Page 27 of Bedtime Stories
I bite my lip, overcome with shyness at his compliment. “I like being around you too… more than I expected. Honestly, I didn’t think this weekend would… feel like this.”
Keane nudges me playfully with an elbow. “Like what?”
“Safe,” I whisper, glancing down at my sneakers. “Seen. As if maybe I don’t have to hide so much.”
His smile is slow and warm. “That’s good to hear.”
I catch myself thinking,I could do this all weekend. Or longer.Safe, seen, wanted… it’s intoxicating in a way I didn’t expect. Not just a “trial” for the weekend. Maybe… maybe this could be more.
By the time we check off the last item on the list, I’m grinning bigger than a kid in a candy store. Not because we won—we didn’t even come close to finishing—but because of the quiet moments in the woods where it was just the two of us, and I didn’t have to hide how much I like being near him.
Timmy bursts out of the treeline as if he’s making an entrance on a runway instead of finishing a scavenger hunt. Leaves crunch under his boots as he staggers dramatically toward the group, one hand pressed to his chest.
“I don’t feel so good,” he announces.
Everyone turns. Counselor Hottie—still holding the clipboard from the hunt—raises an eyebrow. “You were fine thirty seconds ago.”
Timmy plants himself in the middle of the clearing and does a full-body shimmy, shoulders to hips, as if he’s trying to shake water out of his clothes.
“I feel all… tingly.”
That earns a few snorts.
I squint at him. “You mean tired?”
Timmy shimmies again. Harder this time. “No. Tingly. It might be poison ivy.” He looks directly at the counselor and sighs tragically. “You better strip me down and check thoroughly.”
The clearing explodes. Lane nearly doubles over laughing.
Counselor Hottie folds his arms, clearly trying not to smile. “Pretty sure that’s not how poison ivy works.”
Timmy presses the back of his hand to his forehead like a fainting Victorian maiden. “It spreads quickly. Very dangerous. Might have to apply that pink calamine lotion… everywhere the tingling is.”
He wiggles his hips for emphasis. The counselor sighs the long-suffering sigh of a man who absolutely signed up for this job.
“Congratulations,” he says dryly. “You’ve discovered the extremely rare condition known asbeing dramatic.”
Theo elbows Lane and mumbles, “More like being horny.”
“Hornyanddramatic,” Lane agrees.
Timmy’s cute face deflates. “So you’re saying youwon’trub lotion on me?”
“Correct.”
Timmy sighs again and trudges toward the picnic tables. “Well,” he mutters, “this camp has terrible medical care.”
Dinnerin the mess hall is chaos in the best way. Half the Littles are talking at once, spilling sauce, dropping utensils, and laughing like the world is a giant joke just for them. I try tofollow the conversation, but my ears perk up every time I hear someone say my name.
Lane is smirking. “Remember when Oren tried to… uh…”
I freeze. Oh no. Here it comes.
“…make slime in his room and glued his hands together for an hour?” Theo finishes, howling.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I hide my face in my napkin. My friends are laughing so hard it’s contagious, even though I want to crawl under the table.
I sneak a glance at Keane, heart thudding. Is he laughing? Does he think I’m ridiculous?
