Page 104 of Finding Gideon

“You were made for this, you know,” I said.

He glanced down at the lamb, then up at me. “I didn’t believe that before. But I do now.” He paused. “I just needed someone to tell me.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

He frowned a little. “What do you mean?”

“You showed me,” I said.

His brow lifted, just a little. Like he was searching for a comeback and couldn’t find one. Then he leaned into me, resting his forehead against the crook of my neck.

I closed my eyes. Curled one arm around his back, hand settling at the curve of his waist.

We stood like that for a while, breathing in sync. The barn was quiet, except for the faint rustle of hay and the soft, steady sound of the lamb’s breathing.

He smelled like earth and sweat and shampoo. Warm. Familiar now.

I pressed my nose into his hair. Inhaled.

He hadn’t said the words yet.

But maybe he didn’t have to.

Maybe I already knew.

He shifted slightly, pulled back enough to look up at me. His eyes were soft, uncertain. Like he was weighing something.

“Malcolm?”

“Yeah?”

His hand came up, fingers brushing lightly over my chest, then curling into the fabric of my shirt near the collar. His lips parted. Hesitated.

“I lo?—”

A weak noise cut through the air—half cough, half bleat.

Both of us froze.

Gideon’s head snapped toward the crate. The lamb stirred, let out another frail, breathy sound.

“I—one sec,” Gideon said, already moving. He knelt beside the crate again, hands gentle but sure as he checked the lamb over, murmuring something too soft to catch.

The moment slipped out from between us—not broken. Just… waiting.

I watched him, heart full to the brim.

He hadn’t said it.

Not yet.

But I still heard it.

I watched him go—gentle hands brushing over the little body, fingers pressing lightly against its side to check for breath.

I could’ve said it then. The words were right there.

But this—letting him find his own way to it—this felt more important.