Page 18 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Gideon

Two rings in, I snatched up the phone, pinched it between my cheek and shoulder, and kept scribbling notes on a sticky pad.

“Fluff it felt more like he needed something to keep his hands busy.

Now the dishes were stacked to dry, and the kitchen was dim except for the warm glow above the stove. Dennis was sprawled on the multi-colored rug in the living room, his breath rising and falling with the contentment of a life well-fed and well-loved.

I shifted in my chair, not quite fidgeting, but close. “So... what happens now?”

Malcolm’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Hell if I know.”

I almost laughed, but it caught somewhere in my throat.

He pushed away from the counter and came to stand across from me, hands resting lightly on the table’s edge.

I swallowed deeply. “I need to say something.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve never had a crush on someone,” I said quietly. “Never wanted to hold someone’s hand, or kiss anyone, or... whatever people do.”

Malcolm’s expression softened, his head tilting as if to make more room for my words.

“When Garrett was alive, I didn’t notice, and I didn’t care. And I never thought I was missing out on anything.” My throat tightened. “I thought… maybe I was built differently. When he died, I stopped feeling anything at all… well, except for loving Mom and Dad.”

An ache sliced through my chest. I might never get over the pain of losing my parents. If I’d lost them to death, it would have been bad—but losing them to their hatred of me was even worse.

Malcolm’s jaw shifted, like he was holding back the first thing that wanted to come out. He moved a step closer. “That’s surviving. Don’t blame yourself for how you held it together when life as you knew it was upended.”

The words didn’t fix anything, but the way he said them made the ground under me feel a little more solid.

“You make it sound like I did something brave,” I said, though my voice didn’t sound convinced. “Most days it just felt like… not drowning.”

His mouth curved—barely there, more like the idea of a smile than the real thing. “Sometimes not drowning is the bravest thing.”

For a second, neither of us spoke. Besides Dennis’s slow breathing, the only sound the faint tick of the cooling stove. Malcolm’s gaze stayed on me in a way that made it hard to breathe.

“I’ve been thinking about that kiss,” he said finally. “About what it means for me.”

My pulse kicked. “And?”

He exhaled, dragging a hand along the edge of the table, perhaps grounding himself.

“I’ve only ever been with women. I never questioned my choices, never wanted to.

Before last night, I thought I knew exactly who I was and wasn’t…

” He hesitated, searching for the right words.

“But that kiss didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like crossing a line.

It felt… good. Different. And I want to understand that. I want to understand you .”

“I don’t know how to explain me,” I admitted. “But… maybe we can figure out who we are together?”

The quiet between us felt electric, like the still before a storm breaks.

I rose to my feet, the movement almost involuntary. “Can I—Can we… um?”

Malcolm’s gaze held mine, no hesitation in his voice. “Yeah.”

One step brought me close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. My pulse was a drum in my ears. I didn’t know who moved first—maybe we moved in unison—but then his mouth was on mine, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to learn every curve, every shape, one unhurried second at a time.

His mouth was warm, the faint scrape of stubble brushing my skin. I caught hints of tomato and pepper from dinner, layered over something that was entirely him.

When we parted, we stayed close enough that our breaths mingled.

“It feels...” I searched for the right word, “...like being handed something I didn’t know I wanted until it was already mine.”

Malcolm’s lips curved slightly. “It feels like a door I didn’t know was there just opened, and now I can’t stop looking inside.”

I huffed out a laugh—small, incredulous. “That was way too poetic for grilled cheese night.”

His grin deepened. “Then maybe we should try it again and see what we come up with.”

This time, there was no testing gravity. We met with a little more certainty, a little more press, the kind of kiss that says yes, I remember the taste of this.

When we broke apart again, I laughed—soft and a little breathless—at the impossibility of it all. Two grown men who’d never imagined they’d be here, suddenly sounding like teenagers.

And somehow, that felt as important as the kiss.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“You haven’t.”

“I could.” His voice was rough. “I could screw this up without even trying to. I don’t want to be the reason you look back ten years from now and feel like you missed out on something. Like I took something from you.”

My heart ached. Not because he was wrong to worry, but because he thought he was the danger.

“You didn’t take anything from me,” I said. “You gave me something. A piece of myself I didn’t even know was missing.”

I couldn’t explain how full my chest felt. Like it might break under the pressure of all the things I’d never said out loud. Not to Garrett or to anyone.

“I didn’t know I could feel like this,” I admitted. “I didn’t think I was made for it. For… wanting. Not in that way.”

He blinked. “And now?”

“Now I want you. Not just this,” I said, voice low. “You. When you’re quiet. When you’re snippy. When you’re avoiding people and pretending you’re not.”

