“Yes,” I agree. “Very easily.”
“And a tiger.”
“Yes.”
“And a shark.”
I pause. “Only if the shark was very lost.”
He considers this.
“Or if the Triceratops was able to swim.”
“That would definitely even the odds.”
We both look back up at the skeleton towering above us. Sitting down it feels enormous.
Alfie leans slightly against my arm like he has decided I am acceptable museum company.
“You know a lot,” he says.
“I read a lot.”
“Do you read dinosaur books?”
“I read everything,” I admit. “Books are my favourite hobby.”
That earns me a small smile.
Jack is standing a few steps behind us, watching. I can feel it without even turning around. That quiet, warm attention he has. Not interrupting. Just… there.
Dangerous man.
“Did they really have feathers?” Alfie asks.
“Some dinosaurs did,” I say. “Mostly the ones related to birds. Velociraptors probably looked less like the scary film versions and more like very angry chickens.”
Alfie bursts out laughing.
“Angry chickens.”
“Very bitey ones.”
He nods like this is extremely useful information.
I finally glance back and catch Jack smiling at us. Not amused. Not indulgent. Just… soft.
My stomach does that stupid little flip again.
“So,” I say to Alfie, “important question. If you had a dinosaur, what would you call it?”
He thinks hard.
“Gary.”
I giggle.
“Gary?”
