by Tempe O'Kun
He might have watched forever, but she happened to open her eyes, see him, and freeze mid-bounce. “Max! Hi!” Jazz hands snapped to her sides, then fumbled to turn down her computer’s speakers. “You saw that didn’t you?”
Wagging, he shrugged. “Car’s packed, if you’re done wiggling around.”
Max adjusted the passenger seat back all the way so his legs could stretch out. His ear tips brushed the upholstered ceiling as the hatchback puttered down the streets of Windfall on the way out of town. They stopped at an intersection. Out the window, a string of mumbled grunts rose from a hedgehog as he tended his row of immaculate topiaries.
Kylie gripped the wheel, waves of energy trailing down her tail in front of the back seats. He wagged through the gap in his own seat: after the recent stress, it felt good to see her having fun again.
They pulled into the supermarket parking lot and trotted inside. A weasel, surly and supple, argued with a manager about the establishment not carrying gold foil.
The manager nickered and pinched the bridge of her nose, rubber-shod hooves squeaking on worn tile floor. “I’m sorry, sir: we only carry aluminum foil.”
“Aluminum’s not nearly conductive enough.” With a furtive glance, the mustelid doffed his top hat to reveal a tattered lining of gold foil. “How am I supposed to block out the signals?”
Max opened his muzzle to explain that’s not how transmissions worked, but felt lutrine paws grip his elbow.
His friend towed him along by the arm. “Don’t encourage the crazy person, Maxie.”
He allowed himself to be directed down an aisle and past a teenage buck eyeing a shelf of antler-growth cream. Soon Max found himself in the dog foods section, surrounded by familiar brands with scratch-and-sniff labels.
One hand still on his arm, the otter inspected a box of heart-shaped kibbles called Love Bites with a groan. “Dogs…”
“What?” He wagged and waved a cereal box. “It shows more restraint than Tennis Ball Crunchies.”
“Oh, eww. I bet they taste like sneakers and feel like the inside of a sock.”
“Mmm.” He peered down the side of the box. “With natural nylon and rubber flavorings.”
She jabbed a webbed finger his way. “You lie, sir.”
“I do.” He smirked as they walked on. “They’re just corn puffs with green dye and white frosting.”
Her smile bunched up. “I can’t decide if I’m disappointed. Oooh!” She ducked off toward the snack section to scamper between the many options.
It’d felt so natural, Max had almost forgotten she’d held his arm. He wasn’t sure what that meant. He grabbed some jerky and a root beer, then started looking for something his otter companion might enjoy. When she returned, his eyes narrowed with suspicion on her bag of barbecue potato chips.
Webbed paws clutched the snack away. “What?”
“They’re not made of water chestnut pulp?” He folded his arms across his chest and did his best to look stern. “Not fried in fish oil or dusted with pulverized shrimp?”
“I don’t think so…” For an instant, she studied the back of the bag, then poked him in the chest. “I can eat normal chips!”
He continued down the aisle, watching her from the corner of his eye. “I’ve seen no evidence of that.”
She started to chitter up a retort as they turned a corner. “Whoa!” Her nose crinkled in distaste at the rows of specialty perfumes. “Ugh! This aisle smells like Cindy.”
The husky nodded agreement. Even the most subtle of perfumes could get overwhelming when you put a thousand of them in the same aisle, all jiggered to different species. And not all of these were subtle. Musk hung heavy in his nose, weighing his every thought down to crotch level. He coughed at the faint burn kindling in the back of his throat, trying to wave the artificial heat-scent out of his delicate nostrils. “More like ten Cindys.”
“Now there’s a scary thought…” Tracked the odor to an empty perfume display labeled Estrüsse, Kylie squawked with shock and dismay. “Sweet fishes, she’s stockpiling it. And it smells like half a bottle leaked onto the shelving.”
Max only nodded, the scent buzzing through his brain to swell his sheath. He trotted back to the checkout as fast as discretion would allow. His companion bounced at his side, chattering on about how the town was just as weird as she’d promised. His glance kept trailing down the curve of her tail, without his permission. He decided, as he adjusted the crotch of his pants so he could walk a little easier, that he didn’t like artificial pheromones.
