Page 85 of Finding Gideon
“Reuben—”
“I think it’s one of those blind boxes where you get a new candle each month that smells like heartbreak and pine needles.”
“I think you need a hobby.”
“I have one. It’s guessing what weird stuff my neighbors order online.”
I smiled despite myself. “Enjoy your rounds, Mr. USPS.”
He tipped an imaginary hat, eyes twinkling. “You enjoy your... books, son.”
And with a wink, he turned and sauntered down the porch steps like he’d won something.
I closed the door, leaned against it for a second, and let out a slow breath.
Then I looked down at the box in my hand, heart kicking a little faster.
I didn’t open the box right away.
I set it on the bed, next to the folded hoodie Malcolm had left behind, and went about the rest of my day like it was insignificant. Like it wasn’t sitting there, waiting. Like I wasn’t different now.
But I was.
Not because I’d clicked a button and ordered lube and condoms in some kind of quiet declaration. But because somewhere between the first brush of his fingers and the way he’d kissed my neck like he worshipped it, something in me had shifted.
My body still buzzed—not in a frantic way, but softer, deeper. My skin remembered him. The sounds he made. The way his fingers brushed my hair back, like I was precious.
I’d never felt that before. Wanting someone this way. Not just because he was beautiful—though he was. Not just because of how good he made me feel—though he did. But because… I knew him. I trusted him. He made space for me to be exactly who I was, without rushing, without pushing.
It wasn’t just about sex. I’d gone twenty-four years without that kind of urgency. I could’ve gone longer. Maybe for the rest of my life.
But now? Now I wanted.
And not justthat.
I wanted him. In the mornings. In the messy everyday stuff. In the in-between spaces. In the silence. I wanted to reach for his hand and feel him squeeze back.
I wasn’t just attracted to him.
I trusted him.
I felt seen by him.
That kind of safety didn’t come easy. Not for me. But with Malcolm…
My chest ached with it, full and restless, like my heart was learning a new language it was always meant to speak. My hands wanted to reach for him even when he wasn’t near, like muscle memory had already claimed him. This wasn’t urgency, and it wasn’t lust alone. It was devotion.
It was love.
I think I’m ready.
Not just for sex.
But for all of it—the good days, the hard ones, and all the messy parts that make a life together.
Because I wasinlove with him.
Chapter 27
