Page 108 of Finders Keepers

The house creaks, and I freeze.

Stop it. We’re okay here.

I force myself to take a deep breath, counting to four as I inhale. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight. The panic ebbs, just enough for me to think clearly.

The hallway stretches before me, darker than the bedroom. I keep one hand trailing along the wall, using it to guide me. Each step is carefully placed, testing the floor before putting my full weight down. The last thing I want is to wake everyone with a creaky floorboard.

A soft glow spills from the kitchen ahead. I pause at the corner, my pulse jumping again until I realize it’s just the light above the stove. Gavin must leave it on at night. The kitchen feels massive in the dark, all gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances catching the dim light. It takes me a moment to remember where I saw Gavin get glasses. Second cabinet from the refrigerator.

I pad across the floor, wincing at how cold it feels against my feet. The cabinet opens with a soft swoosh, and I grab a glass, careful not to let it clink against any others. The filtered water dispenser on the fridge looks complicated in the low light, with its digital display and multiple options.

“Can’t sleep?”

I gasp, the glass slipping from my fingers. I lunge to catch it, managing to grab it before it hits the floor, but my heart feels like it might explode out of my chest.

Gavin rushes towards me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” I manage, though my voice shakes. I press my free hand against my sternum, willing my heart to slow down. “I just… wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up.”

“Neither was I.” He moves into the space, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. “Mind if I join you?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice yet. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a soft-looking t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been tossing and turning too.

“Here, let me help with that.” He reaches past me to press a button on the water dispenser. “It can be tricky if you don’t know which setting to use.”

The proximity of him sends a shiver down my spine—not entirely unpleasant, but unsettling all the same. I’m hyper-aware of the thin material of my own pajamas, of how vulnerable I feel standing here in the dark.

“Thanks.” I fill my glass and step back, putting the island between us. The cold water helps steady me as I sip it slowly.

“Sophie settling in okay?” He leans against the counter, careful to maintain the distance I’ve created.

“Yeah, she’s finally sleeping. Nugget’s keeping watch.”

His smile is soft in the dim light. “He’s good at that. Probably the worst guard dog ever—he’d just lick an intruder to death—but he’s got a good heart.”

The mention of intruders makes my shoulders tense. I set my glass down harder than I mean to, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.

“Bailey.” His voice is gentle. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

“I know.” The words come out automatically, but we both know I don’t really believe it. Not yet. Maybe not ever again. “I just… I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“That’s understandable.” He doesn’t try to move closer, doesn’t try to tell me I’m being irrational. “Want to talk about it?”

I trace a finger through the condensation on my glass, watching the water bead and run. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Anywhere you want. Or nowhere at all. We can just stand here and drink water in companionable silence.”

A laugh bubbles up, surprising me. “Companionable silence at 3 am?”

“Why not? I’m told I’m excellent company, even when I’m not saying anything.”

The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. “Does this happen often? You hosting midnight kitchen meetings?”

“Actually…” He pushes off the counter and opens the freezer, the light casting a soft blue glow across his face. “Ice cream is my go-to for sleepless nights.”

He pulls out a container of mint chocolate chip. My stomach growls, reminding me I barely touched dinner.

“Here.” He grabs a spoon out of a drawer and slides it across the island toward me. “Best remedy for overthinking.”

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