Page 19 of Finding Gideon
For a while, we drove in companionable quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space. Gideon’s gaze stayed fixed on the passing landscape—low hills softened by fog, stands of pines dark against the pale morning.
“Reuben mentioned you used to be in San Francisco,” he said at last, curiosity threading through his tone. “Big city job, emergency vet stuff. Must’ve been a hell of a change coming here.”
“Yeah,” I said. “San Francisco was home for most of my life.”
That got his attention. He turned, studying me like he wanted to hear it in my own words, not just secondhand gossip.
I kept my eyes on the road. “Ten years in emergency medicine. Long shifts, trauma cases, constant pressure. Eventually, I realized the work was chewing me up. Moving here was… survival as much as anything else.”
His gaze lingered, quiet but steady. He didn’t press, though I could feel the weight of unasked questions.
“Foggy Basin seemed like the right speed?” he asked.
“Slow enough I can breathe,” I said. “Still enough work to keep me busy.”
He nodded, thoughtful, and then offered, “I’m from Oregon originally. Parents are still there, but we’re… not close.”
Something in his tone told me not to ask why, so I didn’t.
“Ended up drifting. Been to Washington, Idaho, Nevada. Stayed where I landed, until it was time to move on again.”
I almost asked what brought him all the way down to this nowhere patch of Northern California. Almost. But something in the set of his jaw, and the way his hands rested loose on his knees, like he’d trained himself not to hold on to things too tightly, made me keep that question to myself. If he wanted to tell me, he would. I wasn’t in the business of forcing things.
The hills around us curved into soft ridges, dry grass swaying along the slopes. Trees clung in clusters, like they hadn’t decided if they wanted to be forest or grove.
“It’s beautiful here,” Gideon said. “Feels… bigger than I expected.”
“In what way?”
He tilted his head. “Like there’s room to breathe. Even the air smells different.”
“It’s August. Everything smells like oak pollen and cow shit right now.”
He laughed—quiet, but genuine. “Still better than the dorm I lived in freshman year.”
We hit the edge of town, where the street signs turned hand-painted and the mailboxes got weirder. I pointed out a few landmarks without thinking.
“Our main street’s actually called Main Street. No one got too creative with that one. Most of the businesses are on it—hardware, diner, bakery.”
He smiled again, watching the town unfold like a pop-up book. Then I added, “We’ve got the Foggy Basin Inn. Old motel-style, U-shaped. From the fifties. Still has coin-operated massage beds in the rooms.”
“People actually stay there?”
“Yeah.”
We passed the last gas station, a faded sign advertising ice cream and diesel. I should’ve stopped talking. IknewI should’ve stopped.
“There’s also Lover’s Butte,” I continued. “Just outside of town. People go up there to… hang out.”
I immediately wished I could throw myself out of the truck.
Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Hang out.”
“Yeah. You know. Park. Talk. Stuff.”
He didn’t say anything, just looked amused in that quiet, unreadable way of his. I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.
“It’s… local trivia,” I added, like that would make it better.
