Page 25 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Malcolm

We’d wandered far enough that the chatter of families had faded to a faint hum. The trees here were older, branches sprawling wide and heavy with fruit, their leaves casting dappled shade over the grass. The air smelled faintly of apples and sun-warmed earth.

Gideon slowed, eyes snagging on a high branch. “That one,” he said, pointing. “It’s perfect.”

I followed his finger—deep red, smooth skin, hanging just out of easy reach. “You going for it?”

He glanced around, spotted a ladder leaning against the next tree over. “Guess I am.”

While I stayed with the basket, he dragged the ladder over, propped it in place, and started up. His movements were casual at first—a hand here, a boot there—but once he reached the middle rungs, the ladder gave a small wobble. He stilled, one hand braced on the trunk.

“You good?” I called.

“I’m fine,” he said, stretching toward the apple. “Almost?—”

The ladder shifted again. He cursed under his breath and grabbed the branch with one hand to steady himself. That’s when his foot slipped. Not enough to send him tumbling, but enough that my instincts had me stepping in fast, hands catching his hips.

“I’ve got you,” I said, voice low.

He glanced down, and the grin he gave me was quick and crooked—the kind that made my pulse skip. “I know.”

He plucked the apple, then started down. The last rung betrayed him, shifting just enough to throw him forward. He twisted instinctively, turning toward me as he lost his footing.

I caught him against my chest, his front colliding with mine. The apple was trapped between us, cool and round, while the rest of him pressed warm and solid into me.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His breath brushed my cheek. Mine caught in my throat.

“Guess I owe you,” he murmured.

“Guess you do,” I said, but I didn’t loosen my hold.

He tilted his face up, close enough that I could feel the heat of his mouth. There was no hesitation—not with us. My hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair, and I kissed him hard.

It wasn’t a polite orchard kiss. It was hungry, all heat and teeth and the soft sound he made when I deepened it. His free hand fisted in the front of my shirt, dragging me closer until his body lined up against mine, until the apple slipped between us and hit the ground with a dull thud.

My tongue swept into his mouth, tasting sugar and coffee, the kind of mix that made my stomach twist with want.

His hips pressed forward, slow and deliberate, and there it was—the hard press of him against me.

The friction shot straight through me, my own arousal answering instantly, thick and insistent.

I groaned into his mouth, fingers fisting in his shirt to keep him close, like I could pull him into me completely. He pushed back just as firmly, a subtle roll of his hips that made my pulse stutter. The kiss turned hungrier, our mouths dragging against each other in wet, urgent pulls.

His hand slid down my side, over my hip, and settled at the curve of my ass, gripping enough to make my knees threaten to give. I wanted to haul him against me and grind until we both came right there under the apple tree. The thought alone made me harder.

“Malcolm…” he breathed into my mouth, low and wrecked, the sound itself a confession.

The world narrowed to the heat between us, the press of him, the slow grind of our hips finding a rhythm that had no business existing in an open orchard.

My hand slid to the back of his neck, holding him there, my thumb brushing the soft, damp skin at his hairline.

He was hard against me, and I wanted him closer—closer than close.

A flicker of movement cut through the haze—small, quick, a pulse of brown fur that froze near the clover at the base of a tree.

We broke apart, but barely, breath still mingling. My body was thrumming, my skin still alive with the echo of his hands, his mouth. The sharp edge of want hadn’t gone anywhere; it was just pressed to the side, simmering.

“An Eastern cottontail,” I said, my voice a little rough.

Gideon tilted his head toward it, still a little flushed. “Cute. How do you always know this stuff?”

“I went to vet school,” I said, forcing my focus away from the pulse between my legs. “They kind of expect you to learn this stuff.”

He grinned, eyes still bright with that I was just kissing you like I meant it heat. “Right, right. Professional genius. I forgot.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Maybe I just like hearing you say it.”

The rabbit twitched once, then disappeared into the underbrush. Gideon kept watching the spot where it had been, and the quiet wrapped around us again—not awkward, but settled. Like the orchard itself had taken a breath with us.

