Page 45 of Finders Keepers

I look around at the tiny house at the few personal items we’ve accumulated since leaving Oklahoma. Sophie’s drawings are taped to the refrigerator, the only real decoration we have.

“Thank you.” I say, placing the jar on the small dining table.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m ready,” I say, before the anxious part of my brain can start listing all the reasons why I shouldn’t go.

I slip my damp feet back into the white wedges by the door, suddenly grateful for the extra height they give me. I check my phone one last time—no messages from Ms. Lucy about Sophie. Everything’s fine.

Gavin holds the front door open for me, and I step out into the warm evening air. His older model truck sits in the driveway, a dark maroon Ford that’s clean but clearly well-used. My steps slow as we approach it, my heart picking up speed with each foot closer we get.

The last time I was alone in a vehicle with a man…

No. Don’t go there. This isn’t the same. Gavin isn’t Matt.

“You okay?” He asks, noticing my hesitation.

I force a smile. “Just checking if I forgot anything.” The lie slips out easily, a reflex developed over years of hiding my true feelings.

He opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in, fighting the urge to immediately check for an escape route. The leather seat is cool against the back of my legs where the romper doesn’t cover. I watch as he walks around the front of the truck to the driver’s side, giving myself a silent pep talk.

I can’t help but notice the manual locks, little plastic knobs I could pull up myself if I needed to. Something in me relaxes a fraction. At least I’m not trapped.

Gavin slides into the driver’s seat, and suddenly the cab feels smaller. I’m hyper-aware of how close he is, how confined this space is. I press myself subtly against the passenger door, trying to create distance without being obvious about it and put my seatbelt on.

“All set?” he asks, starting the engine.

I nod, not trusting my voice. The truck rumbles to life beneath us, and I curl my fingers into my palms, focusing on the slight sting of my nails against skin to ground myself.

“So where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

“I thought we could try out The Clay Pot. It’s about fifteen minutes from here,” he says as he backs out of the driveway. “Unless you had something else in mind?”

“Nope, that sounds good.” I say as I watch us pass Ms. Lucy’s house. Where my daughter is baking cookies.

As we drive through the streets of the small town, I find myself stealing glances at his profile. The setting sun catches his face just right. His hands rest confidently on the steering wheel, and I notice a small scar on his hand, just below his thumb.

“So… how’s the flower shop been?” he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Oh. I’m umm really enjoying working there. Mary Beth taught me how to make these amazing succulent arrangements the other day. Did you know that some succulents can go weeks without water? They store it in their leaves, kind of like-” I catch myself starting to ramble and feel my cheeks heat up. “I’m sorry.” I blink. “I tend to get carried away talking about plants when I’m nervous.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, turning his gaze to look at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road again.

I fidget with my fingers in my lap, twisting them together as the car hums along the road. The motion seems to help calm my nerves.

Gavin glances down, noticing my restless hands. “Bailey, I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. We can turn around if you’d rather not do this.” His voice is gentle, lacking any trace of disappointment or judgment.

The tenderness in his tone catches me off guard. With Matt, any sign of my anxiety was met with irritation and condescending comments, never concern. I swallow hard, trying to find my voice.

“Thank you but I’m fine,” I say quietly, barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I can manage.

We drive in silence for another minute before Gavin turns into the parking lot of The Copper Pot. The restaurant’s warm lights glow invitingly through large windows, and I can see people inside laughing and enjoying their meals. My stomach tightens with a mixture of hunger and apprehension.

He parks the car and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Hold on,” he says, and before I can reach for my door handle, he’s already out and walking around to my side.

He opens my door with a small flourish that makes me want to smile despite my nerves. Then he extends his arm toward me, offering it without expectation.

I stare at his arm for a moment, hesitating. Physical contact with men still makes my pulse quicken, and not in a good way. But something about this moment feels different, safe somehow.

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