Page 77 of Finding Gideon

The door swung open to reveal Noah, tall and warm-eyed, a drink still in his hand. His face lit up. “Well, look who it is.”

“Hey,” Malcolm said easily. Then, with a hand brushing the small of my back, he added, “Noah, this is Gideon.”

I swallowed, shifting the laundry basket to my other side.

“Gideon.” Noah smiled like the name already belonged in his mouth. “Good to finally meet you. Come on in.”

“Good to meet you too,” I managed, hoping the words didn’t sound as stiff as they felt.

Noah’s grin widened, warm and easy, like he could sense the nerves and was smoothing them down without making a thing of it.

We followed him down the hallway. Christian was at the counter, knife in hand, slicing something on a cutting board. He glanced up, his expression curious until Malcolm supplied, “Christian, this is Gideon.”

Christian set the knife aside and gave me a quick once-over that ended in a nod. “Good to meet you.”

“Same here,” I said.

His gaze flicked to the basket. “What’ve you got there?”

“Apples,” Malcolm said, handing him a sack. “From Sweet Haven. Picked them ourselves.”

Christian’s grin spread as he peeked inside. “Well, well,” he said, looking at me with a mischievous grin. “So you’re the guy who finally got this one to slow down long enough to pick apples.”

Heat crept up my neck, but the teasing in his tone made me laugh. “Guilty.”

Noah’s smile was easy as he looked at me. “We’re glad you’re here, Gideon.”

“Thanks,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t give away the nervous hum in my chest.

They didn’t talk over me or treat me like a guest who wouldn’t be sticking around. When Noah offered me a drink, he used my name. When Christian asked what I did back in Oregon, he actually waited for the answer. I didn’t have to prove myself or shrink or explain.

Too soon it was time for us to finish making our apple deliveries.

Before I knew it, we were saying our goodbyes, the next stop on our delivery list calling, but I caught Malcolm’s hand as we stepped outside. It didn’t matter how many doors we knocked on—this was the one that had opened something inside me.

On the way back to Malcolm’s, I felt something soft open in my chest.

Not just about him.

Aboutthis—all of it. The porch lights, the quiet streets, the wind chimes and rocking chairs. The way people saw you and called you by name. Not because you earned it, but because you belonged here.

I wanted that.

I wanted to belong.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe I did.

Chapter 25

Malcolm

Gideon was lounging on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, Dennis snoring against his thigh like some protective little gremlin. A paperback was balanced in one hand, the cover half-hidden by his fingers but not enough to disguise the shirtless men and sunset in the background. He’d told me once he hadn’t picked up a novel in years—until someone at the clinic left a copy ofThe Fault in Our Starsbehind, and he’d read the first chapter out of boredom. Now he was halfway through his third gay romance, and judging by the faint smile tugging at his mouth, thoroughly enjoying it. My boyfriend looked so at home, so completely settled in this house, it almost undid me.

We’d just finished cleaning the kitchen—well, I’d washed while Gideon dried and hummed off-key. He’d made a mess of the counters with an apple cobbler experiment, but I hadn’t minded. Still didn’t.

Phone in hand, I lingered in the kitchen doorway, thumb hovering over the screen. Nothing unusual about it. I’d called them last week, same way, just at a different time.

They loved me. I knew that. They’d loved me even when I’d gotten married too young, even when that marriage didn’t last. Even when I’d changed my entire life and moved to a place thatmade Stars Hollow look like a metropolis. They would love me now too.