Page 66 of Finding Gideon
I followed a few seconds later, burying my face against his neck, muffling a curse into his skin.
We stayed like that for a moment—breathing, laughing a little, catching each other’s eyes and then looking away, grinning like idiots. A glance at the clock told me we had eight minutes until the next appointment.
“Guess we were… productive,” he said.
I smirked. “Best staff meeting I’ve ever had.”
Chapter 21
Gideon
A soft grunt came from the blanket beside me. Toast stretched out his good back leg and gave a lazy blink, one ear twitching in the breeze. He looked better—meat on his bones, a glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there weeks ago. His coat caught the light, patchy but cleaner, glossier. Progress wasn’t loud. It looked like this.
I crouched beside him and ran my hand gently along the joint of his hind leg, feeling the warmth, the looseness in the muscle. He let out a low, contented huff and dropped his head back down.
“Not bad for a guy with three legs,” I murmured, scratching under his chin.
He thumped his tail once on the blanket. A slow, lazy drumbeat of approval.
A few feet away, Dennis lay sprawled in the shade of the lemon tree, his tongue lolling slightly as he kept one eye cracked open in Toast’s direction. Ever the reluctant big brother, Dennis had taken it upon himself to supervise the newbie. Every time Toast made a noise or shifted, Dennis would twitch or grunt like he was ready to write a report on it.
I leaned back on my heels, took a breath. The quiet out here was different—the kind of peace you could sink into. A bee bobbed past my ear. The world kept on humming, soft and low. There were no emergencies. No one asking me for anything. Just the rhythm of breath and sun and space.
This—this made sense.
Toast shifted again, scooting closer so his side brushed against my leg. I rubbed behind his ear without thinking.
Tires crunched over gravel. A car door slammed in the distance. My head lifted, the moment fracturing slightly. Then the quick, unmistakable sound of sneakers hitting dirt—fast and light, like a kid too excited to walk.
“Toastie!”
The voice shot through the stillness, full of sunshine.
Junie.
Toast’s ears perked. He pulled himself up and took a few shaky steps toward the gate before pausing. Head tilted. Listening.
She rounded the corner in a blur of braids and denim, arms flapping like she might take flight. Behind her, her moms walked hand in hand, one of them holding a brown paper bag to her chest. It looked like they were in vacation mode, sandals and sunglasses and relaxed shoulders.
Toast made a sound I hadn’t heard from him before. Sort of a chirpy, hiccuped bark. Then he limped forward again, faster this time, tail wagging in a wide, slow arc. There wasn’t any hesitation or fear. Just recognition.
Joy.
“Hi, Toastie! I missed you so much!” Junie dropped to her knees right there in the grass.
He reached her a beat later and collapsed beside her like he’d been running a marathon. She didn’t flinch when he pressed hissnout to her leg, and didn’t pull away when his tongue caught her wrist.
Instead, she laughed. “That tickles, you silly dog.” Her voice dropped to something softer. “You remember me, huh?”
Toast flopped sideways into her lap and let out a gusty sigh, content as all hell.
I stood; the backs of my knees ached from crouching too long, but that wasn’t my focus. My eyes were locked on the two of them—Junie humming something under her breath, fingers combing gently through the fur behind Toast’s ear. It was probably a made-up tune. Something light and off-key and perfect.
It didn’t feel like watching a kid with a dog.
It felt like watching the last piece click into a puzzle you didn’t know you’d been working on.
Junie looked up at me with a grin.