When he looked back at me, the sunlight caught on his skin, his hair, the curve of his smile. Something inside me lit up and expanded, a quiet awe rising with every heartbeat.

I wasn’t used to thinking of men as beautiful. But here he was—flushed from kissing me, lips still parted, eyes still warm from it all.

“You’re beautiful when you’re like this,” I said before I could stop myself.

His brows lifted, but the surprise softened almost instantly. “Like what?”

“Sun on your skin. Smiling. Happy.”

He stepped closer again, brushing my arm with his. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’m going to forget about the apples.”

My mouth curved. “Who says I’m here for the apples?”

His gaze dropped briefly—to my mouth, then lower—and when it came back up, it was full of that same slow-burn promise from before. “Guess we better pick fast, then.”

Later, we found a shady spot between two twisted trees and dropped down onto the grass, apples scattered between us.

The sun dappled through the branches and the breeze had calmed, warm and steady now.

Gideon leaned back on his hands and took a bite from an apple without looking. One chew. Two. Then he grimaced.

“Too ripe,” he mumbled, juice running down his chin.

“Hold still.”

I leaned in before I could think twice, catching the drip with my thumb before it slipped past his jaw. My skin brushed his. Warm. Soft. He stilled under my touch, eyes on me.

I brought my thumb to my mouth.

His gaze flicked to my lips. I felt the change in him, the tension rising in that tiny, charged pocket of air between us. Neither of us said anything. My thumb hovered for a second longer before I let it fall.

Then he gave a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath. “You’re such a weirdo.”

I huffed a soft laugh of my own. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what? Stealing my juice?”

“Saving you from a sticky demise.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

I smiled back, easy. “Could’ve let it drip down your shirt.”

He turned his face toward me, amusement giving way to something quieter. Softer.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t.”

The orchard felt still around us, like the trees were holding their breath.

We shifted closer, backs to the tree trunk, his leg pressed lightly against mine. He rested his head on my shoulder.

“I’m glad you came,” I said.

He nodded, looking down at the grass, then back at me.

“And I want you to know…” My throat felt tight. “What we have—it’s not just sex for me.”

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy in a way that settled in my chest, like the moment right before you say something you can’t take back.

“I know,” he said, voice low. A beat passed. “It’s not just sex for me either.”

He was looking at me, really looking, like he was memorizing the moment.

“You matter to me, Malcolm,” he added. “More than I ever thought someone could.”

Something in my chest tightened, then eased. I turned my palm to lace our fingers, my thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“That’s good,” I said, my voice low. “Because I’m not planning on letting you go anytime soon.”

His voice was quiet. A little hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

He hesitated again, like he was weighing the question in his mouth. Then?—

“Could we… I mean, do you think maybe we could be—boyfriends?”

It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t a joke. It was a real ask, raw and unguarded, the kind that takes guts when you’ve spent most of your life wondering if anyone would want you that way.

And I knew—God, I knew—he hadn’t had much of the kind of unconditional love you can lean your whole weight on. His brother had been the only one, and he’d been gone three years now.

So I didn’t make him wait.

“Yes,” I said, the word steady and sure. “Yes, we can.”

Something in his face loosened—like a door quietly unlocking—and for a second, I could see the boy he might have been before the losses and the fights and the nights alone.

A soft, almost disbelieving smile curved his mouth, and it hit me in a place I didn’t know was unguarded until that second.

I’d do anything to keep that look on his face.

He hesitated once more, his voice softer. “Can I call you mine?”

That one went straight to the center of me, cracking something open I didn’t even try to patch.

“Yes,” I said again, firmer this time. “I want to be yours.”

The orchard blurred at the edges. All I could see was him—eyes bright, smile soft, sun catching in his hair like he’d been carved out of light. And in that moment, I knew this wasn’t just yes for now. It was yes for as long as he’d let me.

I let my arm fall gently around his shoulders, my cheek resting against his hair. The scents of apples, grass, and him—all of it rooted deep.

And right there, under the hush of the trees, I made myself a promise.

I’d call my family.

Because if I was lucky enough to have this man choose me, the least I could do was make sure he knew—really knew—he wasn’t a secret.