“Kind of,” he repeats, amused. I can hear the smile in his voice. “That sounds like code forNot really at all.”
I glance at my sad pile of groceries. “Busted.”
He chuckles, deep and easy. The sound makes my chest ache in the best way.
“Want to know a secret?”
Excitement bubbles in my chest, making me forget I was supposed to be sad.
“What?”
“I don’t think it matters if you pack the perfect snacks or socks or not. You’ll still be fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mumble. “You’re not the one who’ll show up with boring granola while everyone else has rainbow marshmallows.”
You’re not the only Little without a Daddy,is what I really want to say.
Keane hums. “What if I went with you?”
I blink. “What?”
“Just for the weekend,” he says, gentle but clear. “No pressure, no strings. If you hate it, I’ll drive you home myself. And after, if you want to resume online interaction only, that's up to you,” he finishes, sounding a bit deflated at the suggestion.
My pulse kicks like a startled rabbit. The thought of him there—his presence, his strength—makes my lungs feel both tight and strangely lighter. But panic swirls, too. What if the others figure out he’s not my real Daddy? What if they notice how badly I want this? What if he regrets stepping into my world?
“You’d—really do that?” I ask, voice small.
“Without hesitation.” There’s no wobble in his tone, no hesitation of his own. “Trial run, Oren. We’ll make rules we both agree on. Bedtime. Check-ins. Real meals. Nothing heavy.”
My throat closes.Trial run.My chest fills with quiet longing.
“Trial run,” I echo.
“Exactly.” His smile is audible. “And if the s’mores qualify as dinner, I’ll let you win that one. Once.”
My laugh is loud and bright, but it feels good. Just picturing him there, beside me, with his thick dark beard and kind brown eyes, has my stomach settling somewhat. Maybe he’ll reach for my hand. Drop forehead kisses at bedtime. Mmmm, his lips, framed by that scruffy hair, tickling me, soft, warm. Damn, my stomach’s a mess of butterflies now. We exchanged pictures online, and I definitely liked what I saw. Keane has that look, the Daddy look. TheSit on my lap and let me devour you with sweet kisseslook. Yeah, the butterflies just flew into my pants.
We drift into lighter things. Whether bug spray should count as an essential. Whether cute socks are valid camping gear. He says no; I argue yes, and he just keeps laughing.
When the call ends, I sit with my phone pressed to my chest. The group chat still buzzes, my snacks are still unorganized, but the air feels different now.Ifeel different.
He’s just a trial Daddy. An imitation of one.
But his voice, his reassurance, his promises—they don’t feel like imitation at all.
They feel terrifyingly, wonderfully real.
