“Howard Hughes.”
“Yes. My dad’s gonna think you’re Howard Hughes—or, worse, he’s gonna think you’re trying to buy his affection.”
Josh winces like I’ve punched him in the stomach. “Shit. I just wanted to give your dad something he’d really, really like.”
“I know, babe, but it’s too extravagant. I’m sorry.”
Josh exhales. “Well, shit.” He looks crestfallen. “If an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of Scotch is too extravagant to give your dad, then Ireallyscrewed the pooch here.”
I pause, processing what Josh is trying to say. “It’s not an eight-hundred-dollar bottle?” I ask.
Josh shakes his head.
“Oh, Josh,” I say gasping. “Eightthousand?”
He nods. “I called my uncle to ask for a recommendation and he insisted on sending me a bottle of the good stuff from his private collection.”
“Oh my God.Josh. If my dad knew how much that bottle was worth, he’d never open it. He’d sell it and finally take my mom to Hawaii, instead.”
Josh’s face lights up. “Your parents have never been to Hawaii? What about your brothers? Do you think they’d like to go, too?”
“Josh, focus. You’re not taking the entire Morgan clan to Hawaii. We’re talking about Scotch.”
Josh laughs. “You read my mind.”
“I know I did.”
“It’d be fun, though, wouldn’t it?”
I laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I know I am. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be fun.”
“Oh, it’d definitely be fun,” I say.
“Maybe after Colby’s feeling better and the baby’s born we could take a big family trip to celebrate both?”
I smile. This is the first time I’ve heard Josh make future plans. “Maybe.” I bite my lip, my heart bursting. “That would be incredible.”
“Then we’ll do it. It’s a plan.”
“I love you, Josh.”
I’ve never seen Josh smile quite so big. “God, I love it when you say that,” he says. “I love you, too.”
My entire body’s tingling. “Well, you’ve artfully distracted me, my darling Playboy. I was telling you to put the Scotch in the car.”
Josh’s facial expression morphs from elation to disappointment. “I’d hate to meet your dad empty-handed.”
“You’re not empty-handed, babe—you’ve got pie and wine and flowers. That’s plenty. Maybe you can give my Dad an eight-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch to celebrate him becoming a grandfather when the baby comes. You know, once he already loves you and knows you’re not a hermit-tycoon-weirdo.”
Josh’s shoulders droop. “Okay.”
I hand Josh the Scotch and he hands me the wine bottle to hold in return. “I’ll be right back,” he says, turning around and heading toward the car.
“Hang on,” I say, the hair on my neck standing up again.
Josh stops and looks at me expectantly.
