He was proper puffed when he coasted his bicycle into the fast-food stand parking lot. His goal of making Provinceton by dark was on schedule, including an hour-long stop at this place to get a semblance of a meal and some rest before continuing on his journey. He had cobbled together information with the help of an online map before he started out; the cell reception was notoriously bad along these back roads, and so far as he knew, even GPS needed some sort of carrier signal. It was better not to chance it.

The lean white wolf kept himself to one side of the area, away from the crowds massed at the counters and taking up the various tables scattered around the cement area, separated from the blacktopped parking lot by wooden posts set about two meters apart, connected by thick, well-weathered rope through large holes bored into them. He took time to regain his breathing, check his pulse, air out his fur a little. Apart from his emerald-and-black shorts and a backpack only coincidentally of the same colors (he was a cyclist, not a fashion plate), he was furclad, and he had been sweating up a storm today. The weather was warm, the breezes mild and capricious, but not necessarily cooling. Just as well, he thought, since being too cold could be as bad as too hot. He was simply aware of himself, in more ways than one, and he wasn’t sure if he might be unwelcome around sensitive noses.

A little distance from him, strangers moved with individual purposes, lining up for food, finding somewhere to eat it, perhaps at a table or in their own vehicles. The wolf found himself wondering if they even tasted their food or noticed their surroundings. It was an amazing late-spring day, and this burger joint was aware of its privileged status, being so near the state park and one of the old canal locks. The buildings were well-kept, the space around them regularly cleaned, their own small grassy area and shrubs kept green and healthy. It was rare to find a business that cared about its surroundings, and he was grateful for it. Sometimes, it’s good to be mindful of where you are.

…unlike, he realized, at least some of his fellow travelers. Sounds of a family squabble reached his ears, quickly shushed by elders trying to make bored yowens settle down before they had to attack the road again. This was merely a way station, a pit stop between Somewhere and Somewhere Else, or perhaps Nothing and Nowhere. For those furs in particular, you’d think they’d stop and enjoy Something…

He shook his head. Thoughts like that crept up on him, out of nowhere, and he couldn’t begin to understand how they stole into his mind. Refocusing himself, he found a convenient metal post to chain his bicycle to, adjusted his backpack to ride his shoulders a little longer, and padded his way to get into the queue for the service counters.

Whether for innovation or sheer practicality, the place was clever enough to have a single queue and seven open stations along the counter. This simple rein on impatience resulted in much faster and smoother service than having everyone crowd up to one station or another. The wolf allowed himself a soft smirk at the quiet triumph of common sense over conventional we’ve-always-done-it-this-way “wisdom.”

He was at the front of the queue, reconsidering the large menu board at the head of the line (another way to speed things up), when stations 4 and 5 signaled that they were open. Padding his way toward them, he found himself unsure of the etiquette here: Take the nearest or the furthest, to leave the other station for the furson behind him? He felt himself gently bumped.

“Oh, terribly sorry,” said a smooth baritone voice. “Which did you want?”

The voice belonged to a large, casually-clad collie of some middling-or-so years, a slightly rounded belly on him, a polite smile to his muzzle, his wire-rimmed glasses perched just so, his brown eyes almost chuckling. The wolf found the moment stretched.

Damn, they both thought, he’s really cute.

“I had the same question,” the wolf grinned. “How about you take 4?”

“Done.” The collie smiled and sketched a little bow, taking up his place at the fifth station, glancing up at the menu, trying to remember what he had settled his mind on earlier. He felt more rushed in these modern times than in the days of his youth; he was keenly aware that too many seconds of delay would mean more fursons filling the queue behind him. Flicking a glance at the board, he remembered a “Number 4 Combo,” ordered it, named his drink choice, and let himself be talked into an apple fritter that was (if the signs were to be believed), “Fresh! Hot! Best in the State!” Money changed paws, and he contented himself to wait for his meal to be prepared in “Under three minutes!” He wondered if that gave them enough time to make the fritter, fresh and hot.

Letting his eyes wander anywhere but Station 5, the dog found himself admiring his surroundings. He’d read about the canal locks, but actually seeing one, even from a slight distance… Come to that, there should be enough time for a detour, since he was so near to it already. He should try to… No, he chastised himself gently, no more “should.” He let himself rephrase the idea: It would benefit him to try just a bit more spontaneity. There was a little flexibility in this trip, no need to feel that he had to arrive anywhere at an exact time. That whole cliché of journey-not-destination was worth considering, what with the number of decades behind him likely being more than those ahead. Nothing genuinely looming, mind you, but he was “middle-aged” only if he was going to make his century.

