"Yeah? I won't argue with that," Sam says of the point, though he's laughing as he does. Jordan, still mercifully dry, has taken up the soccer ball where he's set it down, kicking it a short distance and running after it only to repeat the same again. He suspects this may become a trend, that he's very likely to wind up having to get her a soccer ball of her own in the very near future. As long as nothing winds up broken — though he's sure at least one thing will wind up broken, and he won't care half as much as he probably should — he can't object on that front.

He glances at Saoirse, and his smile grows a little amused, a little self-deprecating. "You know, I think you might be onto something there," he says, crouching so he can start taking off his own shoes. It won't help much when his feet will just wind up covered in sand instead, but still, he'd rather not stay in wet socks if he can help it.