Anthony was still chortling giddily to himself for having scared Fortescue so heartily. He was pleased himself, yes, and made no effort to hide it at all. Insufferable was not a new term. He’d heard it applied to himself many times in his thirty-some odd years, from back in school when his professors had gotten sick of his jokes to presently when he harangued his siblings just this side of too far. Ritchie Fortescue was only the most recent offender. He was, however, the most endearing in recent memory with his feigned scowl and huffy manner. Yes. They were on their way to becoming dear, dear friends Anthony imagined.

“My cousins are just as bad as I am,” he reassured the put-out looking ice cream man. “Well, some of them.” Poppy namely. She could give just as good as she got, and Atticus wasn’t necessarily one to be left behind either— when it suited him. “But I’ll happily take that punishment,” he teased. “I’ll eat myself sick and be all the merrier for it.” Anthony had leaned forward tauntingly as Fortescue narrowed his eyes, grinning still like a bit of an idiot. He didn’t hear anything in the woods behind them, so when Fortescue commented, it was all Anthony could do to laugh again.

“Oh ho!” He shook his head. “You’re not fooling me with that one, sir.” How many times had someone tried to play the same trick back? No, no. Anthony Alderton was too clever for this trick. He turned straight in the direction of the woods and took a few steps, before beckoning the scaredy cat along with him. “Come now, I’ll protect you from whatever might be lurking.” He was good at that anyway. Being a knight in shining armor was practically Anthony’s second career.

---

---