Page 85 of Bedtime Stories
Epilogue
Sunlight sparkles across the pool, and I can’t help but grin as the Littles descend in a whirlwind of bright bathing suits, inflatable rafts, and enough chaos to fill the yard twice over.
“Your pool’s so big!” Lane yells, cannonballing into the water and sending a tidal wave my way.
Theo tugs at his raft, frowning. “I’d have spent the money on craft supplies if it were me. A treehouse would’ve been cooler.”
I shoot a warning glance at Timmy, who’s staring at Keane a little too long.
“Stop it, Timmy,” I snap, voice protective. “My Daddy’s off-limits!”
Keane chuckles and ruffles my hair, and I can’t help but smile, pleased with myself.
“Your Daddy’s hot,” Timmy emphasizes, still staring at Keane’s broad chest and tapered waist tucked into his board shorts.
The smell of burgers on the grill drifts over, and Keane calls out, “Lunch is on me!”
He flips patties with effortless precision while I hand out juice boxes, feeling that familiar mix of warmth and domestic mayhem.
“Could we maybe get a treehouse?” Theo asks again, splashing toward the shallow end.
“You’re all too big for a proper treehouse,” Keane says, eyes twinkling. “But a Littles’ shed? Gaming, crafts, whatever you lot get up to? That I can do.”
Lane squeals and does another cannonball, water soaking the edge of the lounge chairs. Theo crosses his arms, pretending to consider it seriously. I lean back against Keane, wet hair plastered to my forehead, and laugh.
“They’re ridiculous.”
Keane presses a kiss to my temple. “And you love them,” he says.
“I do,” I admit, wrapping my arm around him. “And you. And… this.” I gesture to the pool, the sun, the house… “All of it.”
“All of it,” Keane echoes.
By late afternoon, the yard is full of movement and life—splashing, joking, shouting over a game of Marco Polo and lost rafts. I curl up next to Keane on a lounge chair, wrapped in towels, toes skimming the water, hands entwined.
“Daddy,” I whisper after a long pause, head against his shoulder, “thank you for staying.”
“Always,” he replies, holding me closer. “For everything.”
And in that quiet moment, watching the little bursts of joy around us, I realize—the story I used to imagine isn’t just mine anymore. It’s ours. Full of warmth, trust, and the kind of love that stays and heals, no matter the day.
The sun dips low,painting the backyard gold, and one by one the Littles take their leave. The pool empties, but the echo of their laughter lingers in the warm air. I’m still wrapped in atowel, hair damp, skin sticky from sunscreen and summer fun, when Keane calls me over.
“Shower first, then bedtime story.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Bring your flashlight and journal.”
I shuffle into the bathroom, wishing this was a shared shower with my Daddy washing me from head to toe. But knowing he’s waiting for me makes me hurry.
Keane sits cross-legged on the bed, the soft light of the lamp glinting off his dark hair. I climb onto the bed, nestling close, flashlight balanced between us to read.
“Which story tonight?” I ask, balancing the journal in my lap.
“Whatever caught your eye this week.” He tilts his head. “I want to see what you picked.”
I choose my latest addition, inspired from our courtroom drama. Daddy Keane is Lawyer Daddy, dressed in a suit and tie that look hotter than the skimpiest briefs.
The pages glow under the soft light. I start to read aloud in a low voice, shaky at first, but Keane’s hand slides over mine, warm and steady, anchoring me.
“Lawyer Daddy clears his throat and pulls his tie loose. ‘Come closer, little boy. Let me cross-examine you.’”