A gangly greyhound cashier rang up their items with surprising speed and a shy retainer smile. “You two have a good night.”
“Oh we always manage to.” The otter looked up at him with a cute grin. “Right Maxie?”
He woofed a little laugh. “I guess we do, rudderbutt.”
The greyhound’s tail whipped up a wag as she bagged their items.
The husky nodded a polite goodbye, even as his ears burned. The cashier pup had gone starry-eyed, like she’d seen them as a cute couple. How would that even work? He’d have to lift her up to slow dance. She’d need a stepladder to kiss him. And with one partner twice the size of the other, sexual positions would get a bit limited. Doggy style might do. He glanced to the checkout counter and judged he could easily bend Kylie over it and ride her. Maybe clutching her tail for leverage as he sank in…
He shook his muzzle and tried to breathe out any residual heat perfume; that had to be the cause of his weird thoughts. Thinking about Kylie like this wasn’t helping his unauthorized erection.
Climbing in the car, the canine busied himself by scrolling through the satellite map on his phone, trying to sit in such a way to hide the bulge in the folds of his jeans. “Okay, we have a full tank of gas, snacks, and directions. Anything else we need?”
Flashing him a smile, she switched the stereo to play from her phone. For the second time that day, the best of The Sugar Gliders sailed from speakers around Max. As his best friend wiggled and sang at the wheel, he felt his heartbeat speed as they took the ramp to the highway. With the seaside rolling by, though, and the way she drove, it was probably just because of the increased odds of a car crash.
A couple hours down the twisting roads, Max discovered the “Best of The Sugar Gliders” sounded uptempo and peppy and exactly like everything else Kylie’s favorite band had ever recorded. At a fueling station, he also discovered maple candy was delicious. Upon switching seats, he discovered just how far pedals and a steering column can be adjusted.
At long last, they rumbled past a sign for the Thomas Creel Seaweed Farm & Brewery and up to a cluster of buildings around an inlet. A rocky shoreline curved to cradle a rippling sea.
A lone figure stood on the dock. The strapping and shirtless sea otter looked up from securing a small boat and padded toward them. Saltwater scattered from his shaggy blonde hair, pattering on the weathered boards or vanishing into the fabric of his wetsuit pants. “Can I help you?”
“We’re returning your kegs!” She slapped a paw on the side of the hatchback, then bobbed brightly. “Kylie Bevy, and my handsome escort is Max, my former co-star.”
“Sean Jib.” He shook her hand. “Good to finally meet you. Your relations keep pointing you out whenever the show came on.” The otter craned his neck up to meet his gaze, then clasped his hand, looked him over and apparently decided he needed to make a worse first impression. “Right, the Siberian sidekick. You looked taller on TV.”
The canine chuckled, willing his ears to relax. “It’s all about perspective.”
“Uh-huh.” His gaze left the dog after an instant, to make more time for checking out Kylie. Jib crossed sleek arms. “So what can I do for a couple of celebrities?”
Brushing back a lock of hair, the smaller otter fidgeted through her keys and opened the back hatch. “We’re looking for my Uncle Thomas.”
“The mad scientist is out, I’m afraid.” His gaze flicked over her curves, then back to her eyes. �
��Some bar across the border called in for a restock. He’ll be back in a few hours.” He flashed a roguish grin. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
Max leaned in to whisper: “So Thomas is…your mom’s brother?”
Her fingers wiggled as she traced the family tree. “Mom’s…cousin, I think.” She stuffed the keys back into her pocket, then brushed potato chip crumbs from her vest. “Uncle’s just simpler than saying ‘second uncle’ or something.” A cute little shrug wiggled her form. “I should probably explain this stuff more now that we’re not a continent away from my relations.”
“Weird having Bevys back at the Holt.” The male lutrine rounded the back of the car. “Boss brought me down there a couple times. Can’t see anyone using it for anything but storage. That place gives me the creeps.”
“Surprised they ever left.” Max’s ears perked. “It’s an impressive place.”
