Page 4 of Daddy's Little Camping Trip
I got lost in the fun of it when I got a tap on my shoulder. It was a little I didn’t know before. She had pigtails and a bright-pink duck suit on. Where she found a duck suit that was pink, I didn’t know. But she waved for me to come with her, and we went and played with blocks.
I never did get her name. She didn’t speak a word, but we played and played and played, and I was having fun, until I got distracted.
I felt bad, but anyone in my position would’ve felt the same, especially with the hot daddy so nearby. And not just any hot daddy, one I’d been eyeing a couple of times now from afar. I hadn’t been sure he was a daddy before—he’d always been hanging out with his friends in the main area—but today, he was in the little room, leaving no room for doubt.
When the girl I’d been playing with waddled away in her little pink duckie outfit, I decided, why not ask the daddy, for fun? There was plenty we could do still. The night was young.
“I’m Quill.” I waved—just like pink-duck girl had with me. So much for communication.
But I always found it important to let the daddies take the lead, and I wasn’t sure if he wanted somebody who talked big or not. Which really shouldn’t change how I acted, but there it was. I didn’t have a preference, and it was just a random day. If this had been a date or something formally set up, it’d be different. For tonight, I was letting him take the lead 5000 percent.
He took a breath. “You can call me Daddy G.” His face scrunched up. “Can we take that back?”
I nodded. It did sound weird.
“Did you have something you wanted to ask me, Quill?”
“Do you want to play?”
“Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”
He looked at his friend, who just rolled his eyes. I wasn’t sure what was going on with that, but it didn’t matter. I had a playmate.
We started with the plastic bricks, moved on to coloring, and then I found myself back with race cars…only this time going down tracks with my daddy for the night, declaring the winners.
Then we were interrupted. Ms. Lily called for everyone’s attention and announced that the camping sign-ups were available. He looked down at me and asked if I was going.
Normally, I would’ve cracked up at that. He saw my lace shorts and my kitty-cat ears. What part of that shouted camping? There were a thousand reasons going was a bad idea, and every one of them related to camping itself.
But what did I do instead?
I said, “Oh, that looks like fun,” marched over to Ms. Lily, and put down my name.
Please let Daddy be going too, because it was the only thing that could make bears eating my feet in the middle of the night worth it.
Chapter Four
Gilbraith
I really had shown up at Chained with every intention of telling Bridger I wasn’t going on the camping trip, but meeting Quill had changed that. When I asked if he was going, he said yes, and since I’d already given him the impression I would be going, what could I do but go ahead and sign up?
Truly, the alternative was to sit home for the weekend plus those extra days, being mad that I lost my vacation for the year. So, a chance to maybe spend time with an adorable little certainly was a better choice. Sitting on my bed, I looked around at the piles of things around me. It was just a weekend, but I wasn’t sure exactly what to take. My resort clothes, including the ones I’d bought just a couple of weeks before, just didn’t look right for camping. Swim trunks aside, I did not think anything in my wardrobe would work.
But, since I didn’t plan to take up camping as a hobby, did I want to invest in a lot of clothes for the trip? If my family hadn’t gone to resorts, neither did we camp, so I wasn’t super clear on the protocols. Would I need hiking boots, a serious backpack, dehydrated meals? But then I laughed at myself, overthinking it. This was a Little Summer Camp, not roughing it in the wilderness. At least, I didn’t think so. But there was a way to find out.
The website for Chained should have some information about the activities and the campground where the event would be held, so I got my phone and checked it out. There were pictures of the place, showing rows of tents. Not pup tents but full-sized ones a person could stand up in—but they were still tents. Not buildings with respectable walls and a roof a personcould count on. Fabric structures had never held appeal for me unless they were party setups involving champagne tastings.
Various activities were listed like games and meals and one special daddy/little evening. It wouldn’t make up for missing my entire island vacation, but if not for the fact we’d be sleeping outdoors and who knew what the showering options were, it might have cheered me up slightly.
At the end of the event description was a link to the campground, and I clicked on it, wanting to see things like the bathroom facilities. Not that it would deter me from going. I was more interested in the little than disinterested in camping. But I wanted to be prepared.
The campground’s site offered multiple images of the grounds and gave me a better idea of what lay ahead. The tents were fine, if you were a fan of tents, but beyond them lay a row of cabins. Clicking on them revealed a rustic interior, but they did have serviceable enough bathrooms, full-sized beds covered with colorful quilts, and porches with rocking chairs outside the front doors.
I could live with that.
Drawing a breath of relief, I located the campground phone number at the bottom of the page and tapped it to dial. “Campground, this is Sandy, how can we make your summer funner?” The Sandy in question was a deep male voice, and his recitation of what must be their required phone-answering line was hysterical. But I didn’t laugh because it was hard enough to have to say it without being made fun of. We all had inconvenient work stuff to deal with. Case in point, the reason I was even around to go on the camping trip.
“Hi, Sandy, I’m signed up for the event this weekend, but I’m hoping I can upgrade from a tent to a cabin. I don’t mind paying the difference, but I prefer indoor plumbing.”
