Page 47 of Finders Keepers

“Bailey?” Gavin gestures to me going first.

“Oh, um. I’ll get the butternut squash ravioli, please.”

Rebecca writes down my order then turns to Gavin.

“And I’ll do the ribeye, medium-rare with mashed potatoes and brown gravy.”

“You got it.” She finished writing everything down and takes our menus.

I take a sip of my sweet tea. “Your secret is safe with me.” I assure.

“So, where did you and Sophie live before moving here?” Gavin asks, taking another sip of his sweet tea.

The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. My muscles tense instantly, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest. Images flash through my mind—our old house, Matt’s face contorted with anger, the sound of glass shattering against the wall.

“Why do you need to know that?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intended. “What does it matter where we came from?”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Gavin’s expression shifts from relaxed to surprised, his eyebrows lifting slightly. The easy conversation we’d been having evaporates in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “That was… I shouldn’t have…” I stare down at my hands, now trembling slightly in my lap. “It’s just…I’m sorry.”

I force myself to look up at him. His face shows no anger, just concern.

“Bailey, it’s okay,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to pry. That was thoughtless of me.”

“No, it wasn’t thoughtless. It was a normal question.” I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

He reaches across the table, his hand stopping just short of mine, giving me the space to decide. After a moment’s hesitation, I place my fingertips lightly against his.

“You don’t owe me any explanations,” he says. “And you definitely don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable sharing.”

I nod, grateful for his understanding. The knot in my chest begins to loosen.

And then Rebecca appears with our food, setting down steaming plates that smell divine. “Butternut squash ravioli for the lady, and ribeye medium-rare for the gentleman. Can I get y’all anything else?”

We both shake our heads, and I silently thank the universe for the interruption.

“Enjoy your meal,” she says before walking away.

I look down at my plate, the golden-brown ravioli drizzled with a sage butter sauce. The aroma helps pull me back in the present moment.

The rest of dinner flows easier after my panic moment. We stick to safer topics, his work at the vet clinic, local places worth checking out, and somehow end up in a silly debate about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. It absolutely does not.

When the check arrives, Gavin insists on paying despite my protests. “Please, let me get this one,” he says, already sliding his card into the leather folder. “You can get the next one.”

The next one. The words hang in the air between us, full of possibility. Do I want there to be a next one? My heart and head wage war, but before I can spiral too far, Gavin speaks again.

“Hey, there’s this great ice cream shop just down the street. Want to check it out?”

I hesitate. Dinner was nice, but maybe I should head home, back to Sophie. Then again, he’s been nothing but kind all evening. I know I can leave anytime. I feel safe. I think.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. “That sounds…nice.”

The evening air has cooled slightly as we walk the short distance to the ice cream shop. Gavin keeps a respectful distance between us, and I find myself relaxing with each step.

The shop’s bell chimes as we enter, and I’m immediately charmed. It’s exactly what a small-town ice cream parlor should be. Checkered floor tiles, red vinyl booths, and walls decorated with vintage ice cream advertisements. Each table has either a card game or board game sitting on it, waiting for players.

“Sophie would love this place,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

---