Marlene had a million thoughts to share on the topic, a million unfiltered words of advice that she was in no position to give. Most of them fell stale on the tip of her tongue as Gideon spoke. Maybe she would have done differently, but it was apparent that Gideon, at the very least, cared. She was affronted very suddenly with the reality of the situationâthat there were many tricky and sticky layers to the situation, far beyond the simple revelation that Gideon had fathered a child. With Hollie, Marlene remembered, wrinkling her nose.
What a proper mess, Marlene thought. She opened her mouth to investigate further. Imagination crept up on Marlene again as she wondered why Gideon was telling her this, why he was telling her now, but before any words could come out, Marlene was confronted with yet another revelation. Gideon had included her in an elite circle of people in his life, a small group of people privileged to know the most intimate details about him. Suddenly, she was no longer reacting to the fact that Gideon had a child; she was reacting to the fact that he had told her at all.
The realization drew Marleneâs eyes to Gideonâs, as something outside of her imagination crept up on her in its place. A radioactive sort of sensation, one that vibrated through her entire being with an intensity that was surprisingly foreign to Marlene McKinnon. She couldnât name it; and the longer it carried on, the more she found that she didnât want to. Though it felt as though someone had injected the sunâs rays into her veins â something pleasant and warm that felt particularly nice â there was another, very loud piece of Marlene that was screaming in protest, warning her against whatever this sensation was Gideonâs confession had elicited, as if it knew already what it was before the rest of her did. The sun could be kind and warm, sure, but the sun was also known to burn.
Marlene tried to swallow the feeling, but it didnât work. If anything, its intensity grew, as did both the instinct to fall face forward into it, and the instinct to run for the hills. But neither seemed appropriate, not before she figured out how sheâd gotten there in the first place.
âWhat are you telling me that for?â Marlene asked quietly.
Finally, as if coming up for air, Gideon realized Marlene still held his hand after looking for a band that didnât wrap around his left ring finger. A physical connection to her, something that only partially manifested the emotional tether Marlene McKinnon had around his soul. Defining it seemed impossible; it felt stronger than friendship, bolder than companionship. Gideon would be lying if he said he hadnât considered something more with this witch. Too often he caught himself wondering what her lips would taste like against his, or how she would react if he sprung from his seat, lifted her into his arms, and snogged her passionately until she begged for breath.Â
But that's not what Marlene wanted. In all his flirting, she seemed to seek nothing more than his friendship, and Gideon decided quickly that fragments of Marlene were better than nothing. Besides, they did make good friends---great friends. So much so that he confided one of the most private and personal details of his life.Â
Somehow, in the time the passed between Marleneâs question and his own fumbling thoughts, Gideon began absent-mindedly tracing the palm of her hand. Eyes fixed on his movements as he sought the best words to explain, to somehow express his inner-most desires in a way that made sense. When the words came to mind, his warm, brown eyes trained upward and met hers. On its face, his answer seemed simple.
âBecause itâs this big part of my life, and it felt weird knowing you didnât see all of me, I think.â Gideon paused but his eyes never darted elsewhere.Â
âBecause I trust you.âÂ
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