Page 17 of Daddy's Little Camping Trip
He gave me a tour—which made much more sense than I thought it would. From his earlier conversations with the people who ran this place, they were planning to expand this sectionand make it more integrated into the campground. If I ever came back to little summer camp, I would for sure make reservations for one of these domes.
However much they cost, they were worth it.
“Why don’t we sit out on the deck?” Daddy said. “Don’t worry—there aren’t any bugs. They have some sort of magical citronella barrier going on out there.”
“Barrier?”
“Well, they have little essential oil burners and candles if we want them, and there’s a spray. Basically, it’s citronella heaven. I didn’t think I liked the scent, but after being out here and not being bitten? It’s become my favorite.”
I took a seat on one of the comfy chairs. He went back inside to get us something to drink. It was weird switching gears after a little evening. But it felt like this was big time. I was staying here, which meant conversations probably needed to be had. Conversations about expectations, what we wanted—that kind of thing.
Or maybe I was overthinking everything and we would each just go to sleep.
I really hoped it wasn’t that.
I liked this guy a lot, and I didn’t see why we couldn’t enjoy this time together fully.
He came back with a little tray, glasses carefully placed on top—five of them, each filled to the top. And in the center? A bowl of Goldfish crackers.
“I didn’t know what you’d want,” he said. “There’s milk, water, lemonade, cola, and iced tea.”
It was so incredibly sweet of him to be so considerate. I looked back and forth between the glasses.
“I think I’ll have the iced tea,” I finally said then immediately second-guessed myself. “Unless you want me to have the milk… I mean, I use some Daddy’s…”
“I want you to have what you want,” he reassured me.
He picked up the lemonade and brought it to his lips. I watched, jealous of the glass, as he pressed his bottom lip against it and took a long drink.
“Did you know about this?” I asked.
“Oh, I tried to book a cabin,” he said. “There was no way I wanted to stay in a tent. My idea of a vacation is room service…maybe a cabana boy or two bringing me piña coladas by the pool.”
“I prefer that kind of trip too,” I admitted.
“But this sounded like fun. Especially when I heard a little someone was coming.”
My cheeks burned at the compliment—or at least what I took as a compliment. “Well, that little someone was only coming because he had a daddy ask him if he was. And he was hedging his bets.”
I didn’t see any reason to be quiet or pretend about any of my feelings. Communication was key—especially if I was going to get involved with him in a daddy sort of way. The quickest method to sabotage a potential future was to hope the object of your affection could read your mind or interpret your hints correctly.
I learned that one a long time ago.
And I wasn’t going down that path again.
I took a long sip of my iced tea and was pleasantly surprised. Even though the place was filled with citronella, it didn’t have the scent I remembered from growing up—those huge bucket candles they’d burn at neighborhood block parties. This was crisp and pleasant. All of it was…except the fact that Daddy was sitting in one chair and I was in another.
Chairs weren’t touching.
We weren’t touching.
“Well,” he said, “I’m really glad you came. And I really hope that after this weekend’s over, we can see each other again.”
“I’d like that.” I stood up, walked over to the double lounger, and sat down on it. I patted the spot beside me. “I’d like to sit near you. You seem so far away.”
“Look at you. What a good boy, telling Daddy exactly what you want.”
I blushed. He looked at me, waiting for more.
