She shrugs again. "My best friend has two dads. One of them makes cookies and the other helps with math. They smile at each other like you do at him. Onlyyoutry to hide it."
I look down. My fingers are playing with the corner of a shell without realizing. She scoots closer, brushing sand off her knee.
"It’s okay, you know. My mommy says love is when you want to share your snacksandyour space."
I let out a weird half-laugh. "Is that so?"
She nods, serious. "And you gave him your pie. So…"
I shake my head, smiling. "You’re dangerous."
She just grins, proud of herself. "I know."
And I sit there. Quiet for a second. Thinking way too much. Then I pick up another shell and start building again. She’s quiet for a bit. Just poking the sand with that same tiny stick, drawing shapes that don't really look like anything.
I think she finally ran out of things to say, and honestly, I’m kinda relieved.
"Do you love him?"
I sigh. Loud. "You really don’t let stuff go, huh?"
She shrugs, eyes still on the sand. "It’s not my fault. You look like you do." I don’t answer. I pick at the shell wall on the castle. Fix a crack. Anything to keep my hands busy. She looks up at me. Her face is round, cheeks still pink from the sun, little glitter flakes stuck to her forehead.
"How long have you known him?"
I pause. "Since I was about your age."
Her eyes go huge. "That’sforever!"
I chuckle. "Feels like it."
She tilts her head. "Then…why aren’t you together?"
I let out a breath, slow. "It’s…complicated."
She frowns. "But you love him. And he looks at you like my dog looks at pancakes."
"What?"
She nods seriously. "Maybe he loves you too."
I actually laugh. First real one in a bit. "That’s messed up." She giggles. "But true."
I squint at her. "Okay. Then what makes you think he loves me?" She blinks at me, like it’s the dumbest question she’s heard all day. "Because he does, duh."
I groan. "You can’t just say 'duh.' You don’t even know him." She holds up a hand like she’s about to present a case in court.
"I watched him."
I stare. "You watched him?"
"Yup." She starts counting on her fingers again. Tiny, sandy fingers, all serious. "First, when you gave him the pie, he looked like he was gonna cry. But, happy-cry. Not sad-cry. My dog does that when I give her chicken."
"That’s... oddly specific."
She keeps going. "Also, when you weren’t looking, he fixed your towel twice so it wouldn’t get sand on your water bottle. I saw it!"
I pause. That…I didn’t see.
