"Ethan, we're building a draw bridge over a moat, not dungeons. What are you doing?" Uncle Ian asks, lowering his small plastic spade and frowning at Ethan, who seems to be building some rooms in the middle of the moat.

It is a rather lovely afternoon; the sun, though still hot, is losing some of its potency, and there is a refreshing breeze blowing from the sea near us. The sailors of the first three boats that finished the race received some nice prizes consisting of vouchers from various stores and services all over Summerfields. 

Ethan was especially excited about his voucher for a bikini wax at Linda's Hair Beware in Palm Grove. It is possible that he thinks it involves applying wax to models wearing bikinis or creating wax statues wearing bikinis... or something equally strange. There is no way ever fully to understand how the guy's mind works. Delia has been encouraging him to make an appointment. She'll probably step in and take the appointment for herself once Ethan has been freaked out to her satisfaction. Sometimes, she can be a little sadistic.

Almost everybody at the festival joined together in a massive picnic on towels and blankets, under colourful umbrellas on the beach, and It was fun having all of us together, relaxing, chatting, eating and joking around. Things are starting to feel like they used to be before Uncle Ian's partner caused so much damage. Every day it seems as though he is getting closer to returning to the man I love like a second father and getting further away from the stranger he has become.

We are rounding off the day's activities by taking part in the sandcastle building competition, but I'm using those terms very generously as it always starts with building sandcastles but never ends with any clear winners or actual sand castles, for that matter... except for the families with small children who do their building safely at the other end of the beach and actually do win some prizes. Daddy and I are in a team with the Fletchers, Simon and James, and things have been going well until now.

"I'm building cofferdams," Ethan explains, and Uncle Ian is not the only person in our group staring open-mouthed at the boy.

"You're building dams in the moat?" Simon asks the question we've all been thinking silently, not brave enough to ask it out loud and potentially receive answers. As I've said before, there's no way to truly understand the things that come to life in Ethan's mind.

"Yes," Ethan says patiently, but the look he is giving Simon speaks of his disdain for ignorant people and their dumb questions. "I'm building cofferdams and platforms for the concrete towers that will support the draw bridge when it's lowered."

Oh! That sounded rather knowledgeable and almost logical... if we were building an actual castle... with an actual moat.

"You're building sand dams?" Delia asks.

"It's a moat, Deli," Ethan explains. "Moats are filled with water. This is how you build bridges in water."

"That is true, Ethe, but there's no water in our moat," his father points out, and I know I should be a supportive girlfriend and stand by Ethan, but there really isn't any water near our castle. It's not high water yet, and we're pretty far up on the beach. He is literally building sand dams surrounded by sand.

"There would've been if we were really building a castle on a lake as we said we're doing."

"Only you said that, Buddy," James chuckles, sucking in his breath to suppress his laughter when Ethan glares at him.

"Dell wove the drawbridge with grass; it doesn't really need..." I wisely decide not to finish that thought when Ethan's piercing eyes turn on me. Unfortunately, I cannot stop the stream of giggles to express precisely how silly I think he is.

"I hope you're not planning on bringing any actual concrete into this scenario," Uncle Ian raises what is a valid concern, especially since Ethan seems to be thinking it over. Oh, my word! How far was he planning on taking this castle-building exercise? He does tend to pour himself into projects wholeheartedly and can get lost in his imagination.

"No, if we're building a medieval castle, we'll probably have to settle for stone instead," Ethan finally answers, punching James in the shoulder when he chuckles, as amused as I am. Up until now, James and I have been sitting on either side of Ethan, each contributing to the effort of creating a rather impressive-looking monstrosity that could be mistaken for a castle if one has enough imagination. I am wisely starting to put some distance between myself and the castle now.

"That is a rather good point, Ethe," Daddy says, and I can tell that he is giving Ethan's stance on the matter some serious consideration, sifting through whatever helpful information he might have stored in his brain about medieval castles. Right now, Daddy is being a much better supportive girlfriend to Ethan than I am. I'm a little ashamed, but only a little bit. I'm mostly amused by how dedicated Ethan and Daddy are to this sandcastle.

