Page 73 of Finding Gideon

When he looked back at me, the sunlight caught on his skin, his hair, the curve of his smile. Something inside me lit up and expanded, a quiet awe rising with every heartbeat.

I wasn’t used to thinking of men as beautiful. But here he was—flushed from kissing me, lips still parted, eyes still warm from it all.

“You’re beautiful when you’re like this,” I said before I could stop myself.

His brows lifted, but the surprise softened almost instantly. “Like what?”

“Sun on your skin. Smiling. Happy.”

He stepped closer again, brushing my arm with his. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’m going to forget about the apples.”

My mouth curved. “Who says I’m here for the apples?”

His gaze dropped briefly—to my mouth, then lower—and when it came back up, it was full of that same slow-burn promise from before. “Guess we better pick fast, then.”

Later, we found a shady spot between two twisted trees and dropped down onto the grass, apples scattered between us. The sun dappled through the branches and the breeze had calmed, warm and steady now. Gideon leaned back on his hands and took a bite from an apple without looking. One chew. Two. Then he grimaced.

“Too ripe,” he mumbled, juice running down his chin.

“Hold still.”

I leaned in before I could think twice, catching the drip with my thumb before it slipped past his jaw. My skin brushed his. Warm. Soft. He stilled under my touch, eyes on me.

I brought my thumb to my mouth.

His gaze flicked to my lips. I felt the change in him, the tension rising in that tiny, charged pocket of air between us. Neither of us said anything. My thumb hovered for a second longer before I let it fall.

Then he gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You’re such a weirdo.”

I huffed a soft laugh of my own. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what? Stealing my juice?”

“Saving you from a sticky demise.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

I smiled back, easy. “Could’ve let it drip down your shirt.”

He turned his face toward me, amusement giving way to something quieter. Softer.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t.”

The orchard felt still around us, like the trees were holding their breath.

We shifted closer, backs to the tree trunk, his leg pressed lightly against mine. He rested his head on my shoulder.

“I’m glad you came,” I said.

He nodded, looking down at the grass, then back at me.

“And I want you to know…” My throat felt tight. “What we have—it’s not just sex for me.”

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy in a way that settled in my chest, like the moment right before you say something you can’t take back.

“I know,” he said, voice low. A beat passed. “It’s not just sex for me either.”