The Night in Daddy’s Tent

“Chloe, have you finished packing for the camping trip yet? ”Mom's voice echoed from the living room.

“Almost done! ”I called back, though my hands were still, my gaze fixed out the window.

My stepfather Sebastian was in the driveway, shirtless, washing the car. Soapy water streamed down his tanned back, tracing the lines of his muscles. My breath hitched.

He had no business looking like that. Broad shoulders, defined arms. For a man in his thirties, he was unfairly attractive.

My real father left before I was born. Sebastian married my mom when I was six. He’s been the only dad I’ve ever known.

Mom is always busy, always stressed. She never had the patience for typical mother-daughter things. When I got my first period, it was Sebastian who stumbled through an explanation. When my first crush broke my heart, it was his shoulder I cried on.

And now here I was, watching him through the glass, feeling a twist in my stomach that was completely wrong.

He looked up. I jerked my head away, fumbling with the zipper on my duffel bag.

“Ready for your big adventure? ” Mom appeared in the doorway, a teasing smile on her face.

I just sighed.

Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday.

That's the official reason for this camping trip.

My mother, Mom, insists no sunrise compares to the one at Yellowstone.

She is determined it will be the setting for my "coming-of-age" moment.

Personally, I think thirty-degree heat, mosquito swarms, and sweat-drenched clothes are a terrible birthday gift.

I'd much prefer air conditioning and a slice of cake.

If my stepfather, Sebastian, hadn't been so enthusiastic, I would have refused.

He glanced back from the driver's seat and offered a reassuring smile.

It was like he could read my mind.

I quickly looked down, hoping he didn't see the blush on my neck.

The drive to Yellowstone National Park takes three hours.

Mom talked nonstop from the passenger seat the entire way.

"And then Hannah had the audacity to say the report was late," she said, massaging her temples. "Hannah. The woman who needs help submitting her own timesheet."

Sebastian chuckled softly. "You two are perpetually in a battle."

"She provoked me," Mom grumbled.

A sudden, strong wind rushed through the slightly open window.

Mom sneezed three times in quick succession.

She quickly rolled up the window and sniffled. "Ugh. I feel a cold coming on."

Sebastian reached over and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "You do feel warm. We can turn back if you're unwell."

I watched his gesture, a familiar ache tightening in my chest.

I wished that gentle concern was meant for me alone.

"Absolutely not!" Mom declared, pulling away. "I am not letting my daughter enter adulthood without witnessing the most spectacular sunrise of her life."

“Mom, it’s fine. We can always come back another weekend.”

I tried to keep my voice light, but the worry was a knot in my stomach.

She waved me off, her smile strained. “Don’t fuss, Chloe. I’m just tired. A little rest and I’ll be good as new.”

I knew better than to argue. My mother had a stubborn streak a mile wide.

The drive to Yellowstone felt longer than usual. By the time Sebastian pulled the car into the designated campsite, Mom was pale. Her eyes were half-closed, and her breathing had a shallow, uneven rhythm.

“This is absurd,” she muttered, rubbing her temples. “My head is pounding.”

Sebastian was at her side in an instant, his hand firm on her arm. “Come sit by the water, Vic. In the cool air. The sun isn’t helping.”

He led her to a camp chair under the shade of a tall pine, right at the edge of the lake. She sank into it with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll help you with the tent, Sebastian,” I offered, moving to stand beside him.

Mom gave a weak flap of her hand. “Go on. I’m no help to anyone right now. Just shout if you need a fire extinguisher.”

“Right.” Sebastian let out a slow breath and turned toward the pile of equipment. “Let’s get this set up quickly. She needs a proper bed tonight.”

I nodded and followed him. He dumped the tent bag on the grassy ground and knelt to loosen the straps. I crouched next to him, reaching for one of the flexible poles. As my hand moved, the back of my knuckles grazed the flat plane of his lower abdomen.

His skin was warm through his thin t-shirt. I felt the muscles there contract instinctively at the contact. A jolt, sharp and electric, raced up my arm. I snatched my hand back too quickly.

He didn’t even glance up. His voice was a low, calm murmur. “Hand it here. I’ll feed it through the grommet.”

I tried to concentrate. When I lifted the pole to align it with the tent sleeve, he shifted behind me. His arms came around either side of me, his hands closing over mine to guide the pole. His grip was sure and steady. His chest was a solid wall against my back, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him.

His breath fanned warm against my neck, slow and steady.

His heartbeat thudded against my shoulder blade, a solid, rhythmic pulse.

I forced my gaze to stay fixed on the tent pole.

Not on the way his body caged mine from behind.

“Right there,” Sebastian murmured, his voice low.

He guided my hands, pushing the pole forward until it slid fully into place.