Page 45 of Bedtime Stories
Chapter
Nineteen
OREN
The group chat explodes the second I set my cereal spoon down.
Lane: Post-camp depression is real. I miss you losers.
Theo: Solution: mini-camp. But with pumpkins. And cider. And maybe haunted hayrides.
TinyTim: And hot cocoa with marshmallows bigger than my head.
I grin, already picturing it.
Lane: So… a fall retreat? Apple orchards, corn mazes, hot Daddies in flannel.
Theo: Correction: hot SINGLE Daddies in flannel.
TinyTim: I’m bringing Counselor Hottie. You’re all welcome.
I laugh so hard milk almost comes out of my nose.
Camp is once a year. But… a fall day trip? I could maybe swing that.
Lane: YES. Oren votes yes.
Theo: Unanimous. Meeting adjourned.
I set my phone down, cheeks warm. Keane’s name sits at the top of my screen like a little beacon, but I don’t text him. Not yet. He has work. I have… well, my own work, which I just turned in last night. A whole book, done and off to my editor. That deserves a prize.
So after breakfast, I reward myself with my favorite kind of treat: a trip to the bookstore. Nothing fancy, just the little shop on Main with the crooked overflowing shelves and the owner who always smells like coffee grounds.
I wander the aisles, fingers trailing over spines, already feeling lighter. Shielded. As though nothing can touch me here.
Until it does.
“Oren.”
The sound of my name inthatvoice makes me freeze. My stomach drops as if I missed the last step on a staircase.
I turn, and there he is. Vince. Looking exactly the same—tailored jacket, sharp smile, and that faint cologne he always wore, expensive wood polish and leather. He hasn’t changed at all.
And me? I feel nine years old. Small. Trapped.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.” His smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Still chasing fairytales?”
My fingers tighten on the nearest book, gripping it like a shield. I take a careful step back, putting a shelf of picture books between us like a flimsy barricade.
“Uh… hi, Vince,” I manage, voice a little tighter than I intended.
His gaze zeroes in on the book in my hand.
“Let me guess, treating yourself after a new release?”
His eyes flicker with interest, but also something else—as if he’s trying to gauge whether I’ve leveled up or still play by his rules.
Damn, I hate how he knows my habits. “Yeah. Just submitted it yesterday.”
