"Will we come back then?"
The question was simple but loaded. Will we come back implied a future. Implied this wasn't a one-time thing. Implied we'd still be together in July. In August. Beyond.
"Yes," I said. "As many times as you want."
She smiled against my chest. Burrowed closer for a moment. Then pulled back and lay down on the blanket.
The sun was higher now. Warming everything. She stretched out like a cat, arms above her head, eyes closed, face turned up to the light.
I watched her. Couldn't help it. The way her chest rose and fell with breathing. The way her skin was already taking on color. The way her lips curved in a small contented smile.
"You're staring," she said without opening her eyes.
"You're worth staring at."
That smile widened. "Flatterer."
I lay down beside her. Propped myself on one elbow so I could keep watching. Keep memorizing this moment. This perfect afternoon.
She shifted position after a few minutes. Rolled onto her stomach. Looked over at me. "Will you put sunscreen on my back? I burn easily."
I'd brought sunscreen specifically for this reason. Pulled the bottle from the cooler and squeezed some onto my palm.
"This might be cold," I warned.
"That's okay."
I applied it carefully. Started at her shoulders. Worked the white cream into her pale skin with steady pressure. She made a small sound. Almost a purr. Relaxed completely under my hands.
I took my time. Covered every inch of exposed skin. Her shoulder blades. The long line of her spine. The dip at her lower back. The small of her back just above her bikini bottom.
When I reached the backs of her thighs, I was careful. Mindful of her bad knee. That scar from the ACL surgery was still visible. Still reminded me of what she'd survived.
"Does it hurt?" I asked. Gentle pressure on the knee.
"Sometimes. When I move the wrong way. When I stand too long. Sometimes even when it rains." She shifted slightly. "But not today. Today it feels fine."
I finished with sunscreen. Capped the bottle. But kept my hands on her. One palm resting on her lower back. Warm skin under my hand. Her breathing slow and even.
"That feels nice," she murmured. "Your hands. They're always so warm."
We stayed like that for a while. Just existing together. The sun warm overhead. The ocean providing ambient sound. Other beachgoers far enough away to give us privacy.
She talked about random things. About a book she'd been reading in the library. About whether pineapple belonged on pizza—she said yes, I was horrified, we argued playfully about it for ten minutes. About her memories of dancing. About whether she missed it.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "I miss the feeling of moving like that. Of my body doing exactly what I told it to. But I don't miss the pressure. The constant criticism. The feeling like I was never good enough."
"You're good enough," I said. "More than good enough."
She rolled over. Looked up at me with those grey-green eyes. "You have to say that. You're my Daddy."
But her voice had changed slightly. Gone softer. Younger. The teasing tone was still there but underneath was something else.
Little Sophie starting to emerge.
I checked my phone. 2:17 PM. We'd been here for over two hours.
"Hungry?" I asked. "We have more food in the cooler."