“Things got…messy.” A flicker of wariness touched the older otter’s face. “Way before my time, but I guess they used to head down for special occasions. Even that’s stopped now.”
Kylie wrangled one keg from the back seat to the grass. Jib grappled another with both arms. Max unloaded one in each hand, then went back for more.
The strapping lutrine farmhand tossed him a smirk. “You gonna be alright there, woofs? I’d hate for a big shot movie star to throw his back out on my watch.”
The canine looped each paw through two handles, rose, and gave a casual shrug. He’d thrown around more than a little hay back with his family. This load felt about like a square bale in each paw. “I’ll be okay.” With barely a grunt of effort, he padded toward the barn.
Jib watched in shock as a dog twice his size carried four times as much without apparent effort.
His best friend bobbed around the group, paws in an anxious clasp whenever she wasn’t rolling a keg along. “Maxie’s a farm dog.”
“Huh.” Sass springing back to his whiskers, the handsome otter cast a look up and down him. “Wouldn’t have guessed from that outfit.”
A pang twinged through the husky’s chest and straight up his hackles. This guy really rubbed his fur the wrong way.
With a deep breath, Max distracted himself with the surrounding scenery. Ahead, the pebbled estuary sprawled around them. Amazing how what he considered a short drive could lead to such different topography. Lacking the jagged shoreline of Bourn Holt, waves crashed here with barely a whisper. Even the brine smelled different, more alive here.
The dog then realized he’d kept silent the entire walk back to the barn. Lucky, no one expected the strong silent dog to say anything, so his little bout of reflection hadn’t been remarked upon. Not that it would’ve mattered: Kylie appeared fascinated by the tubes and boilers of the barn’s seaweed brewery, and Jib with her tail. With a roll of his eyes, Max set down the kegs.
Jib gave them a tour of the kelp beds, padding over the smooth stone beach and up the dock. “Nobody thought this was a good idea, but old Thomas made it work. Bred a whole line of seaweed just for brewing.” He kept finding excuses to walk between Kylie and Max. The glib otter guided them through several cultivars of seaweed and expounded on the merits of each. “Depending on demand and weather conditions, we grow anything from dulse to sugar kelp to oarweed. We have heated tanks in the barn for the exotic stuff, but the real excitement is seeing the beds from underwater.” He bumped Kylie with a conspiratorial elbow. “Wanna look?”
“Sure!” Without a moment’s hesitation, she stripped down to her underwear. Or possibly a two-piece swimsuit. Not that it made much difference, to otters. Years ago, he’d have been scandalized by her clothes flying off beside a random body of water, but he’d gotten used to it over the years. Birds flew, grass grew, otters swam.
The other otter doffed everything but his skimpy underwear too, though, which made the husky blush and flick his eyes away without thinking. Jib smirked and stretched into a glamor shot pose. “You joining us, woofs?”
Max shook his head. “Didn’t bring swim trunks.”
The farmhand tossed a smirk over his shoulder as he padded after Kylie. “Your loss.”
At the end of the dock, she offered the canine a “won’t be long” shake of her head, then looked out over the water.
Together, the lutrines flung themselves from the dock like fishing spears, vanishing with scant ripples. Their bodies wavered and darted under the surface. Here and there, they vanished and reappeared among the forest of kelp leaves and sandy hues.
Pelt soaking up the wet sea air, the husky watched from shore. He could swim, sure, but hardly did the verb justice compared to otters. He could jump too, but that didn’t mean he could fly.
Ever the show-off, Jib surfaced only to burst from the water with acrobatic ease. He body surfed the occasional wave and ramped off them to jump buoys, laughing as the sea buffeted him about. His every flashy move cried for attention.
Kylie, though, traced and sliced the sea like a water nymph’s dance off some ancient Greek vase, all joy and elegance. A streak of dark in the clear water, she wove between the heavy lines anchoring the seaweed to the pebbly bay floor. She breached the simmering surface with incredible speed. Her body spun with fluid grace and supple power. Evening gleamed around her body to scatter in sunset droplets.
