Page 33 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Malcolm

I spotted them before Toast did—Junie’s skinny legs pumping across the grass, her arms flailing like she was trying to fly. Her moms followed behind at a more reasonable pace, but Junie was a comet, a blur of excitement and sunshine aimed directly at the dog currently snoozing.

Toastie’s ears twitched. Then his head came up.

Junie shouted his name, and that dog scrambled upright like his three legs were powered by rocket fuel.

By the time she reached him, Toastie was already wiggling all over, whining loud enough to wake the dead.

She dropped to her knees in the grass, arms around his neck, cheek pressed into his fur like it had been a hundred years instead of just a week.

“I missed you so, so much,” she whispered, loud enough that I could still hear her from ten feet away. “You’ve got hero legs, Toastie. And a snoot that snorfles. I drew you, but it’s on Zuri’s fridge so you can’t see it yet.”

I smiled. Couldn’t help it.

Her moms—Nia and Rachel—made their way up the path, both of them greeting Gideon and me warmly. Junie didn’t forget her manners either. She glanced up from Toast long enough to say a quick, polite, “Hi, Dr. Jones. Hi, Mr. Gideon,” before returning to whispering secrets into Toast’s ear.

This moment. Right here. This was why I did what I did.

But it was different now.

Everything was different since Gideon showed up in this town with eyes that saw straight through the mess I tried to keep under wraps and a heart too big for his own damn good. I wasn’t just running a clinic anymore. I was building something—something real. Something lasting.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn’t feel like I was doing it alone.

I stepped forward, hands tucked into the pockets of my scrubs. “Toast’s officially cleared,” I said to the moms, who both looked relieved. “He’s in great shape. His appetite’s solid, and his mobility’s excellent. He adapted a long time ago, so there’s no rehab needed. He’s ready.”

Junie gasped so hard I thought she might swallow her own joy. She didn’t ask if I meant it—didn’t doubt. Kids like her, with that kind of heart, they knew how to love with both feet off the ground.

Nia knelt beside her daughter and kissed the top of her head. Junie tilted her head so Toast’s nose could nuzzle under her chin, still holding him like he might vanish.

Rachel crouched beside me. “Do you think he’ll be okay with the change? With us?”

“He’ll be okay,” I said. “He trusts her. That’s more than enough.”

She smiled, but I saw the shimmer in her eyes.

This was more than just an adoption. This was healing. Connection. Love.

It was also the start of something I hadn’t dared to dream too big about before.

A sanctuary.

It’d been Gideon’s idea, really. Not the exact plan, but the spark. The way he looked at animals the world had written off. The way he believed they still had something to give.

We’d been talking late one night—me half-asleep and him pacing like he did when his brain was moving too fast for his body. He’d said, “What if we didn’t just patch them up and send them off? What if we prepared them—trained them—and gave them to people who really needed them?”

At the time, I’d said something like, “That’s a lot.”

But in my chest, something had bloomed.

And now here we were.

I glanced at him, standing a few feet away, grinning at the scene, his heart laid out plain across his face.

This man.

I didn’t know I could want a life like this until he walked into mine. But now I did. Desperately.

I used to think I had a good life. Predictable. And for a while, that had been enough. But standing here now, watching a little girl press her cheek to the side of a three-legged dog like he was the greatest thing in the world, I knew better.

It wasn’t just that Gideon had walked into my life. It was what he’d brought with him—light, energy, chaos sometimes—but mostly this… this clarity. Like I’d been seeing in grayscale before, and he’d flipped the world into color.

Junie’s little hand stroked Toast’s fur like she’d been doing it her whole life. He leaned into it and sighed, long and low, like he’d been waiting for her.

I glanced at Gideon. He was already moving.

He knelt next to her and for a second, Junie froze. Her gaze locked onto him like she was holding her breath, trying to decide if she was about to be given the world or told to let it go.

“I’ve never seen a better match,” Gideon said, voice tender. “He’s yours—if you promise to keep loving him like this. To keep helping him feel safe. Do you think you can do that?”

Junie’s whole body bounced with her nod. “And I made him a collar. It’s sparkly and it has a little bell and it says his name in rainbow letters?—”

Toast sneezed.

Junie beamed. “See? He likes it.”

Behind her, Rachel pressed her knuckles to her lips. Nia had a hand over her heart like she couldn’t believe this was real.

Gideon smiled, the kind that reached all the way to his eyes. God, I loved that smile. I cleared my throat gently.

“The adoption paperwork is ready,” I told them.

Inside, the signing didn’t take long. I slid the papers across the counter, my fingers brushing Rachel’s when she reached for the pen.

She blinked fast, pressing harder than she needed to as she scrawled her name.

Nia’s hand was steadier, but her lips trembled around a smile as she slid the folder back to me.

