Chocolate ice cream rained down, splattering across Luke’s face and chest. He blinked. Shook himself. Then glared skyward and shouted, “You evil air weasel!”

“At least it’s not poop this time,” Julia offered.

He groaned, eyeing the damage. “This is one of my favorite shirts.”

“A Pac-Man fan, huh?” She reached out and dabbed at a streak of chocolate on his cheek.

“Yes,” he grumbled. “And I refuse to be embarrassed about it.”

“Why should you be?” she asked, wiping away another smear. His skin was warm beneath her thumb. “I like Pac-Man.”

“You do?” He eyed her suspiciously, shoulders stiffening as if he was bracing for her to make fun of him.

“I do. Who doesn’t like Pac-Man?” She smiled gently as the tension eased from his body.

“What’s the highest level you’ve ever gotten to?”

“Um … it’s been years since I actually played,” she admitted. “How many levels are there?”

“Two hundred and fifty-five.” He paused. “Technically, there are two hundred and fifty-six, but there’s a glitch on the last level that turns it into a kill screen.”

“Well, as much as I played, I never made it even close to that far, trust me.” She shrugged, tracing one toe in the sand. “I spent a lot of time on military bases when I was a kid. The day care or summer camp or whatever program my parents stuck me in always had some old video games. Usually Pac-Man and Frogger.”

“I’m guessing you were probably bored, but I would have loved it,” Luke admitted. “Sorry about your ice cream.” He held out the drooping remnants of his own melting cone. “Do you want mine?”

“Um, I’m good, thanks.” Even as she said it, the cone collapsed, landing in a soggy pile of goo at Luke’s feet.

Julia bit her lip, trying hard to suppress the bubble of laughter rising in her throat.

Luke lost it first. A rumble of laughter in his chest expanded outward. When he finally caught his breath, he snarled, “I’m going to kill that winged demon.”

“I don’t believe you’re the kind of person who would commit avicide.” Julia shook her head, laughing so hard tears were forming.

He stared at her, nonplussed.

“That’s a fancy word for killing birds,” she added, suppressing another burst of laughter at his distinct lack of amusement.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that one out.” He wiped at his shirt, which only smeared the chocolate more, giving Pac-Man a handlebar mustache.

Julia burst into giggles again.

“You don’t think I’ll do it, but I will. I’ll assassinate that thieving little jerk, and then I’ll stuff him and give him to you as a present. You like stuffed animals, right?”

“Not real ones!” Julia wheezed. She was going to get the hiccups.