At Laura’s insistence, they’d entrusted Jib with a miserly bottle of fish sauce, which they directed be delivered to the still-absent Thomas. The farmhand weaseled a hug out of his fellow otter, sneaking a cheeky nuzzle in too. Kylie hadn’t seemed offended so much as bemused by his antics. To settle the score, though, Max captured him in a farewell hug he’d be feeling for days.
In the car, they watched as Jib waved in the rear-view mirrors. As the hatchback rumbled off the property, Kylie rolled her eyes. “Man, that guy was checking out my ass the entire time.”
“Oh good, you noticed.” Max glanced at her, then back to the road. “You didn’t signal for me to rescue you.”
“Eh.” She shrugged. “Weirdos have leered at me before.”
“Not your type?” He bumped her arm and tried to force some joviality. “Pretty sure kelp wasn’t the only thing he wanted your help raising.”
She gave a nervous laugh, which was a little weird. They’d always joked about fans flirting with them before. “No, not really. Still, it’s flattering to have a hunky guy notice me. I bet you got hit on all the time back home.”
A tension released his chest, which was odd. Why should he care if she liked some guy or not? They were friends, not a couple or anything. He tried to chase a few late-night fantasies from his mind. “Huh. I didn’t really notice any.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound convinced.
He woofed a chuckle. “Had a couple guys from high school accuse me of thinking I was a big shot.”
She crossed her arms over her seatbelt. “Jerks.”
“I didn’t know what to do about them feeling threatened and they didn’t know what to do about me doing nothing, so we just stood there awkwardly until they gave up and left.” He watched the sun set through the endless ranks of trees. “But no, I don’t think anyone was really flirting.”
“You’re a good guy, Maxie.” She stroked his shoulder down to the elbow. “Not to mention a hunk. I suspect you wouldn’t have to look far for a girl who’s interested in you.”
The notion that Kylie might mean herself flashed through his brain. Probably just wishful thinking. She’d never shown interest in him before, so it was probably just him wanting to keep hold of her. He made a show of looking around. “You mean Cindy followed us?”
She punched his arm, snickering. “Don’t joke about that sort of thing.”
As highway miles rolled by, Max contemplated the painted lines glowing in his headlights. His best friend dozed against his arm. Her whiskers gleamed in the last dregs of sunlight. According to his phone, only an hour or so remained before the turnoff for Windfall. Should be back in time for a late supper.
In the quiet of th
e car, stray thoughts wandered his mind, most of which seemed to center on just how cute she looked like that, how much he wagged through the tail hole of the seat at the thought of her trust in him. Having her close felt natural, familiar. With so much of his life changing around him, the idea of a feisty little otter who could fall asleep next to him, as close to him as ever, made him wag all the harder.
— Chapter 10 —
The Shack
The sweet scent of live maples and the earthy tang of rotting leaves pervaded the old-growth woods. Sun crept through breaks in the canopy, setting columns of air aglow like light beneath the surface of a lake. After several more days of searching without a hint of the location, or even the continued existence, of her great uncle’s shack, Kylie had begun to accumulate both aches and frustration.
She glanced to her companion. Max plodded along just as he had the first day. He’d always liked walks; he was built for them. Otters, meanwhile, were suited for traversing tranquil waters, not rocky terrain. The arches of her paws ached, the webbing on her toes was rubbing together unpleasantly, and her tail kept dragging through brambles and burr bushes.
“Ugh!” The lutrine leaned against a tree, propping her sneaker against it and massaging through the sole. “Why couldn’t my family have built canals around the whole property while we were still rich?”
The canine shrugged, not the least bit winded or uncomfortable. “You live on a mountain. Seems impractical, even by otter standards.”
Irritation twitched her whiskers. “And walking every inch of the property is practical?”
Max’s ears twitched as he considered the question. “Yes, actually. If we walk in a grid and, you know, actually stick to it, we’ll cover it all eventually.”
A wavering groan rippled down her body. “I just dread walking back.”
He crossed his thick arms. “I could carry you.”
“No thanks, I’m not quite that pathetic.” Wiggling her toes in the tennis shoes, she sighed. “Yet.”