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The first thing Clark realized about taking a toddler to the beach was that nothing on earth (or off it) prepared you for the sheer amount of stuff involved.
He had three bags slung over his arms, a folded umbrella tucked under one elbow, two towels around his neck, and a cooler dangling from one hand. Lara toddled in front of him, clutching a plastic pail and shovel like they were treasures she’d mined herself. Lois, by contrast, walked beside them with nothing but her sunglasses, iced coffee, and the air of a woman who knew she’d won the packing war.
“Do we really need all this?” Clark asked, adjusting the cooler as it banged against his shin.
Lois arched an eyebrow at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “You’re Superman. Don’t tell me you can bench-press mountains but can’t handle a diaper bag and some sandwiches.”
“Mountains don’t usually come with thirty-seven tiny compartments.”
“Mm. That’s why I married you. Not for the super-strength. Though I’ll admit it comes in handy, but for your organizational complaints. Very sexy.”
Clark shot her a look, but she was already smirking, pleased with herself.
“Daddy hurry!” Lara shouted suddenly, turning back to glare at him, her curls bouncing under her sunhat.
Clark hurried to close the gap. “Sorry, bug. Coming.”
They found a spot not far from the water but high enough on the sand that their things wouldn’t get swept away. Clark set everything down with a sigh of relief, while Lois spread one of the towels. Lara dropped her bucket immediately and plunged her hands into the sand like she’d been waiting her whole three years for this moment.
“Hold on, hold on,” Clark said, fishing out the sunscreen. “We’re not starting without protection.”
Lois sank onto the towel, sipping her coffee. “Showdown of the century. Clark Kent versus toddler. Place your bets, folks.”
Clark uncapped the bottle. “It’s just sunscreen.”
“Mm-hm.” Lois tilted her sunglasses down to watch as Lara instantly squirmed away from Clark’s attempt to rub lotion on her arm. “Sure it is.”
“Lara, we have to put this on.”
“Nooo,” she squealed, ducking behind the cooler like it was a fortress.
Clark followed, crouching low. “It’s not optional, bug. The sun’s strong.”
“Cold!” she wailed.
“It’s not cold,” Clark said, exasperated. “Look—” He squeezed some onto his hand, slapped it against his own forearm, and winced. “Okay. A little cold.”
Lois laughed outright, crossing her legs on the towel. “Smallville, you’re chasing a toddler with SPF 50, not branding cattle.”
“Pretty sure cattle hold still better,” Clark muttered.
Lara popped up from behind the cooler, snatched the bottle from his hand, and squeezed. A glob landed square on his glasses.
Lois choked on her coffee. “Well. Can’t say she’s wrong about where you need coverage.”
Clark sighed, wiping his glasses on the edge of his shirt. Lara beamed, victorious. “I do it!”
He resigned himself, holding her steady while she smeared sunscreen in haphazard streaks across her arms and legs. When she got some in her hair, he tried to intervene, but Lois waved him off.
“Better streaky than sunburnt,” she said.
By the time Clark finally got her more or less covered, Lara had wriggled free and dashed toward the sand with her bucket. He followed, still rubbing lotion off his glasses, while Lois leaned back on her elbows, shaking her head.
Sandcastles, Clark soon discovered, were serious business. At least to him. Lara had a less rigorous approach.
“You need a foundation,” he explained, scooping sand into a careful mound. “If you start too thin at the base, it collapses.”
Lara dumped a shovelful onto his mound, flattening one side. “Castle!” she declared.
“Not yet. We have to—hey, wait—”
She plopped a seashell right on top of the half-formed tower. “Perfect.”
Lois strolled over, dropping down beside them. “Gotta say, I agree with her. Very avant-garde.”
Clark looked betrayed. “You’re siding with her?”
“She’s three,” Lois said, grinning. “She wins by default.”
Clark opened his mouth, then shut it, because Lara had just smashed the rest of the mound with her shovel, squealing with delight.
“Castle go boom!” she announced.
Lois clapped like this was the best architectural decision of the century. Clark buried his face in his hands.
The tide began creeping closer, and soon a wave lapped over the ruins. Lara squealed again, this time with glee, and splashed after it.
“Not so fast,” Clark said, sweeping her up before she barreled headfirst into the surf. She shrieked with laughter, wriggling in his arms.
“Mommy!” she called. “Come too!”
Lois groaned, but she was already pulling off her cover-up. “You realize this was supposed to be my chance to sit still for once.”
“Sorry,” Clark said, grinning. “Orders are orders.”
The water was cool, the kind that sent a shock up Lois’s legs when she waded in. She gasped. “God, that’s cold!”
“Not so bad once you’re in,” Clark said, with the infuriating calm of a man who’d swum through Arctic seas.
Lara was perched on his shoulders, clapping her hands. “Mommy splash!”
“Oh, you want splash?” Lois flicked water at her. Lara squealed, splashing back.
“Careful,” Clark warned, though he was smiling.
“Sea monster get Mommy!” Lara declared suddenly, pointing at Lois.
Clark obligingly growled, lurching forward through the waves. Lois shrieked and dove under, reappearing a few feet away.
“Coward,” Clark called.
“Smart,” Lois corrected, flicking water at him again.
It was going well until Lara leaned too far forward and a small wave smacked her in the face. She coughed, sputtering, her eyes wide with shock before filling with tears.
“Hey, hey,” Clark said immediately, lifting her down into his arms. “You’re okay, bug. Just a little water in your nose.”
She wailed, clinging to his neck.
Lois swam closer, brushing wet curls from Lara’s forehead. “You’re fine, peanut. Just a mean old wave.”
Clark pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “All better.”
Lara sniffled, her tiny voice muffled against his shoulder. “Mommy too.”
Clark met Lois’s eyes. Water dripped from his hair, his glasses slightly fogged, and still somehow he managed to look unfairly good holding their daughter. He leaned over and kissed Lois softly, right on the mouth.
Lara, still tear-streaked, clapped like she’d orchestrated the whole thing.
They returned to shore damp and sandy, Lara bundled in a towel between them. Clark set up the umbrella while Lois unpacked the cooler. Lara made a sticky mess of strawberries and crackers, then crawled into Clark’s lap, yawning.
He told her a story in that gentle, half-serious voice he used only for her, a tale about a crab who wanted to be a lifeguard but kept getting distracted by seashells. Lois listened, pretending not to, smiling into her sandwich as Clark acted out the crab’s dialogue with a ridiculous voice. Lara giggled until she hiccupped.
Soon the giggles slowed. Lara’s head drooped against Clark’s chest, her breaths evening out. He adjusted her carefully, tucking the towel more snugly around her, and leaned back against the cooler, content.
Lois set down her sandwich and just watched for a moment. Her husband, glasses slipping down his nose, their daughter curled up against him like he was the safest place in the world.
Clark caught her gaze and smiled, soft and a little sheepish.
Lois reached out, twining her fingers with his. “Don’t ever get used to this, Kent,” she murmured. “It’ll ruin me.”
He squeezed her hand, eyes crinkling behind the fogged glasses. “Promise.”
And with the ocean humming in the background, the three of them drifted into the kind of peace Lois never would’ve believed she’d get to have, messy, chaotic, sticky with juice and sand, but hers.