Page 10 of Now That It's You
“So we owe it to his memory to sally forth and join the quest.”
Meg nodded. “Agreed.”
They jogged after the others, catching up to them easily since Trinity had stopped to strum her harp and sing a few lines about a porcupine and a golden spoon. Sir Reginald was whacking at some dense shrubbery with his foam sword, while Ufnar plodded along growling.
“Hark!” Sir Reginald yelled, throwing his arm to the side. “Someone approaches.”
Meg stopped, but not quickly enough. She ran smack dab into the back of Kyle, her cheek colliding with the solid plane of his shoulder blade. He turned and caught her by the shoulders, his palms curving around them. “Is my lady harmed?”
“Nay,” she said, feeling herself blush. “Your lady is just clumsy.”
“I remember that about you,” Kyle murmured. He hadn’t dropped his hands from her shoulders yet, and something about it felt comforting. “I’ll never forget the time you fell off that standup paddleboard, conked your head with the paddle, and lost your bikini top.”
Meg laughed and felt her blush deepen. “God, I’d almost forgotten that. It got caught under that Jet Ski and Matt had to chase the guy down to get it back. Then he put his swim trunks on his head and did the chicken dance so I’d stop being embarrassed about flashing a bunch of strangers.”
“He always knew how to get someone laughing again.”
A wave of nostalgia nearly knocked her backward, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was spared from doing either when Sir Reginald shouted again.
“Who goes there? I command thee to name thyself.”
Meg looked up to see six strangers emerging from the trees in medieval armor made of cardboard. They stepped forward shoulder-to-shoulder, raising weapons that looked like foam pool noodles painted silver.
Ufnar raised his ax. Sir Reginald lifted his sword. Kyle reached into his bag of marshmallows.
“Prepare to do battle!” Trinity screamed, pulling a plastic dagger from a sheath on her thigh.
Kyle looked at Meg. “Does Fallopian attack on command?”
“Of course.” Meg loosened her grip on the imaginary leash. “Sic ’em, boy!”
Kyle plucked a marshmallow from his bag and drew it back like the world’s tiniest baseball.
“Charge!” shouted Sir Reginald, lurching forward with his foam sword flying. A man carrying a giant sledgehammer made of foam bopped him on the side of the head, but Reginald kept fighting while Ufnar lunged at another man with his axe.
“Lightning bolt,” Kyle said, tossing the marshmallow at a man in a gray cape. The man screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his chest. He began to writhe and gasp, putting on an impressive display of fake death while Trinity ran circles around him chanting a spell in some language Meg thought sounded vaguely like Pig Latin.
“Poison gas!” Kyle shouted as he tossed another marshmallow, clocking a tall man in the forehead before pivoting to chuck one at another attacker. “Really sharp arrow.”
Meg grabbed the reins on her imaginary dragon. “Commence fire-breathing,” she shouted, aiming the dragon’s snout at a man charging Reginald.
Kyle made a sound like a cappuccino maker, and it took Meg a moment to realize that was his interpretation of a dragon breathing fire. Meg palmed the marshmallow he’d given her and chucked it at a woman locked in fierce combat with Trinity.
“Lightning bolt!” Meg shouted.
“I already used the lightning bolt,” Kyle reminded her.
“You don’t have more than one?”
“Lightning bolts are a limited commodity.”
“Uh—rotten egg.”
“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
The woman she’d tossed the marshmallow at jumped to the side, then took another swipe at Trinity with a dagger made of tinfoil.
Kyle handed Meg another marshmallow. “Try again.”
