Beyound the schedule

The sun was warm against my skin, the sound of waves rolling in and out in a steady, soothing rhythm. I had settled into the perfect position for tanning, letting my muscles finally relax after the chaotic first day of vacation.

For once, Freya wasn't bothering me, and the ocean breeze was just the right amount of cool against the heat.

I could almost drift off—

"Excuse me."

A small voice interrupted my peace.

I blinked, pushing my sunglasses slightly down the bridge of my nose to find a little girl standing beside my towel, barefoot in the warm sand, looking at me with the biggest, roundest doe eyes I had ever seen.

She couldn't have been more than six years old, her tiny hands gripping an orange plastic bucket, her hair pulled into messy little pigtails, probably the result of a long day of playing on the beach.

I stared at her for a moment, unsure if she was actually talking to me.

"…Yes?"

She beamed as if that was exactly what she wanted to hear.

"I'm doing a sandcastle competition with my big brother," she explained in one rushed breath, lifting her bucket as if to show proof of her mission. "But he's super good and I need help. Wanna be on my team?"

I blinked again.

I was not expecting this.

And under normal circumstances, I would have said no immediately.

I wasn't here to build sandcastles. I wasn't here to play games.

But then—

She gave me that look.

That ridiculously effective, innocent look, the kind kids mastered as soon as they learned that adults were weak against it.

Big brown eyes, slightly wobbly lip, the slightest tilt of her head in anticipation.

I exhaled slowly, pushing my sunglasses fully onto my head.

"…Fine."

Her face lit up instantly, and before I could even sit up properly, she grabbed my hand with her tiny one and started pulling me toward the competition site.

I let myself be dragged across the sand, ignoring the suspiciously loud laughter from Freya, who had clearly seen this unfolding from the water.

We stopped in front of a partially built sandcastle, and across from us, a boy—probably around ten—stood confidently beside his own structure, already several towers deep into his creation.

The little girl plopped down beside me, dumping a pile of wet sand in front of us. "Okay, we have to make it really good."

I folded my legs, brushing sand off my hands. "What's the plan?"

She looked at me like I had just said something offensive. "You don't plan a sandcastle. You just make it."

I frowned. "That's inefficient."

She scooped up a handful of sand and smushed it into a vaguely castle-shaped lump. "That's art."

I sighed but rolled up my metaphorical sleeves, deciding that if I was going to do this, I might as well win.

We got to work, the little girl chattering excitedly while I focused on structural integrity.

I shaped the walls carefully, compacting the sand properly so it wouldn't collapse. She, meanwhile, was in charge of "decorations", which included shells, tiny pebbles, and little stick flags that she proudly planted on the towers.

"We need a moat," she declared at one point, digging wildly around the perimeter.

"Moats are only effective if they hold water," I told her.

She paused, frowning thoughtfully. "Then we need water."

I glanced toward the ocean, calculating the risk of sending a six-year-old to fetch waves. "Stay here."

I grabbed her bucket, walked to the shore, and filled it before returning and carefully pouring water into the trench she had made.

She gasped, watching the way the water pooled around the castle walls. "That's so cool."

I smirked. "Told you. Efficiency."

She grinned before shoving more shells into the sand, saying something about how the queen of the castle needed treasure.

By the time we were done, our sandcastle was surprisingly impressive.

Towers, walls, a functioning moat, even a tiny stick bridge that she had demanded we add.

Her brother, on the other hand, had clearly underestimated our teamwork, because his castle—though good—lacked the sheer strategy that ours had.

The little girl jumped up, covered in sand but absolutely glowing with pride, and turned to me, holding up her tiny hand expectantly.

I stared at it for a moment before finally giving in, raising my hand to meet hers.

We high-fived.

The little girl took a step back, admiring our masterpiece, her hands on her hips like an artist evaluating their final work. Then, with all the confidence in the world, she turned to her brother's castle and let out a dramatic sigh.

"That's okay, I guess," she said, tilting her head, as if trying to find something nice to say about it.

Her brother, who had been working diligently on his own structure, looked up sharply. "What do you mean okay?"

She lifted her chin, waving a hand toward our castle. "I mean, look at this! Me and the pretty lady made a really beautiful one."

I paused, my lips parting slightly at the unexpected title.

Pretty lady?

Freya was going to have a field day with this if she ever heard it.

The little boy scowled, stomping a bit in the sand. "Dad's gonna be the judge, and he's gonna say mine is better, Lily."

The girl, Lily, didn't even hesitate. "Go get him then."

The boy shot us one last suspicious glare before taking off across the beach, running toward where a group of adults sat under an umbrella.

Lily grinned at me. "He's so gonna lose."

I smirked, brushing sand off my hands. "Confident, aren't you?"

She nodded eagerly. "Because we're the best."

A few moments later, I saw the boy returning—dragging a tall man behind him.

The father was broad-shouldered, tan, and looked effortlessly laid-back, wearing a loose white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of beach shorts.

His brown hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and he had that easy, relaxed presence of a man who had vacationing down to an art form.

His gaze flicked between his son's sandcastle and then ours, before his eyes landed on me briefly—his brows raising slightly, probably wondering how exactly I got roped into this.

"Alright," he said, crossing his arms. "Let's see what we've got."

His son stepped forward immediately. "Look, mine has a really tall tower and a secret entrance."

The dad nodded thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "Very nice, very nice."

Then Lily, smug beyond belief, grabbed his hand and dragged him toward our castle. "But look at ours."

His gaze moved over the structure, taking in the moat, the carefully packed walls, the little stick bridge, the tiny shell decorations. His eyes flicked to me again, this time with something like amusement.

"You helped with this?"

I adjusted my sunglasses. "She was very persuasive."

Lily beamed up at him, clearly expecting nothing but full recognition.

The dad hummed, walking around the castles as if this was a very serious competition, before finally nodding decisively.

"The one Lily did with the pretty lady is better."

Lily fist-pumped the air.

Her brother groaned loudly. "Daaaad!"

Lily giggled, turning to me with bright, victorious eyes, grabbing my hand.

Then—she dropped a bomb.

"Do you want to be our new mom?"

Silence.

My brain short-circuited.

The father choked on air.

I just stared at her, completely unprepared for that level of commitment from a six-year-old.