“Claire! Stay out of Gibsie’s sleeping bag.”
“But we don’t sleep apart, Hugh. You know that.”
“I can’t cope with this.” Huffing and puffing like a grumpy bear, Hugh climbed out of his sleeping bag and flicked on a torch, bathing the tent in a dull yellow hue. “I’m out of here.”
“No, Hughie, don’t go,” Claire called after her brother, while I rummaged around for my own torch and switched it on. “You’re closest to the door,” she called after him. “We need you to stay so the rats have to go through you to get to us.”
Too late.
Her brother had disappeared into the darkness of the garden, armed with his sleeping bag. A few moments later, the sound of the treehouse ladder creaking filled the air.
“At least he’s not going inside,” Gibsie offered. “Because our mams definitely won’t let us sleep outside without Hugo Boss-man.”
“I’m older than Hugh,” Patrick huffed, sounding insulted.
“Ah, you see, but Hugh is thesensibleone,” Claire explained, mimicking her mother’s voice, while nestling into the sleeping bag with Gibsie. “Mam says Hughie got all the wisdom, and I got all the wildness.”
“Happy now?” I asked dryly, when Gibsie and Claire were snuggled up like littermates in one sleeping bag. “You two are ridiculous.”
“I told you before I can’t sleep without her,” Gibs explained, curling up like a cat around our friend. “It’s not my fault.”
“And he keeps me warm,” Claire added with a sleepy yawn. “’Night, Gerard, love you.”
“Love you more, Claire-Bear.”
“You better not fart,” Patrick warned, pointing a finger at Gibs before turning his attention to Claire, “and you better not snore.” With that, he settled into his sleeping bag and covered his head with the pillow he was supposed to be using beneath him.
I waited for the others to fall asleep before carefully climbing out of the tent and making a beeline for the treehouse.
I didn’t want to sleep in a tent with boys if that tent didn’t contain Hugh Biggs. Excitement thrummed inside of me at the thought of spending time alone with him.
When I reached the top of the ladder and crawled through the doorway of the treehouse, I found Hugh reclining in a sleeping bag, using the light from his torch to read a weathered paperback copy ofAngela’s Ashes.
The minute my eyes landed on him, a surge of heat attacked my skin, and my heart galloped wildly. “Hey. Can I stay up here with you?”
“Hey.” His attention immediately shifted to me. “Uh, yeah, of course.” Setting his book down, Hugh lifted the side of his sleeping bag and gestured for me to climb inside.
Without hesitation I did just that, thrilled when my cold feet were instantly warmed by the heat emanating from his legs.
“You’re getting hairy,” I told him, feeling the coarseness of his leg hair brush against the smoothness of mine. “It’s strange.”
“Nothing I can do about that, I’m afraid,” he replied, twisting around to drape a warm arm around my shoulders as I turned with my back against his chest. “Warm enough?”
“Mm-hmm.” Nodding, I reached up and grasped his forearm with both of my hands and snuggled in close. “Toasty.”
“You feeling okay, Liz?”
“Yeah, Hugh.” Sighing in contentment, I snuggled in deeper. “I’m having the best summer of my life.”
“Yeah.” His arm tightened around me. “Me, too.”
Unable to repress the shiver of pleasure that rolled through me when he held me close, I turned my head and nuzzled his chest with my cheek. “You make me feel happy.” Inhaling deeply, I whispered, “You make me feel safe.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“So I should probably tell you something.”