"Ethe, this is all the bridge we need," Uncle Ian says, planting a nice stick structure he'd made earlier using twigs tied together with strips of grass in the moat, smashing Ethan's... whatever it was... in the process and laying the grass mat over the twig base. His ability to construct models from nothing is impressive, and Ethan shares that trait.

"Fine," Ethan grunts and, scooping sand together, patting, moulding and scraping it with a plastic spade, he creates a rather pretty bridge with a smooth, sloping top next to his father's."

"What is that supposed to be?!" Uncle Ian grumbles, frowning at his son's creation.

"Wheelchair access," Ethan says, raising his eyebrows in challenge. "Nobody with wheels will be able to cross your bridge. I'm trying to make things more realistic."

"Right," Uncle Ian says, nodding his head, glaring at Ethan's bridge interfering with his bridge where it ends at the castle gates, causing it to list precariously and burying sections of the woven surface. He suddenly grabs one of the flat stones we were using to decorate the inside of the keep and plonks it in the centre of Ethan's structure, creating a crater in the smooth walkway.

"Dad?!"

"It's a guy with a wheelchair," Uncle Ian snorts with a shrug. "I'm trying to make things more realistic."

James is laughing, crawling away from the angry scowl Ethan directs at him for his disloyalty and to my horror, Ethan suddenly leans over, grabs another decorative stone from our castle and hurls it at his father's bridge, causing some of the twigs to break from their bindings.

"What the...?!" Uncle Ian gapes at his limp construction and the woven top, slowly sliding into the moat. He turns to give Ethan a dark look, but the dolt just shrugs innocently.

"The guy with the wheelchair launched a cannonball at your bridge," he smirks.

Nobody is surprised when Uncle Ian throws a ball of sand at Ethan, hitting him in the chest... except apparently Ethan himself.

"Don't throw stuff at me, Dad!" he exclaims, gathering some moist sand into a ball. "It's your wheelchair guy, not mine; how should I know why he did that? He's not my responsibility," and with that, he tosses the ball at his father, who ducks. The ball shoots passed him, losing its consistency, but enough of it remains intact to hit Delia, where she's crouching. She shrieks in fright, jumping to her feet and promptly steps on a section of our castle.

"Hey! Don't throw sand at my woman!" Simon snarls at Ethan, standing up and shooting two sandballs at him in rapid fire, but they both go wide, one coming right at me.

"Kira!" Ethan yells dramatically, diving me out of the way, and together we flatten our castle's great hall. I'm laughing too much at his re-enactment of a brave scene from some war movie - probably causing me more damage than the sandball would have - to care that I'm getting sand in my mouth.

"Your what?!" Delia laughs, shaking her head at Simon, and when he gives her a sheepish grin and reaches down to pull her up, she grabs his hand and rolls away, causing him to crash down next to her. I've seen her use this exact move on Ethan multiple times. It always works well on sand and other uneven surfaces. If he can get his feet into a stable position, Ethan usually grabs her mid-roll and throws her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

"The great hall is gone, so is the bridge and half the moat," Daddy, always so practical when it comes to important things, says, patiently assessing the damage.

"Stables are gone on this side," James adds to the valuable information. He has wisely put as much distance between himself and Ethan as he could. I am trying to do the same, but I'm struggling to get away from him.

"It wasn't the stables; it was the apothecary," Dell tells James as if it matters. In reality, it was just a square building created with a square bucket and decorated with shells, looking like all the other square buildings we've created with the same bucket and decorated with the same shells...

"I thought you said that was a horse," James frowns, pointing at a half-buried twig sticking out from the ruins of sand and shells.

"It was a horse. It brought a customer," Delia explains, picking it up and looking at its broken branches (supposed to be the legs, I guess) while she gets to her feet. "You killed my horse!" she yells at Ethan, and without any further warning, she dives at him, kicking up enough sand to shower over her mother, and when Ethan rolls out of his sister's reach, knocking his father face first into the sand where he was on his haunches, getting ready to rise, an all-out brawl ensues.

"That is it!" Aunt Gemma shouts, standing up and dusting off her hair. "You're disqualified, you're disqualified, you're disqualified, you're disqualified, and you're disqualified! "She looks like a traffic officer directing traffic, pointing first at Delia, then at Ethan, Uncle Ian, James and finally at Simon, all involved in the fray. At this point, there isn't much left of our sand castle.

