She ran around the garden, squealing as he followed her.
"How old is he now?" Her mother had asked, and his mother had responded with nine. They both knew she was seven.
She fell onto the blanketed ground, smiling at him. He smiled back, laying beside her.
"You look like those," she spoke slowly, pointing at the stars. "The pretty lights."
Their fathers laughed, watching both him and her, and drinking their beers.
"Look at them," his father spoke. "I can see them growing up and falling in love."
And their mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes and said, "oh, my my my."
