“The best kind.”
The bears calm at last, curling up soft and satisfied inside me.
We don’t talk on the walk back to the tent. We don’t need to. My hand brushes against his once, twice, and by the third time Keane just catches it and holds on. My whole arm buzzes.
Inside, Quackers gets prime real estate again, plopped in the spot of honor between our sleeping bags. I crawl into mine, still tasting Keane on my lips. My body’s practically vibrating, but my eyelids are heavy.
“Bedtime story,” I mumble, before I can chicken out. My face is hot in the dark. “Please?”
Keane laughs, low and husky. “You want a bedtime story?”
“Yes,” I whisper into my pillow. “One you make up. For me.”
He shifts, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Alright. Once upon a time… there was a very serious, very important Daddy who went on a quest.”
I grin in the dark. “Boring. What kind of quest?”
“A quest for the rarest socks in the land. Only one boy could help him find them.”
My giggle escapes before I can stop it. “Better. Keep going.”
“The boy was clever, brave… but also kind of a rascal. He liked to interrupt bedtime stories.”
“Only when they’re boring. Tell me what the Daddy did when he found the boy.”
Keane hums as if he’s thinking. “He… praised him for being so good. For being his good boy.”
My whole body tingles. “Not boring anymore.”
There’s a pause, then Keane’s voice dips lower. “And maybe, when the boy wriggled close in the dark, the Daddy kissed him again. Just a little longer this time.”
My breath hitches. “Y-yeah?”
“Yeah,” Keane says softly, and leans in. His lips brush mine, slow and sweet, pulling the air right out of my lungs.
When he pulls back, I squeak out, “That’s a good story.”
“Not done yet,” he murmurs. “But the rest is for tomorrow.”
I burrow deeper into my bag, grinning in the dark, and drift off with bears in my belly, fireflies in my chest, and the warmth of Keane’s hand brushing mine until I drift off.
I wakeup in the half-light, heart thudding, body warm and aching. My first thought isnot again.My second thought isdefinitely again.My underwear is damp and clinging, my thighs tacky. A groan slips out before I can smother it.
Beside me, Keane shifts. For a terrifying second I think he’s asleep, but then his voice rumbles low.
“Good morning, kiddo.”
My face goes up in flames. “I—I can explain.”
Keane doesn’t tease. He just pushes up on one elbow and looks at me calmly, as if he’d expected this all along.
“Dream?”
I hide under my blanket. “Maybe.”
Keane chuckles softly. “Kinda figured. You were wiggling.” His hand smooths over my blanket-covered shoulder, reassuring. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I freeze. “You don’t… have to.”
“I know.” His tone is warm and matter-of-fact. “But I want to.”
I let him tug me gently out of the sleeping bag. My face stays hidden in my hands while he kneels in front of me, helping me peel the damp fabric down my thighs. Every brush of his knuckles against my skin makes me twitch, but it’s not embarrassment that burns; it’s something hotter, scarier, better.
He eases me into clean cotton. When he’s done, he lingers for just a second, his fingertips grazing my hipbone. Then he leans close and whispers, “You might be the perfect boy for me.”
My heart lurches so hard it hurts. I peek through my fingers at him, wide-eyed, as if I need to make sure he actually said it.
He meets my gaze without flinching, serious and soft at the same time. And not for the first time this weekend, I wonder if this thing between us might already be bigger than camp.