"Joe! I need a cider!" she announces. "How about we go have some cider or beer or something cold and fresh and leave these morons to destroy themselves?"

Daddy is standing with his arm protectively around me, blinking in amusement at the rest of our team, acting like hooligans. He does love a good cider and immediately jumps at what he sees as a wonderful idea. 

Around us, similar chaos has erupted, and nobody is building any sandcastles any more, except for the families and their kids on the other side of the beach. Come to think of it, this is how the sandcastle-building activity always ends. Nobody cares. It's hot, it's sandy, and the water looks inviting. It doesn't take long for the beach to clear as people run into the water.

Wet and tired, my abused muscles screaming at me and my head threatening to start pounding again, I finally leave the shallow breakers and make myself at home on one of our big towels under an umbrella. Daddy, Aunt Gemma and Uncle Ian went home a while ago. Daddy's part of his work project is finally completed, but he is still on standby in case he is needed. He wants to spend whatever time he has before he gets a call relaxing in his favourite chair in his study, reading a book or napping... or both. The three grownups decided that they'd had enough of the festival until tomorrow and won't return for the dance tonight.

I've barely made myself at home when Ethan joins me to share the towel and the shade, watching the town crazies trying to destroy what's left of the sandcastles and each other. Today has been a good day, and the cool breeze is stirring the air, easing the muckiness that often has me exhausted. Right now, everything is as it should be, except for the energetic 18-year-old boy docilely sitting next to me. 

He is supposed to be out there with the brawlers, having fun. Ethan is really taking this whole dating thing very seriously, and I give him full marks for dedication, but I hate seeing him miss out on all the fun just because I cannot keep up right now. Even Delia knows that I'm okay being by myself, just watching from the side on occasion. She is no longer fussing over me like I'm an invalid.

I can't be brawling on the beach for obvious reasons, but dating me shouldn't stop Ethan from being himself and doing what he enjoys doing and always does on this day each year.

"Ethy, go play with the guys; there's no need for you to sit here," I tell him, and when he turns his head to look at me, he is clearly unhappy. I'm a bit startled by the frown he is levelling on my face. "What?"

"Am I not allowed to do what I want?" he asks, and he really seems to be annoyed.

"Of course you are! That is why I'm saying you should go play with them."

"Stop being so bossy," he grumbles. "I want to sit with you. Now, shush and scratch my head. It's full of sand, and it's itchy," and with that, he scoots down until he is lying with his head in my lap.

"Now, who's being bossy," I growl, grabbing a fistful of his hair and giving it a sharp tug.

"Ow," he laughs, rolling onto his back to look up at me. "I know you're just looking out for me, Kicks, but right now, I really want to sit here in the shade with you. I've spent enough time brawling with the guys; I'd rather brawl with you now," he grins, turning to poke his fingers into my side, making me yelp and squirm.

"Stop it," I laugh, tangling my fingers with his to make him stop. "I didn't mean to tell you what to do... I'm just tutoring you... like I'm supposed to."

Ethan moans, closing his eyes, and I use the fingers of my free hand to scratch his head. He is right; he has an entire beach in there. I run my eyes over the scene playing off near us. Flying sand, yelling people, mostly boys, a lot of tumbling and wrestling and good-natured violence. It must be the climate that makes the young people of Egret's Rest so prone to mild aggression.

Jet is sitting on Barn's shoulders, directing him to targets they can demolish together, and no, their targets aren't the last remaining wreckages of sandcastles. Their targets are humans. Lurch has, apparently, been annihilated... or he is making sand angels; either way, he is lying on his back with his arms stretched out at his sides.

I'm startled out of my thoughts when Delia suddenly charges towards us and falls down on the towel next to me, punching Ethan in the chest.

"You broke my boyfriend!" she growls, glaring at her brother when he opens his eyes to see what she is going on about. "I handed you a perfectly civilized, intellectual being, and you turned him into that!"

