Summer was in full stride.  

Barely noon, and the sun, high and mighty,
ruled the sky with fiery confidence. A light breeze came from the west, fluffy,
white clouds acting as roving islands of shadow (but providing no lasting
relief from the heat).

Heat.

With a capital H.

Which also stood for humidity.   

Outside the farm supply store on Main
Street, Emerson sighed. Were his whiskers still on his face? They hadn't melted
off, had they? Fleshy ears and prehensile tail scented of sun lotion, he loaded
items into the back of his pickup truck. A straw hat cast a shadow over his
blue eyes.

The golden harvest mouse had gotten several
big bags of Sudan grass seed, or sorghum, to replace the harvested wheat field
he was going to plow up. Planted soon, the sorghum would be ready in the fall
before the weather turned cold.

He'd also bought some motor oil, a tire
gage, baling twine, and nails, as well as a green garden hose and yellow work
gloves.

And, lastly, circus peanuts
(orange-colored, banana-flavored marshmallow candies), an impulse item from
Charlie, who'd claimed to have never had them but 'they look so good!'

'They're okay for a bite or two,' Emerson
had warned her. 'Then they become way too much.'

'Bet you used to think that about me!' the
fox squirrel teased. 'And now you can't get enough.'

Charlie, who'd accompanied the mouse into
town, pushed the empty shopping cart back to the storefront, pausing to peer up
and down the street.

No stoplight, just stop signs at both
ends. A half-mile long, the street was decently wide, and lined with old
buildings. They housed quaint, little mom-and-pop stores. A gas station was
nestled in the middle. Fire and police, too. The sidewalks were dotted with
black lampposts. Banners and flower baskets hung from them.

Charlie's silver-and-brown speckled tail
whisked and fluffed, and she pointed at one of the banners as she returned to
the truck. “Hey, Emmy … "

“Mm?"

“How come it says 'historic.' See? 'Welcome
to historic Main Street Arcadia'," the Canadian squirrel recited. “What
is this place famous for?"

Emerson considered. “A rabbit had
quintuplets once?" He paused before admitting, “They moved away, though."

“Is that all?"

“The high school basketball team made the
state quarterfinals when I was a senior. And, um, a railroad used to run
through town, too? Decades ago. It was torn up."

Charlie giggled. “Hardly big deals, eh?"

“This has always been a sleepy place,"
Emerson admitted. “I suspect most of the residents prefer it that way."

“Including you?"

“I guess … "

Charlie glanced at the signs again. “If
was driving through and saw 'historic' in big, bold letters?" She spread her
arms in grandiose fashion. Her tail fluttered. “I'd think … wow, maybe a
president was born here? Or a famous athlete? Or a movie was shot here! Wait, was
this where they filmed that underdog sports movie?"

“Which one?"

“Any of 'em."

The mouse shook his head and explained, “All
small towns in the Midwest claim to have 'historic' Main Streets. It's not
technically true. It's just code for 'this place is old, show some respect'."

“So, it's a PR scheme," the squirrel echoed,
rubbing her chin.

“Well … more like an inferiority complex."

“You do have a Historical Society,"
Charlie remembered. It was in the old Village Pizza building here on Main
Street. The new Village Pizza had moved to a spiffier location on Ohio, a
block over, by the library.  

“If you're that interested in the town's
past, we can take a tour sometime."

“Might be fun," Charlie agreed.

“I mean, you can see the whole place in
fifteen minutes … " Emerson trailed off as he opened the driver's side of the
truck, taking his hat off and tossing it inside as he prepared to sit behind
the wheel.

Charlie pushed the door shut before he
could get in.

“How much does it cost?" she asked.

“The, uh … what? The museum?" If you could
call it that. “It's free. Run by volunteers. They get by on donations."

“Mm." The squirrel took a deep breath. It
whooshed back out. “I'm hot," she pouted, slumping against the side of
the truck.

“Serves you right for having such a fluffy
tail," the mouse teased, whipping his furless, prehensile appendage at her.

“Do you know how hot I am, Emmy?"

