Page 10 of Daddy's Little Camping Trip
“Okay.” They went on their way, and we stepped up to her.
“Do you think you have all of them?”
“We did a good job, Ms. Lily,” I said.
She took the clipboard and looked it over, ticking them off one at a time.
“You’re the grand prize winners!” The grand prize being a patch that said the game and grand prize. It was cute enough. But I found that out later. In the moment, everything was about the victory.
I squealed, squeezed, and hugged G, not even thinking it through. Before I could pull back after realizing my mistake, his arms came around me too—tight.
But then it was time for the next activity, and I sat with Winter and Hudson, and we made a craft. It was kind of cool, even if G didn’t participate. He left to “take care of something.” He did promise to be back soon, at least, so I didn’t worry that he didn’t want to hang out. The crafts were made with sticks and no glitter because ears. We used twine and paint and lots of glue. And it was fun.
I laughed, enjoyed getting to know Hudson and Winter better. But my mind was always wandering back to G, and wishing that I’d been able to spend this time with him too.
I was in too deep, and I’d only met the guy.
What was it about this daddy?
Chapter Eight
Gilbraith
My trip home through the woods had been spooky for sure with the moon playing hide-and-seek behind some passing clouds, but I never ran into a bear—a plus—or anything else that might consider me a tasty treat. The lantern offered plenty of light to keep me from stumbling, and once I showered off the smoke residue from the campfire, I fell into bed and slept until morning. Something I felt confident would not have been the case in one of the tents. Although I had a remote that would opaque the walls of the dome, I had not made use of it, so the rising sun woke me early, and I took another shower, enjoying the multiple heads and steam function. If this was a test by the owners to see if a person who preferred luxury to camping would enjoy it, I had to say it would get four out of five stars from me. Five when there was a road to it so I didn’t have to hike.
But then, maybe most people who chose the woods for a vacation would plan on hiking anyway. I had asked Rocky why they didn’t put the domes on the lakefront, but they explained that the campground took up all the acreage in that spot, and they didn’t want to change the character of their place. It was busy all through the season, with some people reserving their spaces a year in advance.
Not wanting to have to hike back and forth, I filled a small backpack with things I thought I’d need during the day: sunscreen, swim trunks, and a change of T-shirt, some protein bars, and a bottle of water. There were sure to be things to eat, but with a hike in between locations, my very tiny prepper instinct kicked in. I also needed clothing and such for the evening’s special daddy/little dinner.
Breakfast with Quill was everything. Although we were seated at a table with others, we were able to speak to one another better than at the meet and greet the night before. The food was delicious, as well, but one thing had me ready to bundle up this little and carry him off back to the safe urban environment where I usually dwelled. Or at least my dome. He was covered with red bumps, the result of his tent mate’s inability to stay put for five minutes, going in and out and letting in the skeeters each time. Due to the same issue, he had bags under his eyes and was positive he’d heard bears.
I assured him that they were unlikely to be so close to the campground—but really, I had no idea if that was true. If bears were all around like that, wouldn’t they have knocked things down and made a real mess?
“Ms. Lily said we shouldn’t have anything that was scented in our tents, and we needed to make use of the bear-proof lockers for even our toothpaste,” he informed me. “And no food whatsoever inside with us.”
I thought about my nice stash of snacks at the dome and tried not to feel guilty. Worried, I couldn’t avoid, but looking at Quill’s arms and face and legs, I did see one thing I could do to make us both feel better.
When he went to do a craft activity, I excused myself to go “take care of something,” without saying what. He nodded, but I could feel his disappointment, making me torn between running the errand I had in mind and staying to play with Quill.
But watching him claw at his arms, I knew my duty as a daddy. “You have fun and show me what you made when I get back, okay?”
“Okay.” His lower lip thrust out just the teensiest bit, the cutest thing I’d ever seen, and watching him fall in with a few other single littles and head for the activity, another sigh emerged. He had that effect on me.
The nearest town lay several miles away, and it was not huge, but they knew their customers’ needs and the mom-and-pop convenience store/gas station had an entire endcap filled with solutions to a camper’s bug woes. I grabbed one of the handled baskets by the front door and made my selections. There were sprays and creams and gels for keeping the mosquitos and their friends at bay. Candle, bracelets, and blue-glowing lanterns for the same purpose. More sprays and creams and gels for treating the resulting bites and stings when the avoidance items failed. Sunscreen with repellant. Repellant with sunscreen.
How did anyone ever choose?
In the end, after the helpful mom of the mom-and-pop pairing offered very little useful advice, I just swept one of everything that seemed at all reasonable into the basket and gave her the best sale of the day—probably the week—before turning my car back in the direction of the campground and one particular itchy little.
Feeling like an anti-bug enthusiast, I tucked the bag of items in my backpack, arriving just in time for a hot dog festival on the deck overlooking the lake with an entire buffet of toppings. Including last night, I’d now officially eaten more hot dogs in twenty-four hours than in the past two or three years. But eating them with Quill while he showed me his craft and talked about everything Ms. Lily and our hosts had planned for the rest of the day was worth every bit of mystery meat clogging my arteries.
Many of the littles were big hot dog fans, and with so many toppings, along with a heap of giant baked potatoes on the side for anyone who preferred not to indulge in the wieners, there was something for everyone. The usual condiments, of course—mustard, ketchup, mayo, relish were taken to the next level with Portland ketchup, dill and spicy relish, and even Kewpie mayo. Not to mention a half dozen mustards. And there were gratedcheeses, chopped onions, tomatoes, pickles…and ranch. A full gallon of house-made ranch. And a mountain of buns.
Fun food for everyone concerned, and with an afternoon and evening schedule packed with all sorts of projects and games and snacks and of course our special dinner, spirits were high.
Since I’d arrived as everyone was sitting down, I waited until we were outside after lunch to open my backpack and retrieve the collection of items I’d purchased at the store.
“You bought all these things?” he asked, scratching absentmindedly at the side of his neck. “For me?”