We follow the direction of her hand to see James sitting on Simon's shoulders, taking on Jet and Barn. Sy has a wild expression on his face, shouting slurs at Barn, egging him on to: "Show me what you've got, little boy!" She's right; that is very un-Simon of him. It is rather entertaining, though, to see him take on the big guy. Simon is tall and well-built but rather slender, while Barn is... well... a barn. Barn is laughing his raucous laugh, clearly amused by Simon's enthusiasm. It is not long before all four boys are lying in a tangle of limbs, kicking up a storm of sand around them.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Deli, but I think that dude has always had a savage buried inside him, begging to come out," Ethan tells his sister. "Why do you think today's race turned out the way it did?"

Delia tears her eyes away from watching her boyfriend now running around at the water's edge, engaging in a wet sand war with the other guys, to frown at Ethan.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, your boyfriend incited Jet to take Barn on and actually participate in the race for a change instead of making it more challenging for others. He single-handedly changed the history of Egret's Rest's origins."

"I thought Mr Pravin already did that with his story," I point out.

"Right... I forgot... he had some help."

Delia's gaze returns to where the boys are apparently taking turns trying to drown each other now, and a fond smile plucks at her lips while she watches Simon laughing and playing with Ethan's friends, teaming up with Lurch, Barn and James to try and catch Jet when he keeps on evading them. That guy is almost unnaturally fast and nimble.

"He really is having the time of his life, isn't he?" Delia sighs, and I can tell that she is pleased.

"Yup."

"Well, so am I!" she shouts, shooting to her feet and running off to go save her boyfriend or help annihilate him; I'm not entirely sure what her goal is.

Ethan settles down again, closing his eyes, the fingers of his one hand playing with the fingers of my free hand while I resume de-sanding his hair. I gaze down at his peaceful face and his long lashes caressing his cheeks, wondering if he's falling asleep despite lying on a pillow still reeking of a eucalyptus fragrance strong enough to wake the dead.

Despite the rough, involuntary sand scrubs and the wash in the ocean, the smell has not diminished; in fact, the heat and sun seem to enhance it. All the cream the twins rubbed into me did help somewhat; I am not quite as stiff as I'd been this morning.

"Loaded fries!" Ethan suddenly exclaims, sitting up. "I want loaded fries. How about you?"

"No, thank you," I smile, startled at the random outburst. If I ate any more, I'd burst. I drag my beach bag from the collection of bags resting against the base of our umbrella to get our wallets. "I'm thirsty, though. Would you like some orange juice?"

There is a stall up there at the food court where a farmer, Mr Rawlings, sells the most amazing freshly squeezed orange juice over shaved ice. I've had several glasses of the substance during the course of the day and am constantly yearning for more.

"Yeah, let's go." Ethan gets to his feet in that effortlessly agile way of his like a cat jumping up from lying down. Seeing it always leaves me a little breathless. Leaning over, he takes my hand and drags me up too. My rising technique is much less agile, and I unceremoniously crash into him. when he wraps an arm around me to stabilise me, I instinctively relax into the embrace.

We stand like this for much longer than required, and with the side of my face pressed to the underside of his chest, I can hear Ethan's steady heartbeat, the rhythm gradually picking up speed while I listen. There's a knot forming in my throat, choking me with emotion. Hearing Ethan's heartbeat makes him seem so vulnerable, and I suddenly know without a shadow of a doubt that I would never be able to stand it if he wasn't in my life anymore.

I love Ethan Fletcher!

I am not only in love with him with an infatuation that could fizzle out and disappear at a moment's notice. I love him with every fibre of my being. The realisation jolts me out of the pleasant feeling of security, and I hastily step away from him and start walking to the food stalls without waiting for him to follow.

"How about you get your fries, and I go get the juice?" I suggest seeing the lines of festival goers. I step away from the arm Ethan drapes over my shoulder, and he frowns at me, smiling a little sadly.

"Okay..." he says, sounding disappointed that I'm leaving him, but I don't wait for the moment to become more awkward; instead, I turn away and head off to find the juice bar. The line, though long, progresses quite fast, and I'm soon holding two tall, capped paper cups of ice-cold, freshly squeezed orange juice.

Ethan isn't in line at any of the food stalls when I return to where I left him, and instead of standing around waiting, I decide to return to our towel and umbrella and wait for him there. It is too hot to walk around aimlessly looking for him, and he'll probably do the same if he cannot find me right away.