“Is this … a trick question?" the mouse
wondered.

“Mm. Well. I'll tell you later." Charlie
grabbed his tail and reeled him in, changing the subject by announcing, “I'm
also hungry!"  

The mouse stretched into the back of the
truck, rummaging through a plastic bag and handing her the clear pouch of
circus peanuts.

“Not for these," she giggled,
releasing his tail and putting the candy back. “For lunch!"

“We'll be home in five or ten minutes."

The mouse lived alone in a colorful, cozy
farmhouse, and Charlie with her aunt and uncle on the property next to his.
Neighbors, essentially. Over the course of the summer, a chemistry had formed
between them. That (and intense loneliness) had led them to consummate their
attraction.

So, now they were … lovers?  

Eh, that was a little too 'town mouse.'

Boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Yeah, but we're out and about! Let's make
the most of it," the squirrel declared. She was so enthusiastic, full of gusto.
It was one of the things Emerson found appealing about her. She brought energy
into his life. Though, at times, it could overwhelm his quiet, modest sensibilities.

The mouse's whiskers twitched. “Well … "

“We've not been on a proper date yet," Charlie
continued. “In public, I mean." They'd done plenty in private. Though
that was more improper than proper, depending on one's definition.    

“That's true, but … I mean, I'm not prepared
for a date." The mouse tugged at his faded t-shirt. His jeans were a little
weathered, too. There was a hole around one of the knees. “I look like I came
from the farm."

“That's so us, though! Gotta own it."

“Yeah, but even in a town like this, there
are standards."

“Psh." The squirrel waved a paw. “They lie
about being historic."

Emerson 'hmm-ed.' She had a point. “It'll
have to be quick. Maybe to go? I don't want to linger."

“Why?"

“I got stuff to do, for one. And people
will talk."

“About what?"

“You and me," he emphasized.

“Think so?" Charlie asked, voice piquing
with interest.

The mouse nodded. “We'll be fuel for the
town's gossip machine. Cause we're a fresh, new story, right? Don't often get
those around here."

“Gosh, you're so self-conscious." Charlie
clasped her paws together. “Adorable!"

His whiskers twitched again.   

“Where should we go?" she continued,
undeterred.

“There's not a lot of places to choose
from." He thought about the options. “There's the Twin Kiss—"

“The what?" The squirrel's green
eyes lit up.

“It's just ice cream and fried stuff. No
twins or kissing involved."

“Oh."

“There's the pizza place, which—"

“Been there."

“And, uh … Queenie's." He cleared his
throat.

“Ooh! I like the sound of that."

“You don't even know what it is," Emerson
said.

“Yeah, but with a name like that, it has
to be good. Feel like I'm going to be served by royalty."

“It's a café. Sandwiches, mainly. Soup.
Coffee. Pie."

“Milkshakes?"

“She could probably do that … "

“Then let's go!" Charlie, starting to
scamper, took his paw and tugged him along.

Emerson squeaked!

The mouse didn't have a chance to lock the
truck. Not that it mattered. I put all the stuff in the back, in the open.
“S-slow down … "

The squirrel did so, releasing his paw.
“Is this the right direction?"

A deep breath. “Yeah, it's two-thirds
down. On the left."

After a moment, Charlie noted, “You said
'she' could do that."

“I did?"

“Mm-hmm." A pause. “Who's 'she'?"

“The owner," Emerson said.

“Oh! Queenie?"

“That's just a nickname."

“Where'd it come from?"

“It's a long story."

“The best kind." Charlie was clearly
wanting to hear about it.

After a moment, the mouse said, “This is a
small town … "

“A historic small town," Charlie
corrected.

“Right," Emerson echoed. “What I mean,
though … like, everyone knows everyone else? You know?"

“Ohh … " The squirrel elbowed the mouse. “Sayin'
you 'know' Queenie?"

He hesitated.

“Mmm?" Charlie pressed.

“We were classmates in high school. But
that was … well? A while ago, now."

“That's not what I asked. How close were
you?" the squirrel pressed. “Did you two used to date?" 

“No! We … we didn't date."

