Page 89 of Finding Gideon
“Everyone’s still alive,” I said lightly. “So, I’m calling it a win.”
Malcolm arched a brow. “High standards.”
“Toast is doing great,” I added. “He let me clean his bandage without so much as a growl yesterday. Might’ve been the peanut butter bribe, but still.”
His smile touched his eyes this time. “That’s good to hear.”
We stopped by the recovery kennel where Toast perked up at Malcolm’s voice. He crouched beside his enclosure and murmured a soft greeting. His tail thumped twice before he flopped back down again, satisfied.
I shifted beside him. “There was one... who worried me a little. Rex. He stopped eating for a day and a half.”
Malcolm’s expression sobered, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I went through the checklist you left—ran vitals, tried switching his food, offered water by hand... I even played music.”
He looked up at me, surprised. “Music?”
“Yeah. It was that orMoby-Dick. I figured a chapter-long lecture on whale anatomy might push him over the edge.”
That earned a quiet laugh. “You did good.”
I swallowed the lump that rose unexpectedly. “Felt like guesswork most of the time.”
“It’s always a little guesswork,” he said, standing again. “But you handled it.”
His hand brushed mine.
I curled my fingers around his.
Later, Malcolm and I tangled up on the couch, his arm heavy around my waist, my face pressed to the warm spot between his jaw and shoulder. It was ridiculous how good it felt, like my body had been waiting for this—waiting for him—for the past four days. Just to hold him. To feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine. The kind of ordinary closeness I’d once thought I’d never have.
Dennis had curled into his bed, nose tucked beneath his paw, out cold before the opening credits finished.
I tightened my arms around Malcolm, marveling at the simple truth of it: this man, this weight, this warmth, here with me. After days apart, nothing in the world had ever felt so right.
“How was the conference?”
He shrugged. “Long. A few useful panels. Mostly a lot of jargon, back-patting, and bad coffee. One of the breakout sessions got really heated about anesthetic protocols.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Scandalous.”
Malcolm grinned. “Yeah, high drama in vetland.”
A pause stretched between us. Not awkward—just... thick. Familiar.
Then he said it, voice quiet, almost casual: “It wasn’t as good as coming home to you.”
The truth of it threaded through me, simple and unshakable. My chest tightened, not from doubt but from the weight of how much he meant it.
“You make it sound like I’m the best part of your day,” I said, half teasing but unable to hide the hope behind it.
His smile softened.
“You are.”
Before I could say anything else, his hand came up, warm against the side of my neck, and then his mouth was on mine, sealing the words to me.
When we finally drew apart, slightly breathless, words rose before I could overthink them.