I'm walking past the ablution block, taking a long, blissful sip of my icy juice, and, turning the corner, I nearly trip over a figure sitting slumped against the side wall of the building.

"Sorry!" I exclaim, jumping out of his way and tightening my hold on my glasses. There are always people at the festival who don't know when to stop drinking and end up falling down wherever or picking fights and getting in other people's way. Usually, it happens a bit later in the evening, but this guy is starting early.

"I'm sure you are," comes the muffled reply.

At my feet, with a bag of ice pressed to his swelling cheek, is Marshall Gibbs. He grins at me when he recognises me, and his smile is red from blood seeping between his teeth. Okay, not drunk, just injured. Sometimes, the games on the beach get a little too rough, but this looks quite bad.

"Are you alright?" I ask, mostly in reflex at seeing a wounded person.

"You mean aside from the fact that I was sucker punched by your boyfriend?"

'What?" I glance around, anxiously looking for Ethan. Did this guy hurt him again? Where is he?

"Or wait! Is he still your boyfriend?" Marshall lazily runs his dark eyes over my length from my ankles up to my face, and I take another step away from him, not liking the uncomfortable angle at which he is looking up at me. "If he is, I'd say there's trouble in paradise. I mean, why would he attack me for that slut, Amber Dyson's sake, if he is your boyfriend?"

This conversation does not make sense to me at all. Why would Ethan attack Marshall, especially about Amber? Is Ethan all right?!

"Ethan would never sucker punch anybody!" I inform Marshall, and it's true; he doesn't generally start fights; he ends them, and on the rare occasion that he seriously means to hit someone, they usually have it coming and know that it is heading their way. He doesn't fight dirty. Well, sure, he hit Cole with his skateboard, but I'm sure it wasn't a surprise attack.

"If you can lie about that, you can lie about anything," I tell Marshall, taking another step away when he gets up. The guy is towering over me, glaring down at me. With a gentler expression and a better personality, he might've been called handsome. He's not, though; there is a harshness to his features and a spiteful slant to his mouth that makes him hard to look at. I almost drop one of my glasses when he grabs my wrist, pulling me towards him, his fingers hurting me.

"You're wasting your time with Fletcher," he sneers. "You'll have way more fun with me. I like feisty girls, and I would appreciate your loyalty. If you were my girl, I wouldn't mess around with a stupid whore like Amber. What do you s-?"

"I could help you eat that hand if you want," a gruff voice cuts over Marshall's speech, and I catch a blur of grey t-shirt from the corner of my eye, and then my hand is free of Marshall's. "What do you say?"

Apparently, Marshall has a lot to say, and if his cuss words were to be blanked out, he'd be a silent movie. He backs off, though, pressing his ice to his cheek and slinking around the corner of the long brick building, disappearing from our sight.

"Are you okay," James asks, still holding onto the wrist he'd rescued from Marshall.

"Yes, thanks," I whisper when he squeezes my arm and lets it go. "Do you want some juice?"

"I'm good, thanks," he smiles, holding up a can of sparkling grape juice he is drinking, and with a hand behind my back, he encourages me to walk with him back to the beach.

To be honest, I'm a little rattled, not just about the encounter with the bully and by James suddenly swooping in and saving me. If it is Ethan who caused Marshall's busted lip and bruised cheekbone, I really want to know why that happened. Did the guy attack him again? Was it really about Amber? 

"Is Ethan alright?" I ask James, upset that I still haven't caught so much as a glimpse of my boyfriend.

"I'm sure he is."

We weave among umbrellas and townsfolk, and as we close in on the spot where I'd been hanging out with Ethan earlier, I suddenly have my question answered. He is standing In the shade of a tree at the edge of the beach, talking to Amber, and while I watch, I see him reach out and put a hand on her head. Grinding my teeth and catching my breath, I hastily look away.

"Kiki, that's nothing!" James exclaims, also seeing his friend. I've always admired his blind loyalty to Ethan, and sighing, I smile up into his worried face.

"I know," I shrug. "We have a deal. He's just conning her out of her milk money."

♂♀