Page 10 of Bedtime Stories
lol no way. It’s not… It’s not really my thing.
Even as I type it, my heart’s betraying me, whisperingBut maybe it could be.
To steer things back to neutral territory, I send him a picture of my veggie straws and wait for the praise I so desperately crave.
Keane doesn’t disappoint.
Keane: Healthy snacks are good for a growing boy’s body. Such a smart boy!
Yeah, that does it for me. My cheeks are totally warming.
The phone dings again, but this time, it’s not Keane.
The group chat is relentless.
Theo: Come on, you gotta come! You’ll regret it if you don’t!!
Lane: Keane would totally take care of you
TinyTim: Imagine your bedtime stories by the fire tho
I bury my face in my hands. Traitors. All of them.
Even though I haven’t said I’m going out loud, I dump the snacks on my bed and sort through them as though I’m packing for a month-long expedition instead of two nights away. Apples, granola bars, gummy bears, the iced animal crackers with sprinkles, and a family-sized bag of pretzels I already regret buying. I line them up neatly, then line them up again by color as if it matters.
My phone buzzes on the blanket beside me. The group chat is alive—little chimes popping every few seconds.
Lane: Got glow sticks! Pink, green, AND rainbow.
TinyTim: I’m packing marshmallows. Who’s got the chocolate?
Theo: Don’t forget bug spray this year. I’m not playing human buffet again. Unless its…
TinyTim:
Lane: Glow sticks >>> bug spray
I nibble my lip, thumbs hovering over the screen. I could send a picture of my snacks. I could join in the excitement. Instead, I just…watch. Their chatter is a party behind a glass wall, and I’m the kid with my nose pressed to it.
My gaze drifts back to the bag. I pick up a pair of socks—baby-blue, patterned with smiling strawberries. The kind I always wear when I’m drafting picture books. I stroke the fabric as if it’s a talisman. If I bring these, maybe camp won’t feel so impossible.
The chat keeps chiming. They’re joking about who snores, about who gets first shower rights. I can’t bring myself to add even a single emoji.
And then my phone buzzes in a different way. Not the group chat. A name flashing I didn’t expect:Keane. Incoming Call.
My stomach flips so hard I almost drop the socks. We’ve only texted. Words on a screen. He’s seen the parts of me I curate, carefully polished. A phone call feels… real.
My thumb hovers.Don’t answer. Just let it ring out.But I swipe anyway because Ineedto hear his voice.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Oren.”
His voice. Oh God, his voice. Smooth and rich. Warm honey poured into a glass. Lower than I imagined, too—softness wrapped in steel.
“Sorry if I caught you at a bad time.”
I scramble for composure. “No, uh—it’s fine. I was just—packing. Kind of.”
