Page 36 of Finding Gideon
Noah said he thought I might be open to dating a guy and had apologized for making the assumption.
I hadn’t been, not really. But I also hadn’t been mad at Noah.
What did that mean?
The truth was, I liked who I was. I still did. I wasn’t in crisis, wasn’t having some midlife awakening. And yet… every time Gideon looked at me, the world seemed to rearrange itself. Not everything. Not all at once. Just… enough.
It wasn’t like with Christian. It wasn’t a lark or a dare or some kind of band-aid after Angela. It was something that kept drawing me closer, not in a rush, not all at once, but with the kind of certainty that made resistance feel pointless.
Sleep had been a brief visitor.
Something pulled me from it—maybe a sound, maybe just the weight of thought pressing in after lights-out. I’d been thinking about Gideon again, that much I remembered. The way he’d brushed his fingers through Dennis’s fur earlier—absent-minded, but with more tenderness than he ever gave himself. I didn’t even notice when I drifted off.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand. 12:17 a.m.
No noise now. Not even the wind in the trees. Just the stillness that settles over small towns after midnight.
I pushed out of bed and padded to the back window. From here, I could see the edge of the yard behind the clinic.
Gideon was out there.
The moon caught the outline of him by the fence—shoulders tense, arms folded like he was holding himself together. Bare chest, bare back, tattoos shadowed in silver light. Just a pair of dark pajama pants slung low on his hips. August nights here weren’t cold, but they weren’t exactly forgiving either. Still, he stood there like the chill belonged to him.
I pulled on a hoodie over my sleep shirt and stepped outside. The grass was cool and damp under my feet, the night air heavy enough to feel.
He didn’t turn, but I saw the moment he knew I was there—a subtle shift in his posture, a pause in his breathing.
I stopped beside him, leaving a strip of space between us. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Didn’t try,” he said, voice low.
“Needed air?”
“Something like that.”
My gaze caught on him again before I could help it—bare chest, ink I’d only ever seen hidden under sleeves winding across his skin. Broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist, the kind of shape that made my pulse misbehave.
“Guess shirts are optional for midnight walks?” I said, aiming for light but hearing the weight under it.
The corner of his mouth curved. “Didn’t know I needed clearance from the medical board.”
I almost smiled. “We’re strict about these things.”
Silence settled in, not heavy but not light either.
“You were good with the old beagle today,” I said, because it was true.
“He was sweet. Let me hold him like he’d known me forever.”
“That’s how they are. Animals don’t wait to be sure.”
He gave the smallest nod. His gaze had gone somewhere else again, someplace I couldn’t follow. I wanted to ask, to push—but the look on his face told me I couldn’t go there.
So I didn’t.
“Alright,” I said quietly. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Go on,” he murmured. “I’ll be in soon.”
