But it did, didn’t it? Rand and Maisy weren’t kid people. And Leo was a kid. Theirs. So by implication, Rand and Maisy weren’t Leo people.

How anyone couldn’t be a Leo person, Joey would never understand.

He was so special. An image flashed—the day Joey first set eyes on Leo, when their families met in the stairwell of their common apartment building that first summer in Corfu.

The Abrams threesome had been on the way in from the sea, the Winns off to some fancy dinner reservation. Leo wore a Red Wings T-shirt four sizes too big, while Rand and Maisy oozed rich, important vibes in formal clothes. Joey imagined the scene that had preceded this strange fashion array. Perhaps a bow tie thrust upon Leo that he’d obstinately refused, opting in protest for the most inappropriately casual and ill-fitting item in his closet.

The four adults chatted—sussing out their American origins and status as neighbors in the rooftop apartments, marveling that both kids were age ten.

“How did you all wind up in Corfu?” asked Maisy. “As Leo has reminded us often, it’s not the normal vacation spot for Americans.”

“We were supposed to go to Mackinac Island,” said Leo, his sea-glass eyes blazing premature teen angst. “Their fudge is really good.”

“I love fudge,” said Joey, to which Leo peeped out a smile.

“My parents are from here,” said Bea. “I visited only once, but I fell totally in love. Corfu in the summer is…magic, and untouched by Americans.”

“We think so too,” said Rand.

Bea nodded. “I want Joey to feel the same. Corfu is part of her, and my husband’s never seen it either. And I’m an artist—inspiration strikes me most in new settings. The light is fantastic on the terrace, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s out of this world,” said Maisy.

Over the adults’ chitchat, Leo said, “Hey there, Joey. What do you like to do for fun?”

She started. Her mind went fully blank. What in the world did she do for fun? “Art!” she said, remembering. “I really like art. Painting especially.”

“So you’re like…an artist? That’s so cool. I suck at painting.”

Joey smiled. “Yeah. I’m an artist.” Previously she’d only said it in a different way: I want to be an artist when I grow up. It felt good to take the future condition out of it, like Leo had. She was an artist now. “What do you want to be?”

Leo shrugged. “Something with the stock market. Business. Boats. I like boats.”

Rand said, “Time to go, son. We’re going to be late for dinner.”

“Boats?” Think of something to say about boats, Joey. “Boats are really…wet and cool.”

Wet and cool? She’d wanted to be cool for this boy, somehow, but she suspected she hadn’t achieved it.

Leo started down the stairs after his parents, but then paused and turned back. He stared at Joey straight-on so that eventually his green eyes consumed everything else. “I made up a secret language this year. If you want, I can teach it to you.”