“But you slept with her?" she asked,
cutting right to it.

Emerson opened his mouth, unable to get
the words out.  

“I'd know that blush anywhere, mouse-o.
You get it when we're doin' it."

Emerson's ears were, in fact, burning, the
heat spilling into his cheeks. He stammered, “Okay, you're … like, maybe some,
uh, stuff happened."

“Stuff." Charlie giggled at his choice of
words. “You're so modest." She put a paw on his arm, reassuringly. “Relax. You
can tell me!"

“Why?" he asked shyly.

“Because it's part of you, and I want to
know you better. I want to know 'Historic Emerson'!"

He laughed in spite of himself. “That
makes me sound ancient."

“I'd tell you about my
entanglements, but they're in another country. We won't bump into 'em. Your flame,
though … " They could see the 'Queenie's' awning up ahead, on the other side of
the street. Charlie curled her tail around him. They were still walking, but
their pace had slowed to a mere amble. “Need some intel so I know what I'm up
against."

“You're not up against anyone," he
insisted. “She wasn't a 'flame'."

“What species is she?"

He skipped a beat. “Skunk."

“Ooh! You and a skunk? That's bold!
Didn't know you had it in you, Emmy."  

“She'd just bought the café," Emerson said,
stopping on the sidewalk. Charlie stopped with him. Even though the squirrel
was okay with it, he was still nervous as he recounted, “She … she was
renovating, moving stuff in."

The squirrel's little, rounded ears perked
to full attention.

He took a breath and said, “I was in town,
and a storm was moving in. I saw her struggling on the sidewalk. She dropped a
box. Seemed distraught. She needed help moving stuff in before the storm, and I
… well, I parked, got out, and helped her."

“Aw. Such a gentle-mouse."

“She was very, um … grateful."

“Apparently!" Charlie said.

“We beat the storm, but I got stuck inside
waiting for the worst to pass. She asked me to carry some things upstairs for
her. It's … she has an apartment above the café, yeah? It wasn't fully
furnished at the time, but a bed came with the place, and … " The mouse trailed
off, not mentioning the obvious.

“You ended up in it."

He nodded.

“Can I guess the position?" the squirrel
asked excitedly, bouncing on her bare foot-paws.

Between the sun and the intensity of his
blushing, Emerson was about to evaporate.

“She was definitely on top!" Charlie
decided, cocking her paw like a pistol. “Cowgirl style."

Emerson blinked.

“Am I right?"

“Yeah … "  

“I can't imagine you would've gone that
far if you didn't already like her, though."

“We've known each other for years. And everyone
likes her. She's very … charismatic."

“So, what happened after?"

“I came back the next day and moved in the
rest of her stuff. I mean, I'd already started. I felt obligated to help her
finish."

“Did it happen again? It did, didn't it? I'm
gonna guess … reverse cowgirl?"

“How would you even know that?"

“Intuition!"

 He
looked up and down the street, then into Charlie's eyes. “Anyway, that's it.
Twice. Two days." He gestured with his paws. “Nothing happened after that.
We're still friendly and … I mean, we get along fine, but—"

“Relax, Emmy! You don't need to explain. Nothing
to be embarrassed about. I wasn't even a twinkle in your eye when all this went
down." She nodded and said, “You moved her stuff, and she paid you with sex. End
of story."

“She didn't … that's not true," he
insisted.

“You got it, mouse-o," the squirrel said
with a wink, reassuring, “I'm just winding you up. You know that, right?"

“Yeah. I know. I've just … I'm normally so
private. It's hard for me to share things, sometimes."

“Squirrels are the opposite. We tend to
share too much!"

The mouse smiled lightly. “No, really?"

The squirrel grinned back at him, and they
started moving again, ultimately crossing the street. There was still no
traffic. When they reached the front door of the café, Charlie paused, paw on
the door handle. “How good-looking is she?"

“You know there's only one way for me to
answer that."

“Mm-hmm." Batting her eyes, Charlie waited
for it.

“Not as good-looking as you," the mouse told
his girlfriend.

