Page 13 of Bedtime Stories
His hair looked soft in the photo, a little unruly, like it might fall into his eyes if he moved too fast. I picture him pushing it back absently, fingers lingering there while he tries to make a point he’s half embarrassed to say out loud.
Maybe his shoulders tense when he’s nervous. Maybe he crosses his arms when he’s trying to look stubborn. Maybe that serious expression in the picture would crack the second someone teased him.
Or maybe I’m inventing half of this.
It was just a few photographs. A handful of still moments. But even in that frozen frame there was something about him that felt… open. Like the boy in the picture wanted very badly to trust someone.
The thought tightens something in my chest.
He sends another message, sweeter this time.
Oren: You’re really doing this. For me.
His words make me forget about the overstuffed trunk and the ridiculous kid’s flashlight wedged between the lanterns. Because what he doesn’t get—what I can’t tell him yet—is that it’s not just for him.
It’s for me, too.
I stare at the message until my throat goes dry. Before I can figure out what to say, another bubble appears.
Oren: You’re basically the perfect camp counselor Daddy.
The words wrap around my heart and squeeze. My ears go hot, my pulse doing a sprint while I stand in the middle of an outdoor gear store parking lot, surrounded by SUVs and shopping carts. Camp Counselor Daddy. Jesus.
I huff a laugh and scrub a hand over my jaw, shaking my head. Thirty-six years old and blushing at my phone because of a slip of a boy I haven’t even met in person yet.
Careful, kiddo. That title might go to my head.
His reply is instant.
Oren: Maybe that’s the point.
I laugh out loud this time, earning a look from a couple loading supplies into their car two spaces over. My chest feels too tight and too light all at once, as if someone cut the ropes I’ve been holding myself down with.
You still nervous?
The bubble hangs longer this time.
Oren: A little.
Oren: Okay, a lot.
Good. Means you care. Means this matters.
A minute passes before his next message appears.
Oren: What if I’m not what you expect?
I lean back against the car and let my smile shine through.
Kiddo, you already are.
