Page 115 of Finders Keepers

Sophie’s eyes light up. “Mommy, can we?”

“One game,” I concede. “But then we really need to get you into the bath little miss and then mommy needs to shower too.”

Sophie clapping her hands, and Gavin’s smile could light up the whole room.

As we clear the table together, our hands brush when we both reach for the same glass. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I pull back quickly. Not quick enough to miss the look in his eyes, though, a mix of understanding and something else, something that makes my cheeks warm.

We set up the game on his coffee table, Sophie kneeling on one side while Gavin and I take the couch. There’s plenty of room between us, but I’m acutely aware of his presence. The way he smells faintly of his cologne pulls me back to earlier this morning. The way his laugh rumbles deep in his chest when Sophie gets excited about drawing a double purple card.

For a moment, watching them together, I let myself imagine a different life. One where I don’t jump at unexpected sounds. Where Sophie never has to whisper because she’s afraid of making daddy angry. Where evenings like this, simple, joy-filled evenings, are the norm rather than the exception.

But then I remember the last time I let my guard down, the last time I believed in safety and happy endings. The bruises have faded, but the lessons remain.

Still, as Sophie moves her piece across the rainbow path and Gavin tells increasingly ridiculous stories about each candy location, I can’t help but think that maybe some risks are worth taking.

Even if it’s just the risk of enjoying playing a board game.

I stare at the ceiling, watching stars dance across it thanks to Gavin’s night light. Sleep evades me, my mind racing with thoughts of my birthday. Sophie’s excited face when she went to bed, Gavin’s mysterious plans. It should bring joy, but anxiety churns in my stomach.

Rolling over, I check my phone: 2:17 am. Nugget lifts his head from the foot of the bed that he claimed again when Sophie and I came to bed, his tail thumping against the mattress.

“Can’t sleep either, boy?”

He scoots over, resting his chin on my leg.

“Okay, okay.” I swing out from under the sheets, my bare feet hitting the cool hardwood. “Let’s go.”

The living room is bathed in moonlight filtering through the curtains. I wrap my arms around myself, my thin sleep shirt doing little to cover me up. Nugget trots ahead of me, but instead of heading to the back door, he makes a beeline for Gavin’s room.

“No, Nugget,” I whisper-hiss, lunging for his collar. “Come here!”

But he’s already scratching at the door, his nails making a soft but distinct sound against the wood. I grab his collar, trying to pull him back, when the door swings open.

My breath catches.

Gavin stands in the doorway, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. My eyes trace up involuntarily. Defined abs ripple under his skin, a washboard of muscle that makes my mouth go dry. His broad chest is dusted with dark hair that narrows into a tantalizing trail disappearing beneath those low-hanging sweatpants. Strong shoulders, sculpted like they were carved from marble, flex slightly as he shifts his weight against the doorframe. And finally, my gaze reaches his face. Sleep-softened but alert, his hair is mussed, and those eyes watch me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle all over.

Nugget chooses this moment to yank free, trotting off toward the kitchen like his work here is done.

“Traitor,” I mutter under my breath.

“Bailey?” Gavin’s voice is rough with sleep. “Everything okay?”

I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing here in a thin sleep shirt and underwear. The way he’s looking at me sends heat coursing through my body.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I manage. “Nugget was just… I’m sorry we woke you.”

He leans against the doorframe, and the movement makes his muscles shift in ways that short-circuit my brain. “Don’t apologize. I wasn’t really sleeping either.”

The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken things. I should step back, say goodnight and return to my room. But my feet won’t move.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks softly.

I shake my head. “Just… too much in my head, I guess.”

His eyes search mine, and I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my minimal clothing. “Birthday jitters?”

“Something like that.” I wrap my arms tighter around myself.

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