Page 61 of Bottle Shock
He hesitates, and for a second, I think he’s going to drop it. But then he meets my eyes again, that same steady calm I’ve come to recognize as Gavin to his core.
“I think I have an idea that could solve your problem.” His tone is cautious, voice hesitant.
I frown. “Unless you’re about to tell me you’re secretly a health insurance fairy, I’m not sure?—”
“Marry me.”
The words hit the air between us, and everything inside me stutters.
“What?”
He doesn’t flinch. “You heard me.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
He moves closer, crouching again so we’re eye level. “You need coverage. I have it. We’re already pretending to be married for the house. Why not make it real? Marry me, Scottie.”
CHAPTER 17
Gavin
WRONG TIMING
“Have you lost your mind?” Scottie eases back from me, and I try to pretend her need for space doesn’t sting.
I straighten, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Think about it. No strings. No pressure. Just paperwork. You’ll be covered, and no one has to know.”
For a second after I say it, the room goes completely still.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think even the air stopped moving.
Scottie’s staring at me like I’ve just suggested we bury a body together. Which, in hindsight, might’ve been a less shocking idea.
Her mouth opens and closes once, twice, before she finally manages, “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I keep my tone calm and even. “You need coverage. I have it. It’s simple paperwork. That’s all.”
“Simple paperwork?” She lets out a disbelieving laugh—half hysteria, half panic. “You do realize that ‘paperwork’ is a legal marriage license, right? That’s not a permission slip for a fieldtrip, Gavin.”
“I’m aware.”
Her eyes narrow, arms crossing like her body is rejecting the idea as loudly as her voice. “Do you hear yourself? This is insane.”
“What’s insane about it? It sounds like a practical solution to me.”
She stares at me, like she can’t decide whether to yell or laugh. “Practical. Just what every girl dreams of hearing during a proposal.”
She shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose, and that’s when it hits me how badly I’ve messed this up.
I was so focused on the logic of it, I forgot what a proposal means. She’s probably spent her whole life picturing a man who loves her enough to ask for forever, and now I’ve gone and ruined that moment for her.
If things were different—if we lived in some alternate version of our lives where I didn’t have to choose between someone else’s happiness and my own—maybe I could be that man. But I’m not uprooting my daughter’s world to follow Scottie back to Chicago. And I sure as hell won’t be the reason she gives up on her dreams.
So here we are—me asking for the closest thing I’ll ever get to having her, even if it’s not real.
Unfortunately, I have to remain practical. Otherwise, I’ll start wanting things that aren’t meant for me. “You need health insurance. I have health insurance. You’re already pretending to be my wife for the sake of getting the house. This would just make it official.”
“Oh my God.” She drops her face into her hands, muffled words slipping through her fingers. “You’re not actually suggesting we do this.”
