“Timing,” the redhead said succinctly. “Someone like you, I expected to be last in line, not first.” She offered him a curtsey and a wry smile. “I’m Summer, and you are Mordred.”
Mordred gave her a small bow, straightening himself up. “It’s a pleasure,” he tells her with a smile. “Forgive me, but I do not understand your statement.”
“What’s not to understand? You’re gorgeous.”