Page 13 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Malcolm

Meds were sorted into neat rows, labels all facing forward like a parade of tiny soldiers.

Gideon crouched near the bottom shelf, restocking the flea treatments and muttering something under his breath about alphabetical order.

His hair had fallen into his eyes again.

He didn’t notice, too focused, one hand braced against the cupboard door for balance while the other reached behind him blindly for the next box.

I leaned in the doorway of the treatment room, arms crossed, watching him crouch in front of the meds shelf.

For too damn long.

“Jesus,” I muttered, peeling myself away from the doorframe like it had betrayed me. You’re staring. Again.

He hadn’t noticed. Or if he had, he was pretending not to—which, given how often I caught myself doing this lately, was probably for the best.

“Did you know goats have rectangular pupils?” I said.

He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Is this a pop quiz?”

“Random trivia,” I said, stepping in to grab a clipboard from the side counter, not because it needed checking but because I needed something to look at that wasn’t his forearms or the way his shirt clung to his back when he stretched.

“Helps them see almost 360 degrees. Good for spotting predators.”

“Huh.” He slid another box into place. “So… nature’s security cameras.”

I made a noncommittal sound, flipping the chart just for something to do.

He smirked. “What else you got?”

“Penguins propose with pebbles. Sloths can hold their breath longer than dolphins. And a shrimp’s heart is in its head.”

“That last one sounds like it should be a metaphor,” he said, sliding another box into place.

Before I could answer, the phone rang from reception. “I’ll get that.”

He nodded, already back to stacking.

I left him in the treatment room and crossed the short hall to reception. The front windows glared with midday light, the scent of antiseptic trailing faintly behind me.

By the time I’d wrapped up the call with Mrs. Dwyer about her cat’s follow-up appointment, I could hear Gideon’s voice somewhere down the hall—low and coaxing. He must’ve moved to the boarding room.

Then came a squawk, sharp enough to cut through the walls, followed by a string of mumbled curses.

My body moved on autopilot—away from the reception desk, down the hall, toward the scent of seed and feathers.

Inside, Gideon was standing just beyond Sunny’s cage, his shoulders tense, one hand cradled in the other. The yellow parrot sat puffed up on his perch, head cocked, eyes bright and unrepentant—like he’d just defended his honor and won.

“Are you okay?”

Gideon shook his hand, eyes watering slightly. “Drew blood. Again. That bird has it out for me.”

“Let me see.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. Come here.”

He sighed but crossed the room anyway, cradling his hand. I reached for the first-aid box without taking my eyes off him.

“It’s nothing serious,” he insisted. “Barely a scratch.”

“Which is exactly how infections start. Sit.”

He dropped onto the stool beside me, reluctant but compliant. I reached for the first-aid box on the shelf near Sunny’s perch, flipping it open without taking my eyes off him. The nick wasn’t deep, but fresh enough to make him flinch when I dabbed on antiseptic.

“Breathe,” I murmured.

He blew out a slow breath through his nose, gaze fixed on my hands.

A stray lock of hair slid toward his eyes, catching the light.

Before I’d thought it through, my fingers brushed it back.

I told myself it was so I could watch his reaction to the antiseptic, but my hand lingered a fraction too long for that to be the only reason.

His eyes lifted to mine, and for a moment the air seemed to thin—sharp and aware, like stepping into sunlight after shade.

I looked away first, busying myself with the gauze. No reason to dwell on it. Not when it was nothing, when it couldn’t be anything.

“Parrot’s got good aim,” I said softly.

“Sunny’s a tyrant,” he muttered.

My mouth curved. “We’ll go with that.”

I focused on the bandage, not the way our knees were nearly touching or how his palm fit so easily against mine. Not the faint tremor in my fingertips or how I could feel the warmth of him even through my skin.

Our hands lingered together longer than they should have. Long enough for something in me to start mapping the shape of the moment, like I’d want to find my way back to it.

I pressed the adhesive down, smoothing the edges with my thumb before finally—finally—letting go.

“There. Protected from evil birds.”

His laugh was soft, barely there. “Thanks.”

I stood, needing the distance but hating it too. “Try not to get into any more fights with the patients, yeah?”

“No promises.”

