Chapter 22
Gavin
I CAN KEEP A SECRET
After eighteen long months, my secret project is finally close to being complete.
On the bench in front of me sits the latest test bottle—cold, beaded with condensation.
I’m almost tempted not to open it because it’s taken this long to get here; if it’s a failure, I’ll have to start over from scratch.
I tilt the glass and pour a few ounces. Tiny streams of bubbles rush upward, tight and fast. I release an exhale—so far, so good.
Looks like the secondary fermentation held.
If this one passes, it’ll be a first for Ledger—a house sparkling wine, made here start to finish. We’ve done whites, reds, rosés. But bubbles? That’s a new frontier.
I bring the glass to my mouth and take a slow sip.
Bright. Crisp. The acid cuts clean through the center, the bubbles sharp before softening into a smooth finish.
And best of all, it’ll have the lowest carb count of anything we’ve ever bottled—just under a gram per glass.
When I started playing around with the idea of a bubbly, low-carb wine, it was to appeal to the current health trends. I wanted to create something light but still worthy of the Ledger name. What I didn’t expect was how much I’d start thinking about Scottie while doing it—especially lately.
It’s one thing to be aware of her diabetes, but it’s another to actually see how much it impacts her life. Every single thing she consumes has to be accounted for. It’s a never-ending balancing act.
It’s silly, really—because even if the carbs are low, she’d still have to keep an eye on her levels. But maybe with this, she could actually indulge a little. Not worry so much about having to fix a spike or a crash later.
I take another sip to confirm my first impression and set the glass down just as my phone lights up beside me. Wiping my hands on a rag, I glance down.
Ethan
My office. Now.
I rack my brain trying to think of what he could want. It’s probably something to do with harvest—an emergency that isn’t really an emergency.
I tuck the bottle into the fridge so it doesn’t warm and head for the stairs. The lab is far enough from the main building that I have to grab one of the company trucks to get there.
Inside, the winery is buzzing. Guests are lined up outside the packed tasting room while others wander the grounds, wine in hand.
I weave through the crowd and make my way upstairs to Ethan’s office.
Tawny, Ethan’s admin—and our cousin—looks up the second I walk in. Her mouth twitches.
“He’s here,” she calls out toward Ethan’s door before setting her focus back on me. “You’re in so much trouble.”
Something about her shit-eating smirk throws me. I’d assumed Ethan summoned me because he was being his usual anxious self, not because I’d actually done something wrong. Now I’m not so sure.
“What did I do?” I ask.
She leans forward, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “You tell me.”
Well, that was cryptic. Then again, Tawny’s nothing if not a shit-stirrer.
I knock once and push in. Ethan’s behind the desk, sleeves rolled, sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed. Tawny follows me in and closes the door.
“What’s up?” I ask, taking a seat.
Ethan doesn’t drag it out. “Why did you add another dependent to your insurance?” His brow lifts. “Do you have another secret kid you forgot to mention?”
Jesus Christ. He acts like I showed up with Lily out of the blue.
As soon as I found out she was mine, my first call was to my family—who immediately dropped everything and came to the hospital to meet her, to support me.
It’s not like I walked through the door during family dinner with a baby no one had ever heard of.
I’d worried the insurance change might get noticed by Ethan, but I should’ve been more worried about Tawny. She’s basically our HR department since we’re not big enough to have a real one—and she doesn’t miss shit. In fact, sometimes I think she’s looking for it.
“What? No.” My laugh is quick and maybe a little defensive.
Ethan just stares. “Then what is it?” His voice is calm—the kind of calm that means he’s not moving on until I answer.
I exhale, dragging a hand over my jaw. I could lie, but coming up with something believable sounds a hell of a lot harder than just telling him the truth. I trust Ethan. It’s Tawny I’m worried about. She’s not malicious, but discretion isn’t exactly her strong suit.
Ethan, apparently reading my mind, lifts his chin toward her. “Give us some privacy.”
She scoffs. “You two are the worst. I can keep a secret, I promise.”
I love her, but no. She can’t.
Our silence must be answer enough because she groans, mutters something about always being left out of the juicy shit, and finally leaves, the door clicking shut behind her.
Once I’m sure she’s gone, I tell him the truth. “It’s Scottie.”
Ethan’s face twists. “Scottie? How does she— Wait. You can’t just make anyone a dependent. What did you do?”
I clear my throat, meeting his eyes so he knows I’m not joking. “I married her.”
He doesn’t react right away, just stares at me like I’ve grown two heads right in front of him.
“She needed coverage for a while,” I explain, “and the house thing is a little tricky. The sellers have their minds set on selling to a family, so we’re playing the part.”
Ethan rubs his jaw, still processing. “You and Scottie are married?” He blinks. “When? How? Does Elyse know?”
I give him a short explanation, leaving out the part where I’ve had feelings for Scottie for years—and that those feelings are starting to turn into something a lot more serious the more time I spend with her.
“And no, Elyse doesn’t know,” I add. “This is temporary. We’re not telling anyone, and I’d appreciate it if you kept it between us.”
Ethan lets out a slow breath, sitting back in his chair. “All right,” he says finally. “I’ll keep it quiet.”
Relief hits me fast—but it doesn’t last long.
“With one exception,” he adds.
My spine stiffens. “What exception?”
“Marisa.” His tone doesn’t waver. “I’m telling Marisa. I don’t keep secrets from her.”
Of course he doesn’t. I open my mouth to argue, then stop myself. Marisa’s solid. She won’t say anything. She’s already family in everything but name—and any day now, Ethan’s going to make that official.
“Fine,” I say. “You can tell Marisa.”
He studies me for another beat, lips twitching like he wants to smile but thinks better of it. “You know,” he says finally, “I’d tell you this is a bad idea, but I’m guessing you already know that.”
He’s not wrong. But part of me can’t help enjoying the recklessness of it.
I’ve been playing it safe for so long I forgot what it feels like to do something dangerous. And everything about Scottie screams warning. Too beautiful. Too tempting. Too fucking good for me.