Page 31 of Finding Gideon
His voice was soft. Tired, maybe. But not closed off.
“Night,” I said, the word coming out rough.
Door clicked shut.
Mine didn’t, not right away. I stood there like an idiot, keys still in hand, feeling like someone had knocked something loose in my chest and I didn’t know how to put it back.
It should’ve been nothing.
Just a game. Just drinks. Just a walk back.
But now I was standing here wondering how the hell his shoulder had fit under my arm like it belonged there.
Chapter 10
Gideon
Grass clung to my toes. Somewhere behind me, a bird called out—sharp, then gone. The dog crouched a few feet away, front legs splayed, haunches wiggling like he’d never known a bad day in his life. A knotted rope hung from his jaws, drool darkening the twisted fibers.
“Are you ready for this, Sir Sniffsalot?” I raised an eyebrow and gave the rope a small tug.
He growled low—more play than threat—and yanked.
I staggered, half-laughing, half-grunting as he dragged me two whole steps across the yard.
“Alright, alright! Mercy, you beast.” I twisted the rope around my hand for better grip and gave a decent pull. “Come on, Lord Mutticus. Show some respect.”
Nothing. Not even a twitch of recognition.
So far this morning, I’d triedColonel Woofington,Dr. Paws, andMajor Payne. He’d responded to exactly none of them.
The rope slipped through my hands, and I landed on the grass with a soft thump, breathless and grinning. The dog pounced immediately, tongue lolling, tail windmilling behind him. His coat gleamed in the morning light—richer brown now,healthier. He looked like a real dog, not the half-starved ghost I’d met weeks ago behind the diner.
He barreled onto my chest, hot breath panting in my face.
“Good grief. Ever heard of personal space, Sir—God, I don’t know, McBarker?” I laughed as he licked my chin and flopped down, pinning me to the grass with the full weight of his affection. “This is not how tug-of-war ends. You’re cheating.”
Footsteps creaked across the porch. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“You two look like you’ve been in battle.”
Malcolm’s voice wrapped around the backyard. Deep. Familiar. A little amused.
“You say that like I’m winning.” I tipped my head back and squinted up at him. “He’s relentless.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Malcolm’s mouth as he leaned against the porch railing, coffee in hand. He’d thrown on a faded Sacramento Kings T-shirt and gray cotton shorts that hung just right on his thighs. Sunday casual. Still managed to look like a damn billboard.
The dog sprang off me in a flurry of excitement and trotted toward him. Tongue out. Rope forgotten.
“What a menace,” Malcolm muttered fondly.
The dog froze mid-step. Both ears shot up.
Malcolm glanced at me. “What?”
“Say that again.”
“Menace?”
