie
ONLY A LITTLE GRASS
The second the door clicks shut behind Gavin, the silence in the pool house is deafening. He hadn’t lingered—just unlocked the door, handed me the key, and left before I could think of something to say. Now it’s just me, alone with a racing mind and the unfamiliar sounds of a new space: the tick of the wall clock, the tiny shifts of the house as it settles, the slow drip of the faucet, my own pulse thudding in my ears.
I stand there for a second, still holding the random bag I grabbed from my car like it’s a flotation device. I can’t figure out what possessed me to come here tonight. It’s not like I didn’t have options—I could’ve stayed with Elyse, or checked into a hotel, or driven around aimlessly until my parents were done hosting the whole complex.
But instead, I ended up here. At Gavin’s.
The place smells freshly cleaned—soap, something woodsy, and that telltale trace of disinfectant.
I drop my bag on the edge of the bed and flop backward, staring up at the ceiling. God. He wasn’t kidding. This mattress is heaven.
It’s been a long time since I’ve done something this impulsive. I wish I could blame it on ADHD, or low blood sugar, or cosmic interference, but the truth is simpler: I wanted to see him.
That realization hits me like a punch to the ribs.
I wanted to see him.
Even after spending the better portion of the day together, faking a marriage, I still drove here.
I don’t know what that says about me, but it’s probably nothing good.
I roll onto my side, facing the window. Outside, the pool glows faint blue under the deck lights, rippling every few seconds from the breeze. Beyond that, the vineyard stretches like a dark ocean, and for the first time all day, I feel myself relax.
Which means, of course, my brain chooses now to replay the moment I showed up at his door.
The way he looked—barefoot, hair loose and a little damp from a shower, T-shirt clinging to him in all the right ways. He smelled like clean linen and pine. Behind his glasses, his eyes were bright, like he was happy to see me—though I might’ve been imagining that part.
And that voice—low, deep, the kind that sends goosebumps skimming across my skin, even when he’s just saying hey.
I groan and press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “You’re a disaster,” I whisper to the empty room.
Because what kind of sane person drives across town to the house of the guy who kissed her in a moment that wasn’t supposed to mean anything—and can’t stop wondering why it felt like everything?
