He was grinning at her without realizing it. It was probably the wine getting to them both—Claire seemed pretty far out already. But so was he, since as she rattled on about “next time” he found himself nodding along agreeably. But he hadn’t really considered a next time, in fact he was starting to get fuzzy on how this time had happened in the first place.
Flynn stepped aside to allow her to fetch the blankets, considering the bed and the floor and the desk, in the order that she suggested. It was almost funny—usually when a girl told him to lay on the bed it wasn’t because they were about to build a blanket fort.
Cautiously, he approached it, bending slightly to poke the mattress with one finger. Not as comfy as his, he decided, and smaller. Again, his mind retreated to that time long before when he’d had no other choice but to “rough it,” which lead him to appreciate mattresses of all sizes and softnesses so much more. Claire probably hadn’t done anything like that—she’d probably been in the same four walls her whole life.
Now that was mind boggling. He couldn’t imagine living like that, even now—it would drive him crazy. Probably explained why she was kind of a little weird.
He inched away from the bed. He didn’t sit on the floor or the desk, either, though he was sure he wasn’t at that point of once-you’re-down-you-don’t-get-back-up yet. When she returned, he said, “I know a spot.” He closed his eyes, cleared his throat, then explained, “I mean, a nice camping spot. For next time. It’s in the woods, there’s a fire pit, and you can see the sky, when it’s nice out. We have parties there sometimes.” If she was going to camp outside for the first time, it was the least he could do to make sure she did it right.
Claire returned with enough blankets to put all of Russia through winter. She stumbled forward, unable to see her way to the bed but really not knowing to. She could walk the whole apartment with her eyes closed and not bump into a thing (she knew for a fact she’d practiced). The blankets were dropped on the bed and she fell onto them right after.
For a while all she did was kick at her feet, the only indication she was still awake and not down for the count. When she spoke again it was muffled by the blankets. “That sounds neat! I wanna count ‘em all!”
And then she flipped around pushing hair from her face and tugging down her huge t-shirt with a goofy grin. “You gotta take me. Promise. And we’ll invite all our friends and roast weenies. Why didn’t you get on the bed?”