“Aw, Emmy!" Charlie flexed her arms
victoriously, then pulled open the door. “Damn right."   

When they entered Queenie's, a bell
jingled.

Charlie sniffed the air (which made her
even hungrier!) and scanned the interior. Quaint and cute, relaxing colors.
Photos on the walls. There was a countertop lined with red swivel stools.
Booths were along the walls, beside the windows, with three or four round stand-alone
tables in the middle. The whole place could probably accommodate a maximum of
forty seated patrons.

Being the lunch hour, the place was over
half-full.

The squirrel did a full body wiggle,
pulling at Emerson's shirt and pointing. “Look! That booth's free."

“But I thought we were just—"  

Charlie pulled him over to it.

“Getting carryout," the mouse finished,
finding himself seated opposite the squirrel. His whiskers twitched. “Mm … "

Emerson surveyed room.  

Are they looking at us?

At her?

With me?

“Hey, Emerson," a sweet, feminine voice
said, floating in like a cloud, interrupting the mouse's paranoia. A striking
albino skunk, she had purple head-fur, as well as lavender highlights on an impossibly
fluffy tail. A notebook in one paw, she clicked an ink pen with the other.  

“Hey, uh, Seldovia," the mouse replied shyly,
barely able to make eye contact.

Charlie looked from one to the other. “Is
this Queenie? I'm Charlie!" she announced. “I'm not from around here."

“Didn't think you were," the skunk admitted
with a sly smile. “And, yes, I'm the 'queen' of this establishment."

“Oh, neat! I'm Emmy's girlfriend."

“Emmy?" Seldovia smiled, giving the mouse
a teasing look.

Emerson's dishy ears blushed profusely.

Oh, my gosh.

He wanted to hide under the table.  

“Staying with my aunt and uncle," Charlie
continued, ever unbothered.

“Ah, fox squirrels? Out Emerson's way?
Yeah, I know 'em. Been to a few of their weekly cookouts. They still havin'
those?"

“Yup! Every Friday evenings, weather
permitting."

The skunk nodded, preparing to scribble on
her pad. As much as she was amenable to friendly chatter, she had to keep
things moving. “So, what'll it be, mousey?"

“Um … I'll, uh, have a grilled cheese, um
… sandwich. Wheat bread. Tossed salad with croutons." He didn't need to look at
the menu. He ordered the same thing every time he came here. “Just ice water to
drink."

“No fries?"

“Well … maybe a few."

The skunk scribbled on her pad. “And
dessert?" she goaded with a smile.

“Guess it wouldn't … wouldn't hurt," the
golden mouse mumbled.

“One slice of cherry pie," Seldovia
decided for him, knowing his favorite. The skunk looked to Charlie next.

“I want a strawberry milkshake," the
squirrel decided. “And a veggie burger with lettuce, cheese, and tomato. And double
onion rings!"

“The works for you. The usual for the
mouse. Right. Comin' at ya!" the skunk said. “Be about ten minutes." She
clicked her pen, winked at Emerson, and turned to give the order to one of her
cooks, her tail luxuriously swishing through the air. It spread her perfume.
The scent of peonies.

Emerson sighed.

Charlie watched her go, then looked to
Emerson. In a singsong tone, she said, “She called you mousey."

“I mean, I am a mouse, so … "

“Yeah, but that's a term of affection! She
still likes you!"

“I guess … "

“Also, you didn't tell me she was an albino
skunk. Hot damn!"

“What are you trying to say?" Emerson
asked.

“I get it, Emmy." Charlie held up her
paws. “I mean, I'd do her, too," the squirrel declared definitively.

Emerson blushed profusely. “I told you, it
was years ago."

“How many?"

“What?"

“Years. How long ago we talkin' about?"

“Three?" he admitted.

“Three. Hmm." The squirrel looked across
the café, watching Seldovia move about behind the counter. “Hey. Think she'd be
open for a threesome?"

“Charlie!" Emerson's eyes darted.

The fox squirrel giggled, still looking
Seldovia's way. “Those purple streaks are dye, right? And the head-fur? It
can't be natural … you've seen her naked, Emmy. How far down does the color go?"

