Page 16 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Gideon

A week slid by, thick with silence. Not the brittle kind that cracks under pressure, but something quieter.

Patient. Malcolm didn’t hover, didn’t prod.

He just moved through the house like a steady rhythm I couldn’t block out if I tried—his footsteps in the hall, the scrape of a mug against the counter, the occasional soft hum when he thought no one was listening.

I noticed all of it.

Gratitude sat in my throat, half-formed. The weight of that phone call with my parents hadn’t eased. It sat behind my ribs, dull and bruising, the edges blunted by time but no less present.

The last person who’d seen me cry was Garrett. And he was gone.

Some days, I could breathe without feeling like my chest was caving in—but even that carried its own kind of guilt. Like letting the ache ease meant I was leaving him behind.

I was rinsing out a coffee mug when the clinic doorbells chimed, followed by a quiet, purposeful shuffle and the whisper of nails on tile.

Malcolm’s voice came a beat later. “Zuri?”

I turned, still holding the mug.

The woman stepping into the clinic didn’t look like she planned to linger.

Her locs were wrapped in a patterned scarf, her makeup subtle—confident without being flashy.

She carried a medium-sized dog protectively in her arms, lean and wiry, mottled brown and white fur broken by a single hind leg where there should’ve been two.

One ear stood up, the other folded halfway, like it couldn’t make up its mind.

The dog didn’t bark or growl, just kept its gaze moving over the room like it was mapping every exit.

Something in that steady, guarded stare pulled tight in my gut—like it knew what it meant to lose something and keep going anyway.

Malcolm stepped forward, already pulling gloves on. “That’s not Dedan,” he said, nodding toward the dog. “Did you pick up a stray on the way here?”

She gave him a look that said obviously . “I was driving past Miller’s Point and saw him limping near the drainage ditch. Thought maybe he’d been hit, but turns out he’s been walking like this for a while.”

I came closer, mug forgotten.

“Zuri, this is Gideon,” Malcolm said, glancing between us. “Gideon, meet Zuri. She boards her dog with us sometimes.”

Zuri shifted the dog in her arms, steadying him with care. “Like the Black Panther movie?” I asked before I could stop myself.

That earned me a smile. “Not quite. Zuri’s Swahili for ‘beautiful.’ My grandmother chose it for me. I was born in Nairobi, but I grew up here—so I like to think I got the best of both worlds.”

The dog gave a twitch and she soothed him with a quiet murmur in a language I didn’t know. It worked. He settled again.

“You didn’t take him to Serenity?” Malcolm asked.

Zuri raised an eyebrow. “They’re packed. I called ahead. And he needs a vet, not a holding pen. I thought I’d bring him in, get him checked out. I’ll cover the visit.”

Malcolm gave a small grunt of approval and gestured to one of the exam rooms. “Let’s get him checked out.”

She nodded and handed the dog over carefully. Malcolm took him with the kind of care you’d give something breakable.

I lingered near the doorway. Malcolm looked up. “Come on in—you can help me get him settled.”

Inside, Malcolm set the dog down on an exam table lined with a folded towel to keep the metal from feeling cold and unwelcoming.

The dog stayed still beneath his hands, his gaze following every movement with quiet, unblinking attention.

He didn’t flinch when Malcolm adjusted him, didn’t curl his lips or tense in warning—just watched, like he was trying to decide if this was safety or another threat.

“Front leg’s been gone for a while,” Malcolm murmured, fingers tracing gently along the scar. “He’s adapted well—moves like he’s used to it. Definitely not a recent injury.”

Zuri leaned back against the wall, arms folded loosely. “He didn’t want to get in the car,” she said. “But once he did, he just… sat. Didn’t move the whole ride. Like he was bracing for something bad to happen.”

I stayed quiet, though the dog’s gaze slid to mine again.

Not like he trusted me, but maybe like I wasn’t the worst thing in the room.

I’d seen that look before—in people, not animals.

It wasn’t hope exactly. More like cautious recognition, as if we both knew what it was to be unsure of your footing.

