“I like your overalls.”
My ears get hot. “Y-you do?”
“Yeah. They suit you.” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Cute.”
Cute. He said cute.
Before my brain can explode, I blurt back, “Well, I like your Daddy suit.”
He huffs a laugh, deep and rumbling, shaking his head. “Not exactly ideal for the woods.” He tugs at his loosened tie with a wry grin. “Don’t worry, I brought a change of clothes.”
That image alone—Keane in jeans and maybe a t-shirt instead of his lawyer armor—makes me squirm in my seat. I bite back a smile and turn toward the window before he can see my face.
Quackers rides silent shotgun between us, seatbelt snug.
The gravel crunches under the tires as Keane turns into the campground. A big wooden sign welcomes us, painted in cheerful colors like something straight out of summer camp movies.
My stomach does a full gymnastics routine.
“This is it,” Keane murmurs.
I nod, taking a deep breath. No backing out now. The moment I step out of the car, I’m ambushed.
“Oren!”
Three bodies barrel into me—Theo, Lane, and Timmy—chattering all at once, tugging at my bag, my shirt, my arm. They swarm like puppies, and before I can catch my breath, they’re looking past me.
“Ohhh,” Theo says, eyes going wide. “You brought a Daddy.”
Timmy smirks. “Tall. Handsome. Professional-looking. Ten out of ten.”
Lane crosses his arms, scowling. “I should’a brought a Daddy too.”
Theo elbows him, grinning wickedly. “Please. I’m holding out for a hot camp counselor Daddy.”
As if on cue, a laugh rings out behind us—warm, good-natured, and… yeah, hot.
We all turn to find an actual counselor strolling up, dressed in khaki shorts, a tight polo that's struggling to contain his ripped pecs, and a clipboard in hand. He’s carrying a fistful of sparkly laminated name badges that glitter in the sunlight.
“Sounds like I got here just in time,” he says, still laughing. “Which one of you is Oren?”
I raise a tentative hand.
“Perfect.” He hands me a badge with my name written in rainbow gel pen, complete with stickers of stars and ducks. My heart does a little flip.
The counselor hands out badges one-by-one, the Littles buzzing like bees around a candy jar. Theo immediately pins his to his shirt and twirls. Lane mutters something about his badge not being sparklyenough,and Timmy is already swapping stickers with a stranger as though they’ve been best friends for years.
Meanwhile, I’m clutching mine as if it’s made of glass.
“Don’t forget your Daddy gets one too,” the counselor says, flipping through the stack and holding out a larger badge in glittery gold. Across it, in thick marker, it reads:Daddy Keane.
My stomach free-falls.
The group chatter dies down just enough for me to realize everyone’s staring—at him,at Keane, towering beside me in his lawyer suit.
Theo grins as if Christmas came early. “Trial Daddy, huh?”
Lane snorts. “Figures you’d show up with a hot one.”