Emerson shook his head, refusing to tell.
He deflected with, “I'm only thinking about you."

Arms on the table, the squirrel leaned
forward. “Why's that?" she asked warmly.

“Cause I love you."

“Aw, so sweet." The squirrel leaned back.
“How much do you love me?"

“More than I've ever loved anyone."

“That's not very descriptive."

“Well, I … I love you more than, um …
you're putting me on the spot, here."

“I know. Flustered mice are the best."

“Um … so, uh, Charlie … "

“Mm?"

“Have you … been with another girl?"

“What gave it away?" the squirrel asked
with a bucktoothed grin.

“Lucky guess," Emerson replied.   

“She even smells pretty!" Charlie whispered.
 

“I told you … she's the queen of this
town. And, what's more, she knows it."

Seldovia was on the Town Council and had
ambitions of running for mayor. The albino skunk fed off attention. In high school,
she'd always told everyone she was a princess, that her family had descended
from royal lineage in some small European country somewhere. Whether that was
true or not was open for debate. But the story led to the nickname, and
eventually the café being called 'Queenie's.'

Charlie rubbed a bare foot-paw against
Emerson's shin beneath the table.

“What … ?"

“Do I need a reason?"

Emerson smiled, touching one of his
foot-paws to hers.

“You're so cute, Emmy." After waiting a
moment, Charlie pressed, “Aren't you going to say it back?"

“That you're cute?"

“I am?" She grinned. “How cute?"

“Very? Um … yes. I'd say … the cutest?"

“We still gotta improve your impromptu
flirting, mouse-o. But! Compliment accepted," Charlie said brightly. She looked
out the window and watched a tractor going up the street. Its flashers were on.

Inside the café, the sound of silverware
clinking silverware and plates mixed with the din of conversation.

Emerson fiddled with a fork as he said, “I'm
sorry if I've been awkward, being out with you. It's just … when you live in a
small town, you have a role you play in the eyes of others, and since little
around you changes, your role becomes static. You get stuck." He shrugged. “I'm
the shy, quiet farm mouse, who works hard and keeps to himself … I don't spend
a lot of time in public with vivacious squirrel girlfriends."

“Expectations are made to be broken,"
Charlie said softly, reaching a paw for his.

“Yeah." His fingers laced with hers as he
mumbled, “I've, uh, been thinking—"

“Why, if it isn't the two lovebirds!"

Emerson let go of Charlie's paw as, out of
the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching. An older raccoon who'd just
finished her meal.

“Fern tells me you two are a hot item!"
the racoon told the rodents, waving a cane about.

Emerson ducked as it whizzed through the
air where his head had been.  

“Who's Fern?" Charlie asked, looking
around curiously. What an old-fashioned name. They were surely a crazy
character!

“Well, uh, I … I do like Charlie. Very
much," Emerson told the old lady, sitting up straighter. The raccoon was a
known gossip. With her card games, town hall bingo, and the other social
functions she attended, the whole town would know their business by day's end. “Charlie's
new here, but—"

“Fern wants to know if we're invited to
the wedding?"

Emerson fidgeted, struggling for a
response. “I think it's … " A deep, blushing breath. “It's way too soon for—"

“Who's Fern?" Charlie asked again.

“We'll put your name on the list," Emerson
finally told the old lady, just trying to end the conversation and get her to leave.

The raccoon, satisfied by this, shuffled
out the door.

Emerson exhaled.

Charlie blinked. “Who's—"

“She's Fern."

“She's … but … oh, she was talking about
herself? In the third person?"

“Yeah … " A nod. “She does that."

“Heh. Very perceptive individual. She knew
we were marriage material without talking to me once! Our chemistry must be off
the charts."

“And what charts are those?"

“I dunno. But they're like seismographs,
with the needle going all over."

“So, our love is an earthquake?"

“We rock each other's world, don't we?"

