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It was Connor’s idea to go to the beach.
Hank hadn’t been sure at first—he hadn’t been to a beach in years, and sand in his shoes sounded like a personal nightmare—but Connor had asked with such earnestness that Hank couldn’t say no.
So there they were, early in the morning, the beach still quiet and peaceful.
Connor hopped out of the car first, practically bouncing on his feet. “The air quality is excellent, Hank! And the temperature is optimal for recreation!”
Hank chuckled, grabbing the cooler. “Yeah, yeah. Glad we got your stamp of approval.”
Sumo barked happily from the backseat, and Connor opened the door for him like a perfect gentleman. The massive dog barreled out, tail wagging so hard it shook his whole body.
“Easy, big guy,” Hank said, patting Sumo’s side before clipping on his leash.
Connor was already barefoot by the time Hank turned around, rolling his pants up a little and letting the surf rush over his ankles. He glanced back, LED spinning a soft, excited blue.
“Hank, look! The water is warm!”
“Don’t get swept away, tin can,” Hank grumbled, but there was no bite in his voice.
They set up camp: umbrella planted firmly in the sand, beach chairs unfolded, a towel patterned with little blue anchors laid out perfectly flat. Connor even brought a collapsible bowl for Sumo, filling it with fresh water and patting the dog’s head when he lapped at it.
“Alright,” Hank said, sinking into his chair. “You two go nuts. I’ll supervise.”
Connor did go nuts—well, as much as an RK800 could. He darted around, picking up seashells and showing each one to Hank like it was a rare artifact. “Look at this one! It’s still intact. The symmetry is very pleasing.”
Hank smirked, taking the shell from him. “Yeah, kid, it’s nice. Add it to the collection.”
Soon enough, Sumo started pawing at the wet sand, so Connor crouched down beside him. “Are you digging, Sumo? Oh! I can help!”
And help he did—within minutes, they had created what Connor proudly dubbed an optimal canine-sized pit. Sumo plopped into it with a happy groan, and Connor sat beside him, brushing the sand off his fur.
“You’re ridiculous,” Hank said, watching the two of them.
Connor looked up, expression bright. “But you’re smiling, Hank.”
Hank snorted. “Yeah, guess I am.”
Eventually, Connor convinced Hank to come down to the water’s edge. They tossed a stick into the shallow waves for Sumo, who splashed after it like an overgrown puppy. Connor laughed every single time, clapping his hands and cheering Sumo on.
By midday, Connor was sitting cross-legged on the towel, carefully arranging his seashells into neat little rows. Hank sat behind him, dozing lightly under the umbrella. At some point, Connor leaned back against him without thinking.
Hank cracked one eye open. “Comfy?”
“Yes,” Connor said simply, LED glowing a soft, steady blue.
Hank ruffled his hair. “Good. We’re doin’ this again sometime.”
Connor’s mouth curved into a small, warm smile as he looked out at the waves, Sumo snoozing beside them. “I would like that very much.”
And for the first time in a long while, Hank thought that maybe he could get used to days like this—quiet, sunny, and with his strange little family right there beside him.