for me there's a devil and an angel's voice - with_diamonds
It's a nice day out.
Granted, that isn't really far from the status quo, but Pete's appreciative of the fact, anyway. Although the sun prickles at his shoulders, he can't bring himself to really mind, putting his faith in the island sunscreen and finding more than sufficient distraction in the form of Lucy and Sam, and the small picnic they've set up on the beach. (It's very picture book, he wants to say. Checkered tablecloth, basket filled with food, postcard backdrop. He can't ask for much more.)
As ham-fisted as he may initially be around kids, the truth is that it's just nerves as opposed to any active dislike. His mild fear of making a poor impression upon anyone he might meet doesn't exclude the very young, so he's lucky, he supposes, that Sam's taken enough of a shine to him that he's eased up around her considerably, no longer glancing over at Lucy with every other sentence to make sure he hasn't somehow messed up in occupying the girl's attention.
The sandcastle they're presently working on rises higher and higher, the spires fairly crude but recognizable enough that Pete doesn't feel any particular shame in not being able to craft anything better. Anyway, he's not the main architect. Sam is. He's just there to do the busy work. (Well, not just, but that's his function as far as the sandcastle is concerned.)
"What d'you think?" he asks, glancing over at Lucy as the construction continues to be pushed and pulled, raising up one hand to shade his eyes. He knows it isn't done - his expression says as much - but he figures it's worth asking.
Granted, that isn't really far from the status quo, but Pete's appreciative of the fact, anyway. Although the sun prickles at his shoulders, he can't bring himself to really mind, putting his faith in the island sunscreen and finding more than sufficient distraction in the form of Lucy and Sam, and the small picnic they've set up on the beach. (It's very picture book, he wants to say. Checkered tablecloth, basket filled with food, postcard backdrop. He can't ask for much more.)
As ham-fisted as he may initially be around kids, the truth is that it's just nerves as opposed to any active dislike. His mild fear of making a poor impression upon anyone he might meet doesn't exclude the very young, so he's lucky, he supposes, that Sam's taken enough of a shine to him that he's eased up around her considerably, no longer glancing over at Lucy with every other sentence to make sure he hasn't somehow messed up in occupying the girl's attention.
The sandcastle they're presently working on rises higher and higher, the spires fairly crude but recognizable enough that Pete doesn't feel any particular shame in not being able to craft anything better. Anyway, he's not the main architect. Sam is. He's just there to do the busy work. (Well, not just, but that's his function as far as the sandcastle is concerned.)
"What d'you think?" he asks, glancing over at Lucy as the construction continues to be pushed and pulled, raising up one hand to shade his eyes. He knows it isn't done - his expression says as much - but he figures it's worth asking.