Page 9 of Finding Gideon

We were about the same height, give or take, but Gideon was leaner, his strength threaded through muscle and sinew instead of bulk. The kind you didn’t earn under fluorescent lights with barbells. His came from work that never let up, the kind that left calluses and quiet endurance in its wake.

I told myself that’s all I noticed. Just sizing him up. Making sure he wasn’t hurt, wasn’t struggling.

But the easy way he moved, the quiet competence—yeah, it got under my skin a little… but I don't know why.

He wasn’t trying to take up space. Wasn’t demanding anything.

And somehow, he already felt like he belonged here.

I cleared my throat, stepping fully into the room. "You don't have to do that."

Gideon looked up, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Figured it was the least I could do. It was making noises like it was possessed."

His voice was warm.

I found myself smiling back before I even thought about it. "Yeah, it does that."

He stood, easy and unhurried, and wiped his hands on his jeans. The screwdriver clinked quietly as he set it on the table.

"Coffee's on," he said, nodding toward the kitchen. "Hope that's okay?"

Hope. Not assumption.

Something twisted in my chest.

"Yeah," I said, voice rough. "Yeah, that's—thanks."

He grabbed a mug from the rack by the sink and glanced over his shoulder.

"How do you take it?"

"Black," I said. Simple, no fuss.

He poured, then handed me the mug without a word, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest second.

Just a simple thing.

But it sank deeper than I expected, leaving a faint ache in its wake.

I took a sip, wincing a little at the sharp, almost smoky bite. "You make it strong enough to strip paint."

Gideon’s mouth quirked into that half-smile again, almost shy. "Old habit. Never know when you’re going to need to stay awake."

I huffed out a quiet laugh, taking another sip. “It’s fine. I’m not picky.”

He leaned against the opposite counter, cradling his own mug between his hands. His hair was a mess—flattened on one side, sticking up in the back—and he hadn't shaved, rough stubble darkening his jaw.

For reasons I didn't dig too deeply into, I found myself cataloging every detail.

Maybe just because it was rare to have someone else in my space.

Maybe because he fit here too damn easily.

After a few more sips, Gideon set his mug down with a soft clink. "Should probably check on our little guest," he said, voice low. "Make sure he made it through the night okay."

Our.

I didn’t know why that hit me square in the chest.