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.