She kicked the sand with her bare toes. “I guess not.”

“Imagine how excited Conner will be if he comes back and we’ve found dinner. Would you like that?”

Her face brightened. “Dinner? Can I have chicken strips and mashed potatoes?”

My heart sank. If I did manage to find food, the chances of it appealing to the kid’s taste buds were zero. Not to mention, we’d have to eat it raw.

Unless I can perform the ‘rub two sticks together and create fire’ trick.

“I don’t think we’ll find that, but it will be food and give you energy.” I smiled. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Pippa didn’t argue, skipping lightly on her feet to join me. She didn’t try to hold my hand, which I was grateful for, as I needed both to manhandle my crutch and not face-plant. I couldn’t put any weight on my broken ankle and the action of leaning, hopping, leaning, hopping took far more energy than a simple stroll.

It got easier as we traded the soft sand for hard. I sighed in relief as the tide lapped over my foot with lukewarm water.

Pippa kicked in the shallows, keeping her head down.

The expanse of beach existed before us. I kept going. I had no idea what I was looking for, but hopefully, we’d come across some shallow pools that trapped sea life at low tide.

Over the past few days, I’d studied the ocean and the tide ebbed and flowed by a few metres, silently creeping up the beach before retreating in apology.

The sun beat down and I cursed that I hadn’t had the foresight to grab the baseball cap from the pilot’s kit. Pippa’s long hair protected the back of her neck, but her brow and nose slowly grew red as we continued down the beach.

“What are you looking for?” she finally asked.

Sweat rivered down my back and my needs spread equally between food, water, and throwing myself head first into the ocean to cool down. “Anything we can eat.”

Her pretty face scrunched with eagerness. “Like what?”

“Like...” I pointed at the sea. “Like fishes or lobsters or crabs or anything really.”

I’m not good at this educational stuff.

“Crabs? I saw one that lived in a shell in my friend’s house. She had a tank with a bunch of them.” She twirled her fingers. “I don’t remember what it was called, though.”

That one I do know.

“A hermit crab.”

“Yes.” Her hair bounced as she nodded. “Where do other crabs live if they don’t have a shell?”

I stopped, brushing my hair from my forehead and cursing the thickening beard on my chin. A few days’ stubble itched like crazy. I hadn’t packed a razor in my hand luggage for security reasons and craved a blade to get rid of the growth.

“They hide under rocks and sometimes bury themselves in the sand.” Looking at our feet, I used the end of my crutch to dig into the wet granules to demonstrate. Maybe, I’d get lucky and uncover a few edible critters. However, the thought of eating the liquid meat with no way to cook them wasn’t appealing—no matter how hungry I was.

Pippa dropped to her haunches as I swirled my crutch and made a hole that immediately filled with seawater. “I don’t see one.”

“No, they’re very sneaky. They probably knew we were coming and tunnelled under us.”

Pippa giggled, poking the hole.

I kept my crutch away from her petite fingers.

Air bubbles popped in the watery depths. I peered closer, just in case a crab did appear, but nothing scurried to the top.

Damn.

Pippa’s fingers disappeared into the sand, her tongue sticking out. “I think I feel something.”

Just debris or driftwood.

I had no hope it would be anything worthwhile, but I praised the girl as if she’d found the Titanic. “Really? Awesome. Can you pull it out and show me?”

Her face tightened with determination. Her second hand disappeared in the hole. Her toes planted and she rocked backward, using her inertia to free whatever she’d grabbed hold of.

She fell backward with a splat, holding up her prize. “Here.”

Holy crap.

Adrenaline drenched my system as I gently accepted the nondescript shell of a clam.

A clam!

“Wow, great find, Pippi.”

She giggled. “That’s not my name.”

I waggled my eyebrow. “It is now. Pippi Longstocking. Did you ever watch that show?”

She shook her head.

“Neither did I, but a girl I once knew did. She braided her hair with wire and made pigtails stick out the side of her head.”

“Eww.” Pippa wrinkled her nose. “If you can call me that, then I want to call you something.”

“You don’t like my name?”

She paused. “It’s long.”

“All right.” I tapped my fingers against my lip. “Well, you choose. Whatever you want.”

Seconds switched to a full minute while intense deliberation tightened her face. “G.”

“G?”

She nodded. “G.”

I’d had a few abbreviations of my name growing up. Gal, Gallo, Way-wasted. But never G.

I kinda like it.

I shrugged. “G, it is.”

“Good.” She sniffed with authority as if my identity had just been switched by the queen herself. Then, as if the topic completely uninterested her anymore, her attention fell to the mollusc in my hand. “Can we eat it?”

The very mention of eating made caveman urges rise and demand I smash the innocent creature apart and suck its meat straight away.