Page 81 of Wishing Hearts

“Oh,” she says, and there it is. The magic of camping.

“We’ll look at the real ones, too,” I tell her. “But this way, we’ll keep ’em with us when we go to bed.”

“It’s kinda like my night-light,” she says softly.

Exactly.

I give her a smile. “Should we see if your dad is ready for us now?”

Winnie nods exuberantly before skipping from the tent, and I follow. Tigger is sitting next to Harrison, nose suspiciously close to the bag of marshmallows in his lap. When Winnie walks up, Harrison hands her a roasting stick, already loaded with a mallow on the end.

“Want some help?” Harrison asks her.

Winnie shakes her head, taking a seat in the camping chair beside Harrison. Her tongue sticks out as she carefully positions her marshmallow over the fire. Tigger, I notice, has shifted her attention to Winnie, possibly hedging her bets.

I chuckle, taking the chair on Harrison’s other side. Squeezing his knee, I ask quietly, “Gonna offer to help hold my stick?”

He bites his lip, a smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “You’re fully capable.”

“Sure,” I agree. “But it’s more fun when you do it.”

Harrison shoves the bag of marshmallows at my face, and I barely dodge the soft attack in time. Snatching it from him, I blow him a kiss and stick two marshmallows on my roasting stick. He shakes his head, opening a packet of graham crackers.

Harrison gets crackers and chocolate ready for Winnie, and when she finally pulls her marshmallow away from the fire, he helps her maneuver the entirely too-white mallow onto the sandwich. In no time at all, the plate is in her lap, and marshmallow and chocolate are smeared across her cheek.

“Here,” Harrison says, handing me a prepped plate, as well.

“Thanks, stud.”

Harrison grabs the bag of marshmallows, setting to work on his own s’more, and once my mallows are fully browned—not charred—I slip them between my graham crackers. Harrison, I note, put two rows of chocolate in my s’more instead of one. I like his style.

I hum as I take my first bite, the treat feeling nostalgic in the best way. I went camping a lot when I aged out of the foster system, having picked up the basics of it from one of my carers who ran a summer camp. Once I turned eighteen and was officially on my own, I found solace in packing up my tent and camping under the stars.

All my life, I’d never had a place where I belonged. But there, underneath the starlit sky, I felt at home. I think it’s because I knew, somewhere out there, my family was under the same roof.

All I had to do was find them.

Harrison knocks my boot with his own, drawing me to the present. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, giving him a smile. “I like this.”

His lips turn up. “I like this, too.”

I finish my s’more as Harrison eats his own, followed by another three. Winnie only manages two and a half.

The sky is turning dark by the time we’re done with our treats, and as the fire dies down, Harrison heads inside with Winnie to get ready for bed. I enjoy the last vestiges of warmth with Tigger, who’s pressed against my leg, soaking up the scratches I’m giving her.

“This is the life, huh, Tigger?”

She doesn’t respond, but she does look up at me, rusty orange eyes flickering slightly in the glow of the fire. She seems content here, Winnie’s little sidekick. I don’t blame her. I think anyone would be lucky to belong to the Baileys.

When Harrison and Winnie get back outside, Winnie is dressed in warm pajamas, and her hair is down and brushed. She makes a beeline for her treehouse, clearly not quite ready to settle in for the night. Halfway up the ladder, she calls out, “Come on, Sam. You said we could look at stars.”

I huff a laugh. That I did.

“You go ahead,” Harrison says, starting to collect our trash. “I’m just going to clean up first.”

“You sure?” I check. “I can help.”

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