The mouse smiled. “That's one way to put
it … "

Another individual approached their table.
A strapping beaver in a pair of overalls. “Howdy, mouse." He nodded at Emerson
and then looked to Charlie. “Miss," he added slowly, with a big, bucktoothed
smile. “I don't b'lieve we've had the pleasure."

“I'm Charlie."

“Benji," the beaver said, reaching for the
squirrel's paw. He brought it to his muzzle and gave the back of it a kiss.

Charlie giggled.

Emerson tried not to roll his eyes,
telling Benji, “We're just about to eat, so … "

“Well, save some room for dessert," the
beaver said, looking at Charlie. “I own the gas station if you ever need to be 'filled
up'." He turned and waddled off.

Emerson's brows raised. “He came over here
just to say that?"

“I don't think he was talking about circus
peanuts," Charlie whispered.

“No." Emerson sighed, cheeks hot. “Why
would he assume you'd leave me for him?"

“Could make that a threesome, too," was the
squirrel's light response. “Like the one with Queenie."

“Theoretical threesome," Emerson
reminded.

“Beavers are so goofy," Charlie said. “No,
if we're doing a threesome, it's definitely with Queenie."   

Emerson rubbed his face with his paws.
“You're not going to say anything to Seldovia when she brings out food back,
are you?"

“What do you want me to say?" the squirrel
asked, a gleam in her eye.

“Nothing!"

“All I'm sayin' is you still like
her, and I like her … "

“You didn't even know her 'til thirty
minutes ago."

“It'll be awesome," the squirrel breathed,
getting flushed just thinking about it. “Is she soft? I bet she's soft, isn't
she? How soft?"

“Charlie, it's not going to happen."

“Yeah … you're right." The squirrel
nodded, taking a swig of water. “This isn't the time or place."

Emerson sighed with relief.

“I'll have to get her to come to my aunt
and uncle's Friday shindig! We can ask her then." She licked her lips. “Then
maybe slip off somewhere discreet … "

Oh, boy.

On the truck ride home, Charlie opened the
bag of circus peanuts, popping one into her mouth.

“Everything you hoped for?" Emerson asked,
eyes on the road.

“Mmf?" the squirrel went, chewing the
marshmallow candies. She swallowed. “Heck, yeah! It's like … a banana split in
gummi mallow form."

“That doesn't seem like a selling point."

Charlie ate another.

“You might wanna go easy, there."

“I'm naturally hyper. Immune to sugar
rushes," the squirrel assured.

“Well. You're not getting my cherry pie,"
Emerson said, of the plastic takeout container on the dashboard. He'd decided
to take it home for dinner. 

“Do you think I could wrestle you to the
ground if I didn't have multiple desserts?"

“Are you planning on doing that?" he
wondered with confusion.

“Maybe," Charlie said with a full mouth.
She chewed and swallowed.

A minute passed. 

“I didn't plan on spending an hour
eating lunch, you know," the mouse told her, frustration seeping in his voice.

“Consider it an experience!"

“Well, work is an experience, and that
hour set me back … I still have a lot of that to do." Unfortunately.

Charlie furrowed her brow. “Are you upset
I asked Queenie to the Friday party?"

“No … I just … I don't know," he said
truthfully. “I'm sorry."

“I forgive you." Charlie ate another
circus peanut.

“Should I drop you off at your place?"
Emerson asked.

“Mm?" A sigh. “Yeah, you better." The
squirrel slouched back in her seat, tugging at her seatbelt. “I got a lot to
do, too. Prob'ly why I kept us out so long. Stalling, y'know?"

“I understand."

“Gotta mow alfalfa. Rake it tomorrow, bale
it in a few days … " That was the thing about farming. The end was only the
beginning. It was never over. Especially in the summer. “My aunt wants
me to weed her sunflower patch, too. She's gonna sell sunflowers at the
farmer's market Saturday morning. Wants me to go with her."

“Next town over, right?"

“Yup."

“It's a busy market."

“You should set up a booth," Charlie
mentioned. “Then I could hang out with you!"

