Page 54 of Bottle Shock
My heart does this annoying fluttery thing just remembering it—the warmth of his body flush with mine, the taste of his lips, his beard rasping against my skin, the cool edge ofhis glasses catching my temple, the way he gripped my waist like he couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or let me go.
I tell myself to stop, to think about literally anything else. But my brain is nothing if not stubborn.
So instead, I think about the way he looked tonight when I caught him mid-explanation about his sourdough starter.He was so sciencey and passionate, talking about bread like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
And the way he’d blushed when he realized it.
My cheeks warm thinking about it. I can still hear his voice, the subtle pride under the embarrassment. The man has no idea how hot it is when he talks about things he loves.
I kick off my shoes and curl up on my side. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel stupid about this—about showing up unannounced and asking to stay. But right now, I’m going to let myself enjoy something I haven’t had since the townhouse caught on fire.
A really good fucking mattress.
I close my eyes, and for a second, I let myself pretend this is normal—that there’s not a whole world of reasons why this is a bad idea.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
I lurch upright, my pulse spiking. It’s not a loud knock—just two short taps. But my stomach does that stupid swoopy thing again, because there’s only one person it could be.
I swing my legs off the bed and pad barefoot to the door. When I open it, Gavin is standing there, holding a small plate covered with foil.
He looks sheepish, one hand shoved in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bug you.”
My lips curve before I can stop them. “Pretty sure I bugged you first.”
He holds up the plate. “I thought—you probably didn’t eat dinner. Figured your blood sugar might tank overnight.”
I blink at him, thrown. “You brought me food?”
He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Spaghetti, sourdough garlic bread, cheese, and a couple of apple slices. It’s not gourmet, but it’s something.”
He could’ve shown up here and whipped out his dick, and I think I’d still be less surprised than I am right now. My diabetes has usually been more of an inconvenience to the men in my life. Most people don’t really know how to help, so I stopped expecting them to. You get used to handling it on your own, even when it can feel isolating.
And then there’s Gavin—who barely knows anything about the disease—and he’s already helping. I didn’t have to ask. He just knew.
“That’s really sweet,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
He nods once, eyes flashing to mine. “Yeah, well. I can’t have anything happening to my wife.” He winks—obviously joking, trying to lighten the moment.
Meanwhile, I’m still stuck onwifeand how that one word makes everything inside me go warm and gooey.
I take the plate from him, our fingers making just enough contact to spark that static I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“No problem.” He lingers, eyes dropping to my mouth before flicking back up. The air between us shifts, tightening.
It’s ridiculous how fast my heartbeat picks up. I swear he can hear it.
“Gav,” I start, but his name comes out softer than I mean it to—like a plea.
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh, left the back door unlocked. If you need anything. Extra blankets, more food, anything.”
“I appreciate it,” I say, and it comes out thin, like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
He gives a slow nod, but he doesn’t move to leave. For along second, we stand there in the doorway, caught in that suspended moment where neither of us seems willing to break whatever this is.
I don’t know which of us leans in first, only that he’s suddenly closer. And because he’s at least a foot taller, I have to look up. The shift is small, but it feels seismic—close enough to see the green in his hazel eyes, close enough to feel the warmth radiating between us.