Malcolm ran his hands slowly along the dog’s spine, his movements deliberate. There was a quiet ease to him when he worked, the kind that made the air feel settled, unhurried. He paused to check the scarred stump of the missing leg, then reached for the scanner hanging on the wall.

“Let’s see if you’ve got a chip, buddy,” he murmured.

The device gave a soft beep as he passed it over the dog’s shoulders, then again down the length of his back. Nothing. Malcolm set it aside with a small shake of his head.

“He doesn’t have any major injuries,” he said. “Malnourished, sure, and we’ll see if he needs antibiotics after the bloodwork, but nothing life-threatening.”

He glanced at me then, and for a moment I felt the weight of being included in that assessment—like my opinion mattered here, like we were a team.

“What happens if the rescue can’t take him next week?” I asked.

Malcolm met my gaze. “Then we keep trying. Call around. Someone will have room.”

“He hasn’t barked once,” Zuri added softly.

Malcolm gave a small nod. “It could be he’s quiet by nature, but with the way he’s watching everything… I’d guess he hasn’t been around people much in a long time.”

The dog’s eyes flicked between us, a wary stillness like he was bracing for the next bad thing.

I couldn’t shake the thought of him spending another week—or more—waiting. My life was already full of its own fractures. I wasn’t exactly built for fixing anyone else. And yet… the idea of him facing that week alone sat wrong in a way I couldn’t ignore.

“I could look after him,” I heard myself say. “Not adopt—just take care of him in the kennels for a while. Let him settle. Help him get used to being around people again.” I glanced at Malcolm. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. It’s your place.”

His eyes met mine, warm with quiet resolve. “If you want to help him, that’s enough for me.”

“He doesn’t need much,” I said, my eyes still on the dog. “Just time, and someone who won’t rush him.”

“You’d be good at that,” he said after a beat, his voice warm. “Takes patience to earn trust like his. Not many people have that. You do.”

The dog blinked slowly, his gaze firmly on mine. I didn’t reach for him—just stayed close enough that he could make the choice.

He didn’t step forward, but he didn’t shrink back either. That small, deliberate stillness felt like the first thread of trust.

Maybe, for now, that was enough.

Dennis had claimed a patch of grass by the fence, gnawing happily on something Malcolm would probably confiscate later. The yard had quieted into that easy hush before night fully settled, the cool bite of evening slipping in and brushing against my skin.

I leaned one shoulder against the fence, watching the lazy sway of Dennis’s tail as the light dimmed.

When Malcolm left the office after he’d seen his last patient to do some errands, I’d felt a strange hollowness settle in.

Odd, considering there were still animals in recovery and others needing care.

After my brother died, I’d learned to be content with my own company, even preferred it most days.

But lately… I’d gotten used to him—to our talks, our silences, just existing in the same orbit.

And that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

As if the thought itself had summoned him, the back door opened and Malcolm stepped into the warm spill of light, scanning the yard until his gaze found mine.

My breath stuttered before I could stop it, chest tightening in some reflex I didn’t understand.

He took the steps at his usual unhurried pace, broad shoulders rolling with each stride, the easy confidence in his walk pulling me in before I could think about why.

The closer he came, the more I noticed. The porch light outlined the strong line of his jaw, turning the warm, rich brown of his skin to something that looked burnished.

And then there was the scent—woodsy, deep, threaded with something darker, warmer—that reached me before he did, sliding under my guard and settling low in my chest. My pulse jumped without permission.

He stopped in front of me, facing me fully. Up close, he was a wall of quiet strength, solid without crowding me.

“How’s our guy?” he asked, chin tipping toward the clinic. I instinctively knew who he was referring to: our three-legged friend.

“Settling in in the kennels. He let me feed him earlier.” Words couldn’t adequately express how happy I felt when the little guy took his first, tentative bite.

Malcolm’s mouth curved slightly. “He needs someone patient and you’re the perfect person to do the job.”

That landed heavier than it should have, like we weren’t talking about the dog anymore.

“Guess I can do that.”

A beat passed, filled with the faint rustle of grass in the breeze.

“You came out here to babysit me?” I asked.

He gave me that slow, level look of his. “I’m just checking in. Seeing if you need anything.”