I tucked it away, heart thudding, knowing I’d just handed off something bigger than paper.

Back outside, Junie already had her backpack unzipped.

She pulled out the collar she’d told us about, sparkles catching the light.

“See? It’s got his name.” Her little fingers fumbled with the buckle, but she managed it.

The bell gave a soft jingle, and Toast sneezed, making her laugh so hard her braids bounced.

Something in my chest cracked wide open.

“Want some help with the leash?” Rachel asked gently.

“I can do it,” Junie declared. She clipped it onto the ring herself.

Toast gave a happy wiggle, then pressed his side against her leg like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

Gideon bent his head, murmuring something I couldn’t quite catch—words meant only for the two of them. His hand cupped the dog’s scruff, and for a beat he stayed there, forehead resting against Toast’s. My throat tightened.

When Gideon finally pulled back, his eyes were wet. He smoothed his palm down Toast’s back one last time, then glanced at me. I crouched too, rubbing the dog’s fur.

“Be a good boy, Toast,” I whispered.

He wagged his tail like he’d understood.

The family headed down the path toward the gate. Junie’s body vibrated with joy.

Halfway down the path, she stopped short. She handed the leash off to Rachel, then sprinted toward us. First she threw herself into Gideon’s arms, then mine, hugging us both with all the force her tiny frame could manage.

“Thank you,” she whispered, breathless, before darting back again. Rachel passed the leash back, and Junie took it with a grin so bright it hurt to look at.

This time, the family didn’t stop. The three humans walked through the gate, Toast loping proudly at Junie’s side, his new collar jingling with every bounce.

The gate clicked shut behind them.

I felt it like a full-body exhale.

Gideon was still beside me, quiet. I looked at him. “You were great with her.”

“She made it easy,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, that kid—she sees him.”

“She sees you too, you know.” I nudged him as we started back toward the house. “Kind eyes, soft voice, sucker for misfits—what’s not to love?”

Gideon rolled his eyes, but he smiled. “Well, I do have a thing for grumpy vets.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You’re gruff.”

“I’m busy.”

He laughed. “You’re sweet. In a feral-cat-who-only-likes-one-person kind of way.”

I snorted. “And you think I’m not romantic.”

We reached the back porch, but neither of us made a move to go in. The breeze smelled like hay and soap and faintly like the dog shampoo we’d used on Toast.

Gideon leaned against the railing. “I like this.”

“This?”

“This… life. Doing something that matters. Not just spinning my wheels trying to prove I’m not broken. Or useless. Or whatever I used to think.”

His voice had dropped, and I felt it low in my chest—how important it was to him. To us . What we were building here.

“I used to just react,” I admitted, voice low.

“Triage, cut, suture, do whatever it took to get through the emergency in front of me. Then the next one, and the next. I never thought about where it was all leading. But this...” I laid my hand on his hip.

“You make me want what’s next. You make me want more. ”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he just looked at me like I’d given him a gift. Then his hands slid up my chest, curled around my neck, and he kissed me—slow and deep, like he had nowhere to be but here, nothing to do but feel .

I pressed him gently against the wall, our bodies aligning like it was second nature. His mouth opened for me, and I took my time tasting him. This wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate. Want laced with gratitude. Need shot through with awe.

His fingers dug into my shoulders. Mine slipped under his shirt, greedy for heat, for skin. I wanted to lay him out on the couch. Or the lush, green grass. Or the fucking kitchen table. I wanted him boneless and gasping, whispering my name like a prayer.

“Malcolm,” he murmured, hips rocking up. “Inside. Now.”

I grinned against his neck. “Race you to the bedroom.”

He bit my earlobe. “You’ll lose.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” My palm curved over his ass, pulling him hard against me until he was snug against the thick line of my arousal. I caught the hitch of his breath and smirked. “I’ve got incentive.”

Gideon made a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan, the kind of noise that sent heat straight through me.

And then— ding .

The soft chime from the clinic’s front door drifted across the backyard.

We both froze.

Gideon pulled back far enough to meet my eyes, his lips kiss-bruised and tempting. “Was that…?”

I let my forehead drop to his shoulder and groaned. “Please tell me that was just the wind rattling something.”

Ding. Again, insistent.

Gideon’s sigh brushed hot against my cheek. He didn’t move right away. His hand stayed firm on my hip, thumb stroking once, like he wasn’t ready to let go either. “Nope,” he said at last, resignation rough in his voice. “Definitely a fur parent.”

I muttered a curse into his neck, my hands still fisted in his shirt. For a breath, neither of us budged—just pressed together, pretending the world beyond the gate didn’t exist.

Then he leaned in, kissed the corner of my mouth like a promise, and pulled back. “Rain check?”

I caught his wrist before he could step away. “Count on it.”