Page 84 of Finding Gideon

And maybe this thing with Malcolm—this slow, careful, beautiful thing—was the first time I’d felt enough, safe enough,knownenough to want more.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until Dennis climbed onto the couch and nudged at my knee with his snout.

“Thanks, bud,” I whispered, ruffling his fur.

I wiped my face and opened a private browser window.

I wasn’t rushing things. I wasn’t even sure how far I wanted to go. But I wanted to be ready when I was sure.

And Iwantedit—with Malcolm.

I ordered a bottle of lube, some condoms, and a plain silicone toy that looked less scary than the rest. Chose express delivery. My stomach fluttered when I hit confirm.

Not because I was nervous. But because I was excited. And that, more than anything, felt like a beginning.

When the doorbell rang, I had a spatula in my hand.

Dennis barked once—more of a lazy grumble than a warning—and went right back to napping on his side of the couch, feet twitching like he was chasing something in his dreams.

I yanked the door open, half-expecting it to be Malcolm, even though I knew he was at the conference in Santa Rosa.

Instead, there stood Reuben.

Grinning like he’d just caught me mid-crime.

“Well, hey there, sunshine,” he said. “You baking or redecorating?”

I looked down at the streak of flour on my shirt, sighed, and wiped it half-heartedly with the back of my wrist. “A little of both, apparently.”

Reuben held out a medium-sized box. It was plain brown, no markings except the shipping label. But I knew what was inside. And I really, really didn’t want to have this conversation.

He didn’t hand it over. Just let it hover there between us, like a baited hook.

“You get a lot of packages?” he asked, cocking his head. “I feel like this is the third one this week.”

“Second,” I said, reaching for it.

He pulled it slightly out of reach. “Dog treats? You finally giving that rescue some gourmet kibble?”

“His name is Dennis,” I said, my tone bone dry. “And no. Not dog treats.”

Reuben looked down at the label like it might spill state secrets. “Fulfillment Center, Sacramento,” he muttered, then gave me a look. “That’s vague as hell.” Then, a dramatic pause. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Espresso machine parts?”

I snorted. “Do I look like I’m fixing an espresso machine?”

“You look like you haven’t slept in three days and you live off caffeine and chaos,” he said, unbothered. “Which makes this package suspect.”

I deadpanned, “It’s not as exciting as you’re hoping, Reuben.” I held out my hand, flat-palmed. “Now hand it over.”

Reuben sighed dramatically but finally released the box into my hands. “One of these days, I’m gonna guess right.”

“Not today.” I was so tempted to shut the door before he could say more, but he squinted past me into the house.

“That the start of a book fort I see in the corner?”

“It’s two stacks of novels, not a fort.”

“Uh-huh.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You know what I think this is?”