“I’m good,” I said too hastily, the words too quick to sound believable. I hesitated, rubbing my palms together once before letting them fall still. “I never said thank you.”

His gaze flicked over my face, searching, as if trying to read what I wasn’t saying yet. “For what?”

“That day with my parents.” My voice caught, and I glanced down at the ground between us. Dennis’s tail thumped lazily in the dirt somewhere off to the side. “I wanted to say it before, but the words felt… raw. Or maybe I did try, I don’t even know anymore. Either way—I felt vulnerable as hell.”

Malcolm’s head tilted, his eyes on me. “Look at me, Gideon.”

I dragged my gaze up to meet his, my pulse kicking in a little too hard.

“You don’t owe me your gratitude.” His tone was gentle, but there was something unshakable beneath it.

“But I fell apart.”

“You weren’t falling apart,” he said. His voice had dropped lower, quieter. “You were grieving.”

The truth of it found its mark. My chest tightened, a knot loosening somewhere deep inside. “Garrett’s the only person who ever saw me cry before that. It’s been a long time since I let anyone see… too much.”

“You needed someone to stand with you,” Malcolm said, holding my gaze. “I’m glad I was the one there.” A slow, unfamiliar ache uncurled in my chest, making it hard to keep looking at him without giving too much away. My throat felt dry.

“You got quiet,” he murmured after a beat, his eyes narrowing slightly, not in judgment but in concern. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” My voice came out softer than I expected. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

And then… he stepped in, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, catch the deeper note of his cologne under the clean scent of his skin.

“I’ve been worried since that day,” he said, low. “I didn’t know if you were shutting me out or just… protecting yourself.”

“I don’t always know the difference.”

Something passed between us then—not a look, not exactly. More like an understanding that settled without needing words.

His hand lifted, slow enough to give me time to back away. I didn’t. His thumb brushed the side of my jaw, the warmth of his touch sending a pulse through me that seemed to echo in every inch of my skin.

He drew me in, and my feet obeyed. His lips met mine in the softest press—slow, tender, the moment the world tilts and you realize you’ve been moving toward this all along.

The stubble along his jaw grazed my skin. His breath mingled with mine, warm against my mouth. I could taste him—faint mint, the ghost of coffee—and something I didn’t have a name for except him .

I felt myself leaning in before I realized it. Just enough that the angle shifted, our lips sliding together again. His other hand came up, threading into my hair, anchoring me in place without forcing me closer.

The kiss deepened slowly, every movement deliberate. It wasn’t just about the contact—it was about feeling it, letting it register fully: the press of his mouth, the heat between us, the slow drag of his thumb under my jaw.

The yard faded. The cool air, the faint hum of insects, the occasional shuffle of Dennis in the grass—all of it fell away until there was only this: the uneven rhythm of our breaths and the solid weight of him standing close enough that my chest could feel his.

When his mouth parted slightly against mine, it was like the moment a locked door finally gave way. I welcomed him in without thinking, the slow slide of his tongue against mine drawing a low, unfamiliar ache somewhere deep in my chest.

He kissed like we were both learning the same language at the same time—cautious at first, then braver, letting instinct carry us when experience ran out. And God help me, I didn’t want the lesson to end.

Every second pressed deeper into memory, down to the way my pulse beat hard enough to feel in my fingertips.

When he finally drew back, our foreheads brushed, breath mingling in the inch of space between us. Neither of us moved for a long moment.

My lips still tingled. My chest still ached in that way it did when you’d opened something you weren’t sure you could close again.

Malcolm’s gaze flicked over my face like he was memorizing something he might need later.

“Malcolm, I think?—”

“I didn’t mean?—”

We both stopped, an unspoken understanding passing between us.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow?” he said finally.

I nodded. “Yes, tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, then.” He turned for the house, his gait easy, unhurried, leaving the faint scent of cedar and something warm in his wake.

And me—standing there with a new ache in my chest and the sense that he’d walked off carrying a piece of the armor I’d been wearing for so long.

The only thing I knew for sure was that nothing about my first kiss felt insignificant and I’d remember the exact taste, the exact heat, the exact feel of it for the rest of my life.