“I'm sure your aunt would appreciate
that." Charlie's aunt and uncle knew about him and her, as an item. According
to Charlie. But Emerson still hadn't really talked to them since it happened. I
suppose I'll bump into them on Friday, at their place. “Besides, I don't
have anything to sell."                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

“I'm sure you do! We can think of
something."

Emerson glanced over at her, then back to
the road.

“What?" the squirrel asked.

“The ante doesn't need 'upped' all
the time."

“I can't help it. I'm no good at … " Charlie
fidgeted. “Keeping still." She looked out the window, saying, “Squirrels have
so much energy. Gotta spend it. Can't bottle it up or we start running up
walls."

“And trees," the mouse added lightly.

There was a momentary silence. Charlie
rubbed her eyes and said, “You're all I think about. I mean it."

“I'm not that interesting," Emerson
deferred, blushing in the ears.

“How much do you think about me?"

“A lot."

“How much is that?"

“Well, it's … it's a lot," the mouse
reiterated.

“Show me."

“How?"

“Before you drop me off, why don't we stop
at your place? For a few minutes?" Adopting her singsong tone, the squirrel
added, “We can share 'dessert'."

“I said you're not getting my pie."

“Wouldn't you rather have a cream
pie?" she said.

“That's not very subtle," Emerson replied.
He flicked his turn signal, slowing, turning onto a gravel road that led to his
and the squirrels' neighboring farms.

“And that's not a no."

True, the first time they'd made love had
been after an hour's worth of baling straw in similarly hot, brutal weather,
but there'd been some adrenaline and pent-up … well, tension involved there.
Not to mention some very cold water from a hose. They'd still been forced to
take a long nap afterward.

The mouse took a breath. “Like I'm gonna
say no to laying with you?"

“Laying with?" she repeated, giggling and
shaking her head. “Bet they didn't even say that in the 1800's!"

“Why don't we go to the Historical Society
and find out?"

“Say you wanna screw me silly. You wanna fuck
me. Say it."

“I do," Emerson said as he pulled into his
driveway. He parked the truck and turned the engine off.

“Do what?"

“Want to … do you silly."

“Screw. Not do."

“What's the difference?"

“I'm trying to pull you
out of your shell!"                            

“I've noticed."

“Also, it makes me horny to hear you
speaking lewd."

“Since when?"

“Since right now. Come on."

“Fine. Um." Emerson took off his seatbelt
and opened the driver's side door, grabbing his slice of pie and getting out of
the truck. He cleared his throat. “I would really like to screw you."

Charlie, bounding out of the passenger
side, waved off his attempt. “More assertive. Wanting is a given. You're going
to. You will."

“I'm gonna screw you, Charlie, by golly."

“Hah! Golly? You're just playing with me
now … "

“Am I?" Emerson grinned, having been
figured out. He reached the steps of his front porch. “It's in the dictionary."

“A lot of things are." The fox squirrel stood
in front of him, taking his free paw in both of hers. “So … where we gonna do
it? And don't say 'bed'."

“The loft. In the barn."

“Ooh …really?"

“Could put a blanket down. Open the sliding
doors to let in some air."

“Yes, I like it! That's so … country. You
could write a song about that." The squirrel broke out an exaggerated twang.
“Had takeout with my girl, then had her fer dessert, hey, baby, that's the good
stufffff."

Emerson laughed. “Stop it … "

“Only if you eat a circus peanut."

“No way," the mouse swore.

“What if I put it in my cleavage?"

“Is that a threat or a promise?"

Charlie, looking ravenous, reached for his
ropy, prehensile tail. She suckled on the tip, making eye contact with him
while doing so. “It's not polite to leave a girl wanting, Emmy."

They didn't make it to the loft, much less
the barn.

Behind the farmhouse, the amorous rodents
writhed in the lush summer grass, stripping, clothes sailing and landing among
the zinnias. Color-splashed and fragrant, the flowers bobbed in the breeze.

Charlie was beneath the mouse, but only
for a moment. Throwing her weight, the taller rodent rolled them both. Once
atop, she rose up, extending her arms and planting her cinnamon-brown paws on his
chest, keeping him pinned as she rolled her hips against his.

