Chapter 18- Ellie
I wake up to the sound of my dad singing.
Passionately.
Loudly.
“Happy birthday to youuuuu—!”
I groan and pull the blanket over my head. “Dad, please, it’s too early for this.”
He ignores me completely and finishes the entire song, off-key and proud, before placing a warm box on my bed.
“Donuts,” he announces. “Your favorite.”
I sit up, hair a mess, eyes barely open. He smiles at me with that soft, fatherly warmth that always makes my chest feel full.
“I love you, my sweet pea” he says gently.
I smile back, sleepy and grateful. “Thank you, Dad. I love you too.”
We eat a donut together while I’m still half wrapped in my blanket, and he keeps looking at me like he can’t believe his little girl is growing up. It makes my heart ache in the best way.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with a FaceTime call.
Mom.
I answer, and her face fills the screen — bright, excited, emotional.
“Happy birthday, baby!” she says, blowing a kiss. “I wish I was there to hug you.”
“I know,” I say softly. “I miss you.”
She asks about school, about my plans, about whether I’m eating enough (classic Mom), and then she makes me promise to send her pictures later.
When we hang up, I feel warm. Loved.
And then my phone buzzes again.
Like the universe wrapped me in a blanket.
Oliver: Happy birthday, my beautiful.
My heart flips.
Me: Thank you, my handsome.
Oliver: Are you awake?
Me: Barely.
Oliver: Come outside.
My breath catches.
I throw on a hoodie, run a hand through my hair, and step outside—
And there he is.
Standing by his car. Hands in his pockets. Smiling at me like I’m the sunrise.
He walks over and pulls me into a hug — warm, tight, grounding. I breathe him in, and everything inside me settles.
We walk inside together, and the three of us sit at the table — me, Dad, and Oliver — eating donuts and scrambled eggs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Dad tells embarrassing stories about me.
Oliver listens like each one is a treasure.
I try not to die.
After we finish eating, Dad stands up and wipes his hands on a napkin.
“Game’s starting,” he says, nodding toward the living room. “Oliver, you watching with me?”
Oliver looks at me first — always checking, always gentle — and I smile.
“Go,” I tell him. “I’m gonna shower and get ready.”
He gives me that soft little smile that melts me every time. “Okay.”
They head to the living room, and I hear the TV click on as I close the bathroom door behind me. While I shower, their voices drift through the hallway — Dad cheering at the screen, Oliver laughing, both of them talking like they’ve known each other forever.
It’s warm. It’s easy. It’s… everything.
When I’m brushing my hair, I hear Dad say something — low, but clear enough:
“You’re good for her, Oliver.”
And Oliver, quiet and sincere:
“I care about her a lot, sir.”
My heart stutters.
I stand there for a moment, towel in hand, letting the words sink in. Because this — this simple, ordinary moment — feels bigger than anything.
It feels like love.
It feels like home.
When I finish getting ready, I catch my reflection in the mirror — hair brushed, outfit picked, cheeks still a little pink from the hot water and the excitement buzzing under my skin.
I can’t stop smiling.
The day barely started, and it’s already special.
Already warm.
Already full of love.
Breakfast with Dad.
Oliver showing up at my door.
The two of them watching football like they’ve known each other forever.
It’s… perfect.
And it’s only morning.
I step out of my room, and I hear the TV still going.
When they notice me, Dad whistles dramatically.
“Birthday girl looks fancy,” he says.
Oliver stands up a little too fast, eyes softening when he sees me. “You look beautiful,” he says quietly.
My heart flips.
Dad grabs his keys. “Alright, you two go have fun. I’ve got errands. Be safe.”
He hugs me tight, pats Oliver on the shoulder, and heads out.
The door closes behind him, and suddenly it’s just me and Oliver in the quiet house.
He steps closer, hands in his pockets, that shy smile tugging at his lips.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod. “More than ready.”
He reaches for my hand — warm, steady — and leads me outside to his car.
The drive is peaceful, sunlight spilling through the windows, music playing softly. Every few seconds, he glances at me like he still can’t believe I’m here.
When we pull up to Crystal Lake, my breath catches.
The water glimmers. The air is cool and crisp. The trees sway gently, like they’re welcoming us.
Oliver parks, gets out, and opens my door for me — because of course he does — then grabs a thick blanket from the backseat.
“I wanted to bring you somewhere quiet,” he says. “Somewhere just for us.”
And my heart…
My heart is gone.
Oliver leads me down the little path toward the lake, carrying the blanket in one hand and a folded tent in the other. I laugh.
“You brought a whole tent?”
He shrugs, cheeks pink. “I wanted us to be comfortable.”
My heart squeezes.
We find a flat spot near the water, and he starts setting everything up — the tent, the blankets, even a little lantern he brought. He’s focused, careful, making sure every corner is perfect.
“Oliver,” I say softly, “you planned all this?”
He glances up at me, shy. “Yeah. I wanted today to feel special for you.”
It already does.
When the tent is up, he leads me to the fire pit — a little stone circle right by the lake. He kneels down, arranges the wood, and lights it. The flames catch slowly, glowing warm and golden.
The air is cool.
The fire crackles.
The lake reflects the sky like glass.
He pulls out a bag of marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers.
“You’re kidding,” I laugh.
He grins. “Birthday s’mores.”
We sit close, roasting marshmallows, laughing when mine catches on fire and he panics like it’s a life-or-death situation. He wipes chocolate off my lip with his thumb, and my breath catches.
Everything feels soft.
Easy.
Perfect.
When the sun starts to dip, we crawl into the tent. It’s warm inside — blankets everywhere, soft pillows, the lantern glowing gently in the corner.
Oliver lies beside me, close enough that I can feel his heartbeat through the blankets.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod. “More than okay.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek. His voice is barely audible.
“I care about you so much, Ellie.”
My chest tightens. “I care about you too.”
We shift closer, our foreheads touching, our breaths mixing. His hand finds mine under the blanket, warm and steady.
The world outside fades — the lake, the fire, the wind — until it’s just us, wrapped in soft light and quiet warmth.
He whispers something — my name, maybe, or “beautiful,” or “I’m so lucky” — and I feel it everywhere.
We kiss, slow and gentle at first, then deeper, full of everything we’ve been feeling but haven’t said out loud yet. It’s tender. It’s warm. It’s love.
And when the moment deepens — when we choose each other fully — it’s not rushed or loud or dramatic.
It’s soft.
It’s trusting.
It’s two hearts opening at the same time.
The lantern glows.
The blankets rustle.
The world holds still.
We lie there together, wrapped in warmth and quiet, talking softly about everything and nothing — our families, our dreams, our fears, our hopes. His voice is low and steady, and every word feels like a promise.
The fire outside crackles low.
The lake whispers against the shore.
And inside this little tent, everything feels safe.
Wrapped in his arms, wrapped in this moment, I let my eyes drift shut and breathe him in.
If this is what love feels like…
I never want the night to end.