Page 90 of Finders Keepers

I chuckle at the mental image of Nugget’s revenge. “Poor Nugget. We should definitely stop by your place first. I’d hate to be responsible for another boot casualty.”

“You sure?” His eyes search my face. “It’ll only take ten minutes or so.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I stand, brushing off my jeans.

The drive back is lighter, like the wildflower valley took some weight off my shoulders. Gavin tells me stories about his more interesting patients this week, including a goat that ate Christmas lights and a cat that got stuck in a dryer vent.

When we pull up to his house, Nugget’s excited barking greets us before we even reach the door. The moment Gavin opens it, eighty pounds of golden fur launches at me.

“Down, boy!” Gavin commands, but I’m already scratching behind Nugget’s ears.

“Hi sweet boy,” I coo as his tail wags hard enough to knock over the umbrella stand. “Did you miss us?”

“He’s supposed to wait for permission before greeting someone.” Gavin sighs, but his smile gives away his amusement. “You’re spoiling him.”

“Maybe he just has good taste.” I surprise myself with the flirty comment.

Gavin’s eyes darken slightly, but before he can respond, Nugget runs to the back door and starts doing his potty dance.

“Alright, alright.” He slides the glass door open, and Nugget bolts into the fenced yard. “Make yourself at home. Want some water?”

“Sure.” I settle onto his leather couch, taking in the comfortable space. It’s exactly what I’d expect from him, clean but lived-in, with veterinary journals stacked neatly on the coffee table and a few framed photos on the walls. One catches my eye, a younger Gavin in graduation robes, beaming next to who must be his parents.

“Here you go.” He hands me a glass of water and sits beside me, our thighs almost touching. “Thanks for coming with me today.” He says.

“Thanks for knowing exactly what I needed.” I take a sip, then set the glass down on a coaster. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just… know. When to push and when to let things be. When to talk and when to just sit there.” My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt. “It’s like you can read my mind sometimes.”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “I pay attention, I guess. To the little things. Like how you twist your clothes when you’re anxious, or how your eyes get distant when you’re stuck in your head.”

My breath catches. No one’s ever noticed those things about me before. Or if they did, they never cared enough to mention it.

“Plus,” he continues moving closer to me, his voice softer, “I really want to get it right with you, Bailey.”

The intensity in his amber eyes makes my heart skip. We’re so close now, I can see the flecks of gold in his irises. His hand finds mine.

The air between us crackles with something electric, something I haven’t felt in years. His thumb starts tracing slow, deliberate circles that send shivers up my arm. His eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us. The weight of the day, the fear, the guilt, it all fades into the background. All I can think about is how close he is, how his breath hitches when I lean in, how his lips part just slightly, like he’s waiting for me to make the first move.

And I do. I tilt my head, my heart pounding in my chest, and close the distance between us. But just before our lips touch, he pulls back, his hand gently cupping my cheek.

“Bailey,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

His question catches me off guard. It’s not that I don’t want this because I do. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. But the fact that he’s asking, that he’s giving me the choice, makes my chest squeeze in a way I can’t quite explain. This is different. This is mine.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I want this. I want you.”

His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of hesitation and when he finds none, he exhales softly, his breath warm against my skin. “Okay,” he says, his voice rough with restraint. “But if you need to stop, just say the word. No questions asked.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

This is my choice.

My decision.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel in control.

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