Mr. Wigglesworth couldn’t decide on the best view so he kept bouncing from Travis’s lap to the passenger seat and back. The vet would be able to guesstimate his age tomorrow, but Travis thought he was still pretty young based on his abundance of energy.

A paw batted at the window and Travis lowered it a crack, admitting a nice breeze and allowing Mr. Wigglesworth to stick his out his head, tongue lolling to the side. On this small stretch of road toward Copper Beach, Travis would allow it, but once they got into the city, he’d roll the window back up. Driving when Copper Beach was at its most touristy still gave him a nervous stomach. In many ways, as much as he might hate it, he truly was a small-town boy.

First stop was the tribe’s firewood stand on 101, and this time of year firewood was a hot item because of bonfires on the beaches. Five dollars for a bundle, and the proceeds went to the tribe. Honestly, it ran almost like a business, something that most people didn’t realize. Sure, they were familiar with the reservation casinos, but the tribe had fingers in businesses throughout the state. It paid for housing, healthcare, events, scholarships, education, and so much more. It even paid for a deputy who was stationed specifically in Slat Creek after the county decided that they had to cut back on patrolling due to funds and availability. It was a big county, so it made sense. But it also meant that if an emergency did happen, it could take over an hour to get a response. The tribe had taken it upon themselves to care for the town, even if fewer than half the residents belonged to the tribe.

Every Sunday, because Molly’s was closed, Travis chopped and bundled firewood, then restocked the stand. The tribe didn’t pay him much, but it was a little extra money. Back when he had been saving for college, it had been everything. Now, it was a way to get outside, get out of his head, and take out his aggression in a constructive way.

Mr. Wigglesworth’s whole body shook as he watched Travis pop the back of his hatchback open and unload the wood that he had stacked there earlier that day. He first dropped off bundles for Mr. Tynan, Mrs. Leake, and several of the other older members of the community. It might be summer, but the nights still got cold, and some folks didn’t have the means to lug bundles of chopped wood home with them. Next stop was 101, where the tribe had their stand. The dog kept trying to figure out a way to climb to the back and help, but there were too many obstacles, so he eventually gave up with a hefty sigh and curled up in the empty driver’s seat that was probably still warm from Travis’s butt.

Travis’s hair still dripped a little down his back from his post-wood-chopping shower, so the tiny bit of sweat that developed from lugging the loads of wood back and forth from the car didn’t do too much damage to his appearance. He took a test sniff under his arms, which still smelled heavily of pine and spice. He was good to continue to his next destination, the pet store in Copper Beach.

As he crossed into town, Travis pulled into the drive-through coffee hut and ordered a large frozen coffee.

“Oh my god, she’s so cute,” the girl at the window squealed. “He? She?”

“He.”

She leaned forward, holding an arm out the window that Mr. Wigglesworth happily met halfway. Travis got a face full of wagging tail, but at least it blocked the face full of cleavage that she was inadvertently flashing him.

“What’s his name?”

For the first time, Travis sorely regretted the name he and Caitlyn had picked.

“Mr. Wigglesworth.”

“Oh, Mr. Wigglesworth, aren’t you a cutie?” She continued to coo as she reached underneath the counter and grabbed a jar of dog treats. “Can I?”

Travis agreed, because Mr. Wigglesworth had already gotten the scent, but