“But I had to be careful.”
Before I could say much, he headed straight upstairs toward our master bathroom.
I watched him disappear down the hall, that unfamiliar scent still lingering where he’d stood.
Later, Toby splashed in the tub while I worked strawberry shampoo through his curls.
“So, mister camper,” I said, keeping my voice light. “What was the best part this weekend?”
Daddy’s number one camping rule.”
“The pancakes!” he shouted. “But I had to be careful, Mommy.”
I paused, my fingers still in his hair.
“Careful about what, baby? Was there a bear?”
He giggled the way only four-year-olds can, all teeth and honesty.
“No, silly. Because of Daddy’s number one camping rule.”
“Where does Daddy sleep?”
“And what’s Daddy’s number one rule, sweetheart?”
Toby leaned forward, cupping his hands around his mouth as if it were the most important secret in the world.
“Don’t tell Mommy that Daddy doesn’t sleep at the tent with me.”