The canine allowed himself no more than five seconds to dwell on the idea. There was too much truth in that old book title about not being able to afford negative thoughts. He knew that he was taking more than merely a chance, striking out like this, very few safety nets, unsure even what he was really trying to do. In some ways, he was feeling forced; in some ways, dismissed; in yet other ways, seduced by something, or anything, or nothing at all. Fate, karma, kismet, the desire to put responsibility and consequences for one’s actions upon anything other than oneself. Perhaps all is vanity after all, as the book says… except that, too, is nothing more than giving up responsibility to someone’s interpretation of what God (or, actually, His presumably faith-full scribes) really meant.

He snorted. Speaking of negative thoughts…

A voice from behind the counter saved him from himself as his meal was presented to him on a simple tray. He thanked the server (who had, by this time, started scanning for her next customer) and turned to look for an open table where he could enjoy, or at least eat, his meal. When his eyes found one, he was equally aware that the young wolf at Station 5 had found it at about the same moment, and the two of them glanced at each other.

Maybe I should let him have it; I can find somewhere else.

“Crowded, enit?”

The white wolf was surprised by the comment, finding himself smiling back at the collie. “Summer vacations starting early.”

Only a moment’s hesitation, then the older pup gestured with his tray. “Share a table?”

“Sure,” the wolf agreed readily, trying to control his confused emotions. Most folks don’t do this; it’s why there are so many tables that seemed to be sized for just one furson, who looked at a phone or tablet while he ate, to tune out the world. It’s almost a social taboo to meet a stranger and actually talk with him.

Talking, of course, could be an issue, or maybe better to say that issues he was working through might be a problem, if they came up. He was still trying to figure himself out, or more like figuring out what it means to have something more than friendship with someone. Friends are wonderful, and some are packaged with Benefits, which can be all kinds of fun. On a few occasions, he was with more than one friend at the same time, and the permutations of Benefits were an even more interesting kind of fun. He wasn’t ready to give up any of it anytime soon, but he had felt something trying to shift in himself, like those times when he couldn’t figure out what sort of college courses would be good to take. It felt like such a crap shoot, just to do what you wanted, to do what felt good. He’d ignored the shift, done his research, determined what college degree would be practical, made his way through with due diligence, graduated properly, and now what? Well, “now” was a long tour of biking, where each day was about focusing on getting further along his traveling path, and each night was about trying not to focus on anything but where he was headed next on the road. It wasn’t working.

Padding to the table, the two settled themselves across from each other. The young wolf shrugged off his backpack, glad to let the weight off his shoulders, even for a little while. The collie reached a forepaw across the short distance, offering, “Linwood Harding; call me Lin.”

“Donnie… well, Donald Bingham; Donnie.” They pressed their pads together in the usual greeting.

Good grip, solid, friendly, not demanding.

Linwood leaned back, doing his damnedest not to grin like some creepy old stalker. Young lupines this good-looking must get hit on a lot, by all ages. He might even be straight, and now’s not the time to find out. Play it safe. Like always. “What brings you out this way, if I may ask?”

“Biking tour,” Donnie replied simply before taking a respectable but not overeager bite from his sandwich. The wolf chewed slowly, not quickly, not the way so many yowens did these days. Not in a hurry, which Linwood tried not to make too much of.

“Beautiful day for it,” he said, volunteering, “I’m on a slow trip to get a better look at this part of the world.”

The collie made himself keep it simple. He had heard the term “oversharing” bandied about online, and it was another of those wonderful excuses not to risk talking to anyone anymore. Clearly, there are sensible limits, but they are so changeable, so varied, that the only safe thing to do was clam up entirely rather than have a good, genuinely sharing conversation. For some furs, even mentioning what sort of work they’re involved in could be considered offensive; how could anyone be so self-centered as to talk about himself, as if that could be important?

Granted, he didn’t need to gush on about his real reason for this trip on the “blue highways,” as that really good book had called them. No, he didn’t need to detail the issues surrounding work, relationships, his own confusion about What To Do Next. It would be good to have a sounding board, but perhaps this was neither the time nor the furson to invite into that particular conversation. Talking about his fears… yeah, that’s “oversharing.”