That got a soft, startled sound from him. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sob either.

I reached out and traced the line of his forearm where it rested on the table. The skin was warm. Solid. Real.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I wanted to be close to anyone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Since I felt like I could... breathe easier near someone?"

His throat worked, but no words came.

“Being with you doesn’t make me feel lost,” I said. “It makes me feel found.”

Something flickered in Malcolm’s eyes—full and aching—like he was still trying to hold the line, but losing ground inch by inch.

“I keep thinking,” he murmured, “if I were younger—less jaded—less… me…”

“I don’t want less of you,” I said, my chest tightening. “I want all of it.”

His eyes closed, a slow breath leaving him, and then he leaned in.

The second kiss was soft. Slower. Less about heat, more about recognition—like we were learning each other by touch alone.

I felt it everywhere.

In the press of his lips.

In the warm hand cupping the back of my neck, holding me as if I might vanish.

In the way his body angled toward mine—not to trap, but to connect, to say I’m here without speaking.

My fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring myself.

When we finally parted, we stayed close, breathing the same small pocket of air.

The quiet wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward.

It was still.

It was safe.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. Or next week. Or what it meant to want someone like this, slow and steady and true .

But I knew I wasn’t afraid.

We didn’t move for a while. Just stayed there in that little circle of warmth we’d made between us. Forehead to forehead, our knees brushing, fingers lazily tangled.

Malcolm’s thumb was moving again, this time along the curve of my jaw. A barely-there touch.

“Is this…” he started, then hesitated.

“Yeah?” I nudged gently.

He blew out a breath through his nose, the kind that sounded like he was annoyed with himself. “I don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

I smiled. “Guess we’re both a little lost here.”

He laughed, and I felt it. Not just in the air between us, but in the way his chest shook and his hand tightened around mine. There was something so good about hearing him laugh.

“You keep doing that,” I said quietly.

“What?”

“Making me want to kiss you again.”

He lifted his head, and I saw it—those flickers of fear and want and wonder all colliding behind his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t rush. I let the moment stretch until the tension curled deliciously around us like the moment before a match flares to life.

Then I leaned in and kissed him.

The third kiss wasn’t like the first—desperate and tangled. And it wasn’t like the second—soft and cautious.

This one had intent .

I slid my hand up his neck, into the thick hair at the back of his head. He grunted softly into my mouth, one hand bracing at my waist, the other cupping my jaw.

He deepened the kiss, and I followed, breath stuttering as his tongue brushed mine—tentative at first, then bolder.

Heat flared low in my belly.

And God, I felt it. Him.

We shifted closer, hips aligning like they were built to. The thick, hard press of him against my thigh. The unmistakable throb of arousal.

I gasped and drew back a fraction, my breath catching as I took him in.

His pupils were wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his gaze holding mine like he didn’t trust himself to look away.

“Okay,” I said, breathless, “so that’s… unexpected.”

His voice was rough. “For me too.”

I glanced down, then back up. “Is that your?—?”

“It is,” he said quickly, a wry edge to the words. “Very much is.”

A startled laugh escaped me, half-disbelieving. “Guess we’re both… feeling it.”

For a beat, we just stared at each other. Then Malcolm gave this slow, helpless smile that wrecked me.

“This is the strangest, hottest, most terrifying moment of my adult life,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” I said, my grin matching his. “And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

His head dropped forward, and his forehead thunked gently against mine. “God, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re existing. That’s enough.”

And just like that, a laugh bubbled out of me. It wasn’t loud or wild, just this quiet, joyful thing that caught me off guard.

He laughed too. Then looked down between us and let out a breathless chuckle. “So… we’re just going to stand here. With our dicks saying hi. Like it’s totally normal.”

“Mine’s polite,” I said. “Yours is… aggressively enthusiastic.”

That made him snort. Actually snort . “Okay, you need to stop. I’m trying to be a responsible adult here.”

“Too late. You just kissed me three times.”

“You kissed me the third time.”

“And you didn’t stop me.”

He smiled again, slower this time. “No. I didn’t.”

His thumb traced my lower lip.

“We should cool off before we do something one of us isn’t ready for,” he said, voice low. “But I want you to know—this, you —it’s not some midlife detour.”

I bit my lip, feeling everything settle into place inside me.

“I’ve never felt more on the right road,” I whispered.

And maybe that was enough for tonight.

We didn’t kiss again right away. We just sat there, tangled in each other, trading quiet smiles and soft, stunned touches.

Two grown men. Slightly dazed. Ridiculously hard . And happier than we had any right to be.