Page 29 of Bedtime Stories
Chapter
Twelve
OREN
The campfire pops and crackles, sending little sparks spiraling into the night sky. Half the Littles are singing along to some goofy song, the other half are toasting marshmallows so burnt they could double as charcoal. I’m sitting in the middle of it all, knees tucked to my chest, feeling… different.
Not fixed. Not perfect. But lighter. As if I actually belong here.
I glance down at my socks—tonight’s choice is neon green with cartoon frogs—and wiggle my toes in the firelight. A couple of days ago, I would’ve hidden them. Tonight, I’m showing them off proudly.
Across the fire, Theo is laughing so hard he nearly drops his s’more in the dirt, Lane is making some snarky comment about how “At least one of us should’ve brought a guitar,” and Timmy is curled up on the hottie counselor’s lap, half-asleep.
Keane catches my eye from where he’s standing just outside the ring of firelight, arms folded, discussing God knows what with other Daddies. He’s not singing or eating marshmallows, but the way he’s watching me… it makes my heart feel full.
Later, when the singing fades into yawns and the counselors shoo everyone toward their tents, I linger. Keane lingers too. We drift toward the edge of the lake, away from the chatter and the flicker of the fire.
The stars are scattered so bright above us it feels like they could fall right into my hands.
“I don’t want it to end,” I blurt. My voice is small, but it carries in the quiet night.
Keane turns his head toward me, and his profile in the starlight is sharp and soft all at once.
“What?”
“This,” I say, gesturing vaguely. Camp. Him. The way my chest feels like it might burst. “The weekend. I don’t want it to be over.”
He studies me for a moment, long enough to make me fidget. Then he shifts closer, brushing the back of his hand against mine. Not grabbing or pushing. Just there.
“It doesn’t have to,” he says quietly. His voice is calm, as if he’s stating a fact, not making a promise he can’t keep. “I’m not going anywhere, Oren.”
My throat tightens, and I nod too quickly, trying to blink back the sudden sting in my eyes.
I look up at the stars so I don’t cry in front of him. But what I really feel is small, protected, and accepted, like maybe for once in my life, the story doesn’t have to end where I thought it would.
Keane’s words hang between us, soft as the ripple on the lake.I’m not going anywhere.
The bears in my belly stomp and charge, claws digging at my insides, too big for me to hold in. My hands twist in the hem of my hoodie, and my throat is tight, and before I can think better of it I blurt, “Then kiss me.”
Keane goes very still. Motionless in a way that makes me instantly want to snatch the words back and stuff them in my pocket.
“I—forget I said that?—”
But then his hand finds my cheek, and he tilts my face up. “Kiddo,” he murmurs, voice low, “you sure?”
The bears roar, and I nod so hard I might sprain something.
“Y-yeah. I’m sure.”
And then his mouth is on mine. Gentle, not claiming or bulldozing, but warm, careful. My lips tingle, my eyes flutter shut, and the whole world tilts as if the earth itself just gave me permission to stop running.
When he finally pulls back, my breath is shaky. My heart is stampeding, my body buzzing like I swallowed fireflies.
Keane presses his forehead against mine, chuckling softly.
“You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Good trouble?” I whisper.
