Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
OREN
Igrab the scavenger hunt list and glance at the other Littles pairing off. Lane and Theo are already bickering over which path to take, and Timmy is clinging to some overly enthusiastic counselor.
“Uh… can I pair with you?” I ask Keane, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly. My palms are sweaty, and I feel as if I’m twelve, asking someone to dance.
He raises an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You sure you want to pair with me? Not that I’m offended if you’d rather… strategize with your friends.”
I shrug, heart thudding. “I… I don’t care about winning. I just want to spend time with you.”
Keane’s lips twitch in that familiar half-grin. “Fair enough. Let’s see what the woods have to offer.”
We start down a winding trail, and I notice how easy it feels to walk beside him. His presence is solid, quiet, somehow grounding in a way I didn’t expect. I glance at him.
“So… do you come to the woods often?”
He chuckles. “Hardly ever. I can handle a city sidewalk just fine. You?”
I frown. “Not really. Except for backyard camping when I was a kid… or those little adventures I sneak into my stories.” I trail off, suddenly shy.
“Stories?” He looks at me with interest. “I’d love to know more about what you write.”
I nod. “Mostly Hedgehog’s adventures, snack stashes, silly things. Makes me feel… little, I guess. In a good way.”
Keane hums. “I can see that. It suits you.” His glance lingers just a little too long, and I feel a flutter in my stomach.
We pause at a hollow log covered in a patchwork of moss. “Think anything could be hiding in there?” I ask, kneeling beside him.
He leans over and peers inside. “Hmm. Maybe. Depends if you’re looking for pinecones or magic treasures.”
I giggle. “Magic treasures are better. Less messy and pinchy than pinecones.”
He laughs quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t know… pinecones have their charm.”
I bump him gently with my shoulder. “Charm, huh? You mean like your charm?”
Keane freezes just slightly, then shakes his head. “Maybe. But I’m not the one running around with sticky fingers and glitter on my hands.”
“Sticky fingers are fun!” I argue. “Glitter is basically nature’s confetti.”
He smirks. “Nature’s confetti, huh? I’ll allow it—for now.”
As we move deeper into the woods, our hands brush a few times, lightly, accidentally—or not—and I feel my heart race.
“So… what did you do before this weekend? Work stuff?”
He nods. “Yeah. Casework for a defendant.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your job sounds… intense. Doesn’t seem like you’d have time for… this.”
He shrugs, eyes on the trail. “It’s a different world. But being here… with you—it’s easy to step out of it for a while.”
I feel heat gather in my chest. “With me?” I murmur.
“Yeah. You make it easy,” he admits softly. “I like being around you. Reminds me that there are more important things in life than work”
I bite my lip, overcome with shyness at his compliment. “I like being around you too… more than I expected. Honestly, I didn’t think this weekend would… feel like this.”
Keane nudges me playfully with an elbow. “Like what?”
“Safe,” I whisper, glancing down at my sneakers. “Seen. As if maybe I don’t have to hide so much.”
His smile is slow and warm. “That’s good to hear.”
I catch myself thinking, I could do this all weekend. Or longer. Safe, seen, wanted… it’s intoxicating in a way I didn’t expect. Not just a “trial” for the weekend. Maybe… maybe this could be more.
By the time we check off the last item on the list, I’m grinning bigger than a kid in a candy store. Not because we won—we didn’t even come close to finishing—but because of the quiet moments in the woods where it was just the two of us, and I didn’t have to hide how much I like being near him.
Timmy bursts out of the treeline as if he’s making an entrance on a runway instead of finishing a scavenger hunt. Leaves crunch under his boots as he staggers dramatically toward the group, one hand pressed to his chest.
“I don’t feel so good,” he announces.
Everyone turns. Counselor Hottie—still holding the clipboard from the hunt—raises an eyebrow. “You were fine thirty seconds ago.”
Timmy plants himself in the middle of the clearing and does a full-body shimmy, shoulders to hips, as if he’s trying to shake water out of his clothes.
“I feel all… tingly.”
That earns a few snorts.
I squint at him. “You mean tired?”
Timmy shimmies again. Harder this time. “No. Tingly. It might be poison ivy.” He looks directly at the counselor and sighs tragically. “You better strip me down and check thoroughly.”
The clearing explodes. Lane nearly doubles over laughing.
Counselor Hottie folds his arms, clearly trying not to smile. “Pretty sure that’s not how poison ivy works.”
Timmy presses the back of his hand to his forehead like a fainting Victorian maiden. “It spreads quickly. Very dangerous. Might have to apply that pink calamine lotion… everywhere the tingling is.”
He wiggles his hips for emphasis. The counselor sighs the long-suffering sigh of a man who absolutely signed up for this job.
“Congratulations,” he says dryly. “You’ve discovered the extremely rare condition known as being dramatic.”
Theo elbows Lane and mumbles, “More like being horny.”
“Horny and dramatic,” Lane agrees.
Timmy’s cute face deflates. “So you’re saying you won’t rub lotion on me?”
“Correct.”
Timmy sighs again and trudges toward the picnic tables. “Well,” he mutters, “this camp has terrible medical care.”
Dinner in the mess hall is chaos in the best way. Half the Littles are talking at once, spilling sauce, dropping utensils, and laughing like the world is a giant joke just for them. I try to follow the conversation, but my ears perk up every time I hear someone say my name.
Lane is smirking. “Remember when Oren tried to… uh…”
I freeze. Oh no. Here it comes.
“…make slime in his room and glued his hands together for an hour?” Theo finishes, howling.
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I hide my face in my napkin. My friends are laughing so hard it’s contagious, even though I want to crawl under the table.
I sneak a glance at Keane, heart thudding. Is he laughing? Does he think I’m ridiculous?
Keane’s eyes meet mine, and there’s a glint of amusement, but also something warmer. He brushes the top of my foot under the table with his own. A light, deliberate graze that makes my stomach twist and a small shiver run up my spine.
I swallow hard, a small, guilty smile tugging at my lips. His secret smile back at me feels as if we share our own little bubble amidst the commotion of the room. It’s ours.
Even as Lane keeps recounting more silly, embarrassing stories—like the time I tripped over my backpack during an indoor obstacle course—I can’t stop sneaking glances at Keane. He’s calm, listening with half an ear, his attention mostly on me, and somehow makes all the madness melt away.
I press my toes slightly against his under the table. A tiny, shy thank-you.
Keane presses lightly in return.
I realize then, as my friends continue with their teasing, that it doesn’t matter if I blush or stumble over words or look ridiculous. With him here, laughing quietly just for me, I feel as though I could survive anything, even a noisy dinner.
And maybe that little spark under the table isn’t just comfort. Maybe it’s the start of something more.