Page 109 of Finders Keepers

I pick up the spoon, turning it over in my hands. “I haven’t had mint chocolate chip in forever.”

“Then you’re way overdue.” He digs his spoon in, coming up with a generous scoop studded with dark chocolate pieces.

I follow his lead, the cold mint hitting my tongue with a burst of freshness. The chocolate melts slowly, rich and bitter against the sweet cream. Something inside me unwinds, just a fraction.

“Good?” He asks, already working on another spoonful.

I nod, realizing I’m already scraping my spoon against the sides for more. “Thank you,” I say, putting the spoon down. “Not just for this. For everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Bailey.” He sets his down too. “Anyone would have done the same.”

I shake my head. “No, they wouldn’t. Most people… they don’t want to get involved. They hear ‘domestic violence’ and they look the other way. It’s easier.”

The words hang in the air between us. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. What we’re running from, what Matt did to us. His expression darkens, but he keeps his voice steady.

“Well, I’m not like most people. And you’re not alone anymore.”

I grab the lid and place it back on the container. He’s watching me with that measured calm, but there’s a heat in his eyes now, a flicker that mirrors the restless energy humming under my own skin. The kitchen feels smaller suddenly, the island’s edge pressing into my hips as I lean forward. My pulse thrums in my throat.

I move before I can second-guess it. Three quick steps around the island, bare feet silent on the cold floor. He straightens as I approach, shoulders tensing like he’s preparing to catch something. Or someone. His scent envelops me first. A mixture of soap and his cologne, as I slide my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his chest. His heart slams against my ear, rapid and pounding.

His hands hover above my shoulders. “Bailey?”

“Don’t.” I tighten my grip, fingers digging into the soft cotton of his shirt. “Just… let me—”

The words die as his arms fold around me, solid and warm. My eyes burn. I tilt my head back, finding his gaze locked on mine. The plea leaves me raw. “Kiss me.”

A beat passes. His thumb brushes my jaw. “You’re trembling.”

“I know.” I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer to me.

The first brush of his lips is tentative, questioning. I crush my mouth to his, desperate to drown the static in my veins. He groans, one hand sliding into my hair as the other grips my waist. The kiss deepens, hot and hungry, and for a blinding moment, the world narrows to the scrape of his stubble, the press of his tongue, the way my body arches into him of its own volition.

My pajama buttons give way under his touch, cool air rushing over my skin. His palm skims my bare stomach, then higher. I gasp into his mouth when his thumb grazes my nipple. “Gavin—”

He lifts me onto the island in one motion, my legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. The marble is cold against the back of my thighs, grounding me as his mouth trails down my neck. His shirt is soft under my hands, and I yank it upward, desperate to feel his skin. He breaks away just long enough to pull it over his head, and then he’s pressing me back, the world tilting.

“Wait.” His breath hot against my collarbone. “Is this—”

“Yes.” I thread my fingers through his hair, dragging his mouth to mine again. His hands roam lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts. I jerk when his fingers brush over that sensitive nub over my underwear, every nerve alight.

“Bailey.” His voice cracks. “Are…?”

I nod, choking on my own breath. His touch is feather-light at first, tracing the damp fabric. Then he presses harder, teasing. My head falls back further as he works me with torturous precision. Stars burst behind my eyelids—Matt’s laugh, rancid with whiskey. His grip on my wrist, twisting. “You think you can leave me?” The crack of his ring against my cheekbone.

I recoil so fast I lose my grip on Gavins shoulders and my elbow slams into the countertop.

“Stop—stop!”

He freezes instantly, hands lifting away from me. His chest heaves as he steps back, putting space between us. Concern etches deep lines across his forehead.

“Bailey? I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” His voice is raspy..

I bring my legs up and wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling. My elbow throbs ask as I shake my head.

“No, it’s not… it’s not you.” My voice catches. “It’s me. I just—”

Matt’s face flashing before me, so vivid I could almost smell the whiskey in the air. The phantom pain of his grip makes me rub my wrist unconsciously.

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