Having a sleepover in the back field of Harvey’s house at the Wishing Well Ranch wasn’t exactly how you pictured spending your Saturday night.**

You had imagined a night out maybe—barbecue, music, some drinks under string lights, not dodging mosquitoes and untangling mismatched tent poles in thigh-high grass like you were auditioning for a reality show called "Camp Disaster."

But then Luke—sweet, big-eyed, master-manipulator Luke—had begged. That soft, pleading voice, bottom lip stuck out in full wobble, hands clasped like some little angel straight from a Hallmark movie.

“Please? It’ll be soooo fun. We can all sleep out and tell ghost stories and eat marshmallows and—”

Yeah. Who the hell could say no to that?

So there you were. A ragtag bunch of adults with varying levels of outdoor competence, slapping tents together like it was some kind of survival challenge. A chaotic one.

Summer was staying with Rhett in their aggressively color-coordinated tent—she’d brought matching pillows, for God’s sake. Willa had paired off with Cade, and you already knew Luke was going to abandon his little solo tent mission the second the crickets started chirping too loud. That left you with…

Jasper.

Of course.

Jasper—who you'd had a quiet, smouldering, stupidly persistent crush on since you were ten and he pushed you on the tire swing.

Jasper—who somehow still managed to look good sweaty, tired, and covered in grass clippings.

You were convinced God had a twisted sense of humor.

“Nice tent,” he’d said earlier, crouching beside you with that lazy half-grin that made your brain short-circuit.

“Thanks. I picked the smallest one so we’d have a shared oxygen crisis,” you replied, voice tight, watching his shoulders shake as he laughed.

“Well, I always wanted to know what it’d feel like to suffocate next to someone cute,” he said casually, before disappearing inside to set up his sleeping bag like he hadn’t just detonated a verbal grenade and walked away.

Now, hours later, the sun was down, the stars were bright, and your back was one inch away from giving up on you entirely.

You shifted on the crinkly sleeping bag, brushing elbows with Jasper—again.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

“Don’t be. You’ve already kneed me in the ribs twice and called me a space hog.”

“That was before you started snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” he said defensively.

You looked over. “You do snore. Like a bear. A cute, lumberjack-type bear, but still.”

He chuckled again, voice low and warm. “Cute, huh?”

You mentally cursed yourself. “I said lumberjack-type. That’s not the same as—”

“I’ll take it,” he said, turning toward you in the tent, his face lit faintly by the glow of a dying flashlight.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard Luke’s giggle float across the field followed by Willa's exasperated "Luke, you're supposed to stay in your own tent!"

You smiled, then sighed. “Remind me why we agreed to this?”

Jasper stretched, arm brushing yours again. This time, he didn’t pull away. “Because we’re suckers for that kid. And maybe because…” He looked at you sideways, smirking. “Some of us don’t mind being stuck in a tiny tent with childhood crushes.”

You blinked. “You knew?”

“Oh yeah,” he said easily, “Ever since you accidentally called me ‘your future husband’ in a game of MASH back in sixth grade.”

You groaned and buried your face in your sleeping bag.

“Relax,” he said, chuckling, “It was kind of adorable.”

You peeked up at him. “You never said anything.”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t sure you still felt that way. But now we’re here, so…”

“So?”

“So maybe this is a good time to ask if you’d like to go on a real date sometime—somewhere with less bugs and more oxygen.”

Your heart did a somersault. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Outside, someone let out a dramatic fart. Probably Rhett. Someone else yelled, “Gross, dude!”

Jasper laughed.

“Romantic,” you said.

“Perfect,” he grinned.