Page 55 of Bottle Shock
It would be so easy to close that space. And God, I want to.
But then he steps back, the moment breaking under the sudden press of reality.
“I should let you get some sleep,” he says, voice strained.
“Right.” My breath catches. “Sleep.”
He hesitates, like he wants to say something else. Then he gives a small nod and turns toward the main house.
I watch him walk across the patio, the pool light reflecting off his shoulders.
When he’s gone, I close the door and lean back against it, pressing a hand to my chest.
My heart is still racing, but for the first time all day, I don’t feel quite so restless.
I uncover the plate for a quick inspection. I already ate but the thought means more than I can fully comprehend myself. It’s simple, thoughtful, and completely him.
Because it’s not about the food—it’s about someone thinking about you when they didn’t have to.
And that, I realize, is exactly why he terrifies me. Because Gavin isn’t just anyone—and letting myself get tangled up in him will only hurt more in the end.
The first thing I see when I wake up is a pair of unnervingly blue eyes staring into mine. For a disorienting second, I think I’ve died and a small Victorian ghost has come to claim me.
Then the ghost speaks. “You sleep weird.”
I sit up too fast, nearly banging my head on the headboard. “Jesus, Lily!”
She continues to stare, entirely unbothered. “Dad said you’re our guest, so I’m supposed to be extra nice.”
“Did he now?” I mutter, still waking up.
“I was watching you breathe. You made a snort noise.”
“Thanks for the observation.”
She grins, toothy and adorable. “Dad said to ask if you want breakfast. He’s making green juice.” She cups a hand around her mouth. “Don’t drink it. It tastes like grass.”
Her expression has me fighting a laugh. “Doesn’t sound very appetizing.” I glance toward the window, where sunlight is bleeding through the curtains. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight. Dad said he’d make waffles if you came.” She bounces once on her heels. “You’ll come, right?”
She says it like there’s only one correct answer. I sigh, already smiling. “Waffles sound delicious.”
“Yay!” She takes off down the path toward the main house, hair flying like a small hurricane in pajamas.
Before I even roll out of bed, I check my blood sugar, and lucky me, it’s in range. That’s one thing going right today.
I dig through my bag, praying something in there qualifies as an outfit. I come up with a pair of shorts and a random tank top. My hair’s a tangled mess, so I twist it into a ponytail and hope it reads as intentional. Toothbrush. Splash of water. Swipe of deodorant.
Outside, the air is already warm and sweet, carrying the faint smell of yeast and fruit from the vineyard. I pad across the patio, flip-flops slapping, and find the back door unlocked.
“Knock, knock?” I call, steppinginside.
“Morning,” Gavin calls back from the kitchen. He’s in basketball shorts and a cut-off T-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide his large biceps. There’s just something about a hot man in the kitchen. If this is how the day starts, I might finally become a morning person.
He’s got one hand on a juicer that sounds like it’s pulverizing an entire garden and the other reaching for a mixing bowl. When the machine finally sputters to a stop, he pours something violently green into a glass before turning his attention to a bowl of batter.
He catches me eyeing the glass. “Before you judge, it’s spinach, cucumber, green apple, ginger, lemon, and kale.”