I busied myself with returning the first-aid box to its place, aware of the faint warmth still lingering in my hands. When I glanced back, Gideon was already moving to check on the next boarding cage, head bent, the smallest smile on his face like the whole thing had been nothing.

Maybe it was.

I told myself it was.

But it made me think about how rarely I’d felt that kind of shift with anyone.

Not since my ex-wife Angela, back when we were young and in love and thought that would be enough.

And for a long time, it had been. What we had was real—steady, warm, the kind of love you can build a life on.

Until I learned it wasn’t the whole of what I needed. Not for me. Not forever.

I didn’t feel jealous when I saw that post of Angela with her new guy last year.

Maybe a flicker of surprise, but definitely not jealousy.

It was the timing that got me. I’d just had one of the worst weeks I could remember, and then bam—there she was, wine glass in hand, some guy’s arm around her shoulders.

She looked happy. Not smug or spiteful. Just… settled.

It hit harder than I expected. Not because I wanted her back—I didn’t—but because I realized I wasn’t sure what I wanted at all.

That was around the time Noah, one of my patients’ owners, set me up with his best friend Christian. I said “set me up,” but really it was more like he slid it into the conversation so smoothly I didn’t have a chance to say no.

I still laughed about it sometimes.

With Christian, there weren’t any sparks. No awkward tension. No follow-up texts. Just a weird night and a good story… and the two best friends are now a happily married couple.

Noah said he thought I might be open to dating a guy and had apologized for making the assumption.

I hadn’t been, not really. But I also hadn’t been mad at Noah.

What did that mean?

The truth was, I liked who I was. I still did. I wasn’t in crisis, wasn’t having some midlife awakening. And yet… every time Gideon looked at me, the world seemed to rearrange itself. Not everything. Not all at once. Just… enough.

It wasn’t like with Christian. It wasn’t a lark or a dare or some kind of band-aid after Angela. It was something that kept drawing me closer, not in a rush, not all at once, but with the kind of certainty that made resistance feel pointless.

Sleep had been a brief visitor.

Something pulled me from it—maybe a sound, maybe just the weight of thought pressing in after lights-out.

I’d been thinking about Gideon again, that much I remembered.

The way he’d brushed his fingers through Dennis’s fur earlier—absent-minded, but with more tenderness than he ever gave himself.

I didn’t even notice when I drifted off.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand. 12:17 a.m.

No noise now. Not even the wind in the trees. Just the stillness that settles over small towns after midnight.

I pushed out of bed and padded to the back window. From here, I could see the edge of the yard behind the clinic.

Gideon was out there.

The moon caught the outline of him by the fence—shoulders tense, arms folded like he was holding himself together.

Bare chest, bare back, tattoos shadowed in silver light.

Just a pair of dark pajama pants slung low on his hips.

August nights here weren’t cold, but they weren’t exactly forgiving either.

Still, he stood there like the chill belonged to him.

I pulled on a hoodie over my sleep shirt and stepped outside. The grass was cool and damp under my feet, the night air heavy enough to feel.

He didn’t turn, but I saw the moment he knew I was there—a subtle shift in his posture, a pause in his breathing.

I stopped beside him, leaving a strip of space between us. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Didn’t try,” he said, voice low.

“Needed air?”

“Something like that.”

My gaze caught on him again before I could help it—bare chest, ink I’d only ever seen hidden under sleeves winding across his skin. Broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, the kind of shape that made my pulse misbehave.

“Guess shirts are optional for midnight walks?” I said, aiming for light but hearing the weight under it.

The corner of his mouth curved. “Didn’t know I needed clearance from the medical board.”

I almost smiled. “We’re strict about these things.”

Silence settled in, not heavy but not light either.

“You were good with the old beagle today,” I said, because it was true.

“He was sweet. Let me hold him like he’d known me forever.”

“That’s how they are. Animals don’t wait to be sure.”

He gave the smallest nod. His gaze had gone somewhere else again, someplace I couldn’t follow. I wanted to ask, to push—but the look on his face told me I couldn’t go there.

So I didn’t.

“Alright,” I said quietly. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Go on,” he murmured. “I’ll be in soon.”

Something about the way he said it—calm, certain—made it harder to leave than it should’ve been. But I stepped back, giving him the space he clearly wanted.

I went inside.

Sleep didn’t come any easier.