Emerson, already panting, squinted heavily
as he looked up at her.

The squirrel whooshed her fluffy tail
above their heads as a sunblock.

He nodded his thanks.

“Do me like you did Queenie," the squirrel
murmured, breasts heaving.

Emerson grabbed Charlie's hips, then her
rump. His fingers curled, digging in as he groped her, pulled her closer to his
body.   

“Ah!" she moaned, rubbing her sex against
his.

Emerson moaned, angling, pushing into her.
No waiting. No time to. Wet, fertile, wonderful. She always felt good, but this
was different. Her scent, too. Was it just the breeze stirring things up? Or was
she coming into heat? They hadn't been together a full month, and it hadn't
happened yet. It was bound to. Soon.

Wouldn't she have warned me?

She had.

Earlier, on Main Street.

'Do you know how
hot I am, Emmy? Mm. Never mind. I'll tell you later … '

She hadn't been talking about the air
temperature.

We're not the same species, though.
Nothing can happen. The odds are … well …

Right?

Emerson hadn't the willpower to pull out
anyway, or the strength to stop Charlie from bouncing atop his thick, stiff member,
her thighs and rump slapping against his body, her jaw hanging open as she
huffed for air.

Watching her breasts bounce, the mouse
couldn't help but reach for one. Then both of them. After fondling them, he
captured her in a full-on, hug, drawing her down atop him. Laying atop his
chest, her leverage was transferred to Emerson, who bent his knees to better
thrust his hips.

And, oh, he thrusted.

He hammered her from beneath, balls
slapping at her, making her bark.

The sun was so bright.

The air so hot.

But she was brighter. Hotter. All-consuming.
Beautiful, fun, amazing. No, she wasn't an albino skunk with royal European
lineage. But she didn't have to be.

She was his.

He was hers.

They came like fireworks, explosively,
tails flailing outward, her sex in rippling, milking spasms and his jolting and
jerking as he filled her with his seed. Their moans quieted the breeze and stilled
the trees. For a moment, time froze. The world stopped. Seconds of purest
pleasure, and then …

It all sped up again.

The breeze returned, the trees were
rustling. Their pulses were racing in tandem.

The squirrel, reeling from her orgasm,
nosed the mouse's cheek. “Oh … heck, mouse-o … "

Emerson rubbed her back and kissed at her
body. Her shoulders, neck. Her face. He kissed her wherever he could reach.
Finally, they locked lips.

“Mmm …"

When it broke, he murmured against your
cheek. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming into heat?"

“It makes me a little crazy."

“How's that any different from normal?"

Charlie giggled. “I just didn't want to
freak you out. You haven't seen the worst of it yet … "

“So, it was the heat talking when you got
on this 'threesome' idea?"

“Maybe. Maybe not." She drew patterns on
his chest with her paw. “Does it matter?"

“I'll do anything with you. I trust you. I
love you," Emerson insisted.

“Love ya, too, mouse-o."

They cuddled for a minute, before Emerson
said, “We really should get back to work. I gotta drive you home."

“I can walk. I mean, I can see my aunt and
uncle's house from here." She pointed as proof.

“It's roasting, though … you'll wear
yourself out."

“A squirrel in heat is insatiable. Nothing's
gonna wear me out."

“That a challenge?"

“A promise." She dismounted and fetched
her clothes.

Emerson laid naked on the ground, folding
his paws behind his head as he watched her dress.

“Don't look so casually handsome, Emmy.
It's distracting!"

“Is it?" he said with a smile. “I'll have
to remember that." He sat up and used his prehensile tail to corral his pants,
wriggling into them before standing up and approaching his mate.

Charlie hugged him. “I don't wanna go,"
she breathed.

“I know. Come back tonight?"

She nodded. “I will."

They shared a parting kiss before the
squirrel scampered off.

Emerson picked up his shirt and went to
the mailbox, collecting his mail and heading indoors. He needed a shower. He
felt every bit like he'd been rolling around on the ground. His fur was matted,
and her scent was all over him.

We always make a mess, don't we?

He smiled.

That's so us.