Linwood began eating his own meal, a reasonably good fish ‘n’ chips combo, an unexpected option in a place like this. He had managed to give quiet thanks to the fish that had given its life for his nourishment. There are times and places for voiced, considered gratitude; a roadside fast-food place doesn’t really fit. That didn’t mean that he didn’t care. Lin hoped that his heart hadn’t hardened to that extent. He looked across at his lunch companion, wondering how to continue the conversation, which he very much wanted to do. The young wolf raised his head, and their eyes met again.

He’s exactly the age range I go for, when I get the chance.

Donnie felt his fur shifting a little, and he rallied himself to stop it from getting any worse. It was a “tell” for many furs, ingrained in the DNA, part of the fight-or-flight response. It was a physical reaction to something subconscious, a message from the hind-brain to be alert to something in the environment. In the context, that was ridiculous; there was nothing threatening here.

“So, you’re just traveling around too?” He tried not to show how cringe-worthy he knew that comment to be. Of course the collie was traveling; he’d just said so. Besides, it’s not likely that he had come here for the cuisine.

“Yes,” the dog answered amiably. “I’m on a personal sabbatical, for lack of a word.”

“Oh; an academic?”

The collie chuckled mildly, and Donnie found himself really liking that sound, as if it were a song, a refrain of something unheard before in all the history of the world. There was just enough time for him to wonder where the hell that had come from before he heard the dog’s reply.

“Not for a long time. I may be the only accounting major in history who had a minor in literature.” He tried spearing some more of his fish, only to find it falling apart on the fork, as this sort of fish is wont to do. With a gentle grimace, followed by a smile, he asked, “Pardon my table manners, but I think this fish wants to be tended to with fingers instead of a fork.”

Donnie grinned. “Roadside manners include using fingers.”

“Much obliged.” The collie — his name is Lin, Donnie remembered, finally — grinned outright as he lifted the larger portion of the fried haddock and took a healthy bite of it. Another chuckle from him as he chewed. The action made him seem younger… no, that’s not it. The action made him seem… more real, maybe more approachable. Mentally, the young wolf shook his head. He was really reading way too much into this. What was safe to talk about?

“I don’t think I know anything about accounting,” he tried.

“Can you balance your…” Lin chuckled. “I was about to show my age and say ‘checking account.’ Paper checks aren’t used that much anymore.”

“I know what you mean, though. My dam still uses them for her bills. Says she doesn’t like the idea of the utility company dipping directly into her bank account.” Donnie smiled. “Not sure I know how to fill one in, but I know what you mean. I keep track of my money on my phone, pay bills, all that.”

“There you go, then.” Lin munched one of his thick-cut potato fries, nodding. “You know how to handle your finances, so that’s enough. Business accounting is a load of bollocks, pardon my French.”

Donnie laughed. Inside, he was scared by his response. This dog was a stranger, and he was attractive, and he just got even more attractive by being friendly and open and… Just look at those chocolate brown eyes…

I could spend hours dreaming into those eyes.

Lin caught himself before he fell into that thought any further. This lovely pup doesn’t need an old dog to be nipping at his heels, metaphorically or otherwise.

Donnie smiled at him. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m not sure if my own degree is much better.”

“May I ask…?”

“CompSci, of course.” The wolf actually seemed to blush a bit. “Very practical.”

“Does that interest you?”

“Enough to live with.”

Without meaning to, Lin felt his features melt into something most likely resembling pained empathy. He was looking at himself, perhaps something over a quarter century ago, and it had taken him that long to realize the toll of the decisions of his youth. The bills were paid, including the apartment (no one could afford a house anymore), and he had some personal indulgences that he treated himself to without going into insupportable debt. According to the definitions set forth for adults “of a certain age,” he was happy, or perhaps satisfied, or at least was comfortable.

His current situation, the reality of it, spoke otherwise.

Recovering quickly, the collie asked, “May I ask about your trip?” Seeing the wolf trying not to flinch, he amended, “Are you heading somewhere in particular, or perhaps just sightseeing…?”

“I plotted out several places to see, while the weather’s good.”

“Sounds like a good trip. It’s good to get out, see the world a little.” Before your daily life swallows up your next 30 years, Lin bit off before saying. There’s an adage, isn’t there, about not being able to put an old head on young shoulders? Besides, it may not happen like that for him. Maybe he won’t wake up one day to find himself alone, a short string of failed relationships behind him, with a perfectly socially-acceptable slow climb up an invisible ladder that had far more rungs above than below because it’s better to have the steady paycheck than to risk getting more money by jumping to another ladder and another company that might not treat you as well. What the company you’re stuck in does to you isn’t really worth the loyalty, but never look at that aspect of it, because it’s lasted longer than your personal relationships, hasn’t it? Is it loyalty or simple, indifferent familiarity that causes you to stay, in business or otherwise?

“Is that what you’re doing?” the wolf asked, seeming eager to know the truth.

Oh gods, how much of the truth do I dare tell?
What would he think of me?
…and why does it matter so much?

Donnie did his best not to flinch. He didn’t know why he had asked such a personal question. Or was it personal? He just asked about the reasons behind the collie’s travels, just like the dog had asked the wolf. Just a couple of guys talkin’ here, right? No big secrets, no deep reveals.

He — Lin — seemed to consider it for a moment, to really give thought to it. “Maybe I am,” he allowed.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” the wolf backpedaled.

“You didn’t,” Lin assured him. The collie smiled, and Donnie felt that chest-centered flip-flop again, trying to deny it, knowing he mustn’t show it. “I didn’t want to burden you with too many details. Sometimes, I just plain talk too much.”

Donnie returned the smile, sensing that he was hoping to up the ante a little, doing his best not to revert to seeming like an inexperienced pup. “I’m not in a big hurry. I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much.”

Again, he cringed inwardly. That sounded so… so awkward, so rude. Lin didn’t seem to notice; he just chuckled a little (was that a hint of a blush above his cheekbones?) and started in.

“The cliché term is ‘mid-life crisis,’ although I think of it as less a crisis and more a reassessment. I got my job right out of college, and I got entrenched in it pretty solidly. I guess I’m… well, thinking things over. Wondering what I might have missed over the years, looking for a new perspective. I’m taking this trip to wander my way through some of the back roads, the parks, that kind of thing.”

Nodding slowly in agreement, Donnie said, “That sounds romantic. I mean, in the literary sense.” He could feel himself trying not to go into turbo-blush over that slip of the tongue.

“You enjoy literature, too?”

Common ground.
Maybe common issues?
He couldn’t possibly be… could he?

The wolf’s laugh sounded nervous, yet also endearing. “I didn’t have time to read anything more than code.” A pause before he added, “Or maybe I wasn’t supposed to. CompSci geeks don’t have much interest in reading anything else. I made myself find time. The mandatory English classes had required reading. I think I was the only first-year who didn’t complain about it.”

“You like reading something outside of job requirements?”

Donnie’s face clouded a little, and Lin worried that he’d hit a nerve. In the pause, the collie broke off a bit of the large apple fritter, finding it still warm, with the scents of apple, cinnamon, freshly-fried dough, and liberal amounts of drizzled sugar glaze alerting his tastebuds to an incoming treat. Popping it into his maw, the collie made a sound of delighted surprise, and his tail (always having a mind of its own) set to wagging. He held up a forepaw, answering the wolf’s slightly alarmed look with a silent request for a moment to gather himself. Savoring this morsel of manna had to take priority, even in the presence of another divine gift sitting nearly furclad before him. Swallowing the bite gave him time to set that idea gently to one side.

“I thought that menu board was spewing hype, but I’m about ready to believe that this may well be the best apple fritter in the state.” He jutted his chin toward the pastry. “Try it, please. It’s certainly big enough to share.”

Lin’s mind couldn’t help silently adding in the line from the old joke:

That’s what HE said.

Donnie couldn’t stop the line from that old joke from popping into his head. He hesitated for only a moment before breaking off a small piece of the pastry for himself. The texture was great, and the flavor…

“Oh, my furry tail,” he exclaimed, well aware that the aforementioned appendage was wagging like the collie’s. “That is really good!”

“Surprising, enit?” The collie took up a plastic knife and proceeded to perform careful surgery on the fritter. “I cut; you choose.”

The wolf found himself blinking, less at the offer than at the method for offering it. What a beautifully simple way of ensuring fair sharing. Part of his mind, trained over the past several years in the creation of algorithms and parsing systems, wondered if he could create a program that could find genuine parity. Bits of baked apple might fall off, or flakes of icing, and the ratio of dough to fruit within the two segments might have some variation. Lin had made a good cut, a fair approximation, just in terms of… what, instinct? What aspect of sapience made this sort of cooperation possible?

Yet more surprise as the wolf found himself asking the right question: Can you program an algorithm that would make a proper substitute for heart?

Both segments were about the same, so Donnie started breaking off pieces from the half nearest him, and Lin took to whittling down his own side. The wolf thought about the question that he had asked himself, and then the question that the collie had asked. The answer to the former was “no,” which he kept to himself; the answer to the latter, he spoke aloud.

“Yes,” he said. “I still like to read outside of work-related things.” He nibbled another bit of fritter and added, “It’s easier, right now.”

“No job?”

Donnie felt his ears splay before he could stop them. “I’ve got some résumés out.”

“That’s not a judgment,” Lin said softly. “Sorry if I trod on a sore spot.”

Returning his attention to the fritter, the wolf let his emotions cool. “Kind of a knee-jerk response. Sorry.”

“I’m in the same boat, believe me. My friends all thought I was nuts to quit my job.”

More common ground?
How much do I read into this?

Lin was startled by Donnie’s expression of surprise. “You quit?” he asked. “Did they treat you badly or something? …or, I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t ask…”

The collie smiled softly at his lunch companion. “I opened the door. It was my fault for upsetting you in the first place.”

“You didn’t upset me,” the young wolf demurred, then smiled gently at his own words. “Well, okay, how about I upset myself? Either way, I didn’t have to jump on your comment.”

Nodding gently, taking more of his share of the fritter, Lin said, “The company didn’t treat me any better or any worse than any other company, probably. I was there for nearly three decades.” He snorted gently. “Sounds bad enough that way. Thirty years, 360 months, about 11,000 days, give or take.” A headshake. “Sorry; a little too good with numbers.”

It took a few moments for him to realize that the young male in front of him looked almost frozen with… was that fear? Self-worry? Totting up the time to figure out how old the old dog really was? Lin felt something in his heart breaking, as foolish as it might sound. This casual conversation, the sharing of an apple fritter… had he actually been hoping for something romantic out of this? No fool like an old fool. Maybe better to start backing out of this conversation and get back on the road.

At that moment, the capricious breaths of wind that had been toying with the customers at their tables shifted again, puffing from behind the young wolf, ruffling at his fur, teasing at the paper napkins on the table. The lupine moved quickly, reaching across the table to prevent anything from escaping. It was then that Lin also realized that the breeze had carried the pup’s scent to the dog’s sensitive nostrils, and he rocked back slightly, sniffing more loudly than he had intended.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the wolf said quickly. “I probably stink.”

“No… I mean, you’ve been working out at lot, after all.”

“I hope I’m not too offensive.”

“Quite the opposite.”

Lin looked up, feeling the shock that must have registered on his muzzle, feeling his blood freezing in his veins, his ears go back sharply on his head. He put his forepaws up quickly, backing up in his seat. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have said… I should go…”

“Please don’t.”

Did he really just say that?

Donnie felt his heart in his throat, not believing what he’d done. Things like this don’t happen for real, do they? This wasn’t a bar or pick-up venue, and this guy, this hot-looking guy, was just here for lunch, not to look for someone to… what, hook up with? Was that what was gonna happen? Just because they had talked and shared a fritter?

“Lin, I’m…”

“I’m sorry, Donnie, I…”

Reaching across the table, the wolf put out his open forepaw, gently, as if asking to press pads again. Tentatively, the collie took the forepaw in his own, and their eyes met and held each other.

With a soft sigh, Donnie said, “Is it okay if I ask you to talk some more?”

The dog smiled. “More than okay. Here, or… maybe we should let someone else have the table.”

Donnie returned the smile. “Let’s clean it off and… well, I think there are some benches near where I left my bike. If,” he let his smile turn into a grin, “I’m not too whiffy to be near.”

Lin laughed, a blush seeming to rise on his cheekbones. “Naughty to tease an old dog like that.”

“Oh, Lin… I’m sorry, I only meant—”

The wolf felt a soft squeeze to his forepaw. “I know; it’s okay. Let’s… well, let’s talk a while, okay? Make sure I’m not being an idiot or something?”

“Maybe I’m an idiot, too.”

Gently releasing the grasp, Lin said, “What do you say we go find out?”

“Works for me.”

Yes, they thought, it definitely works.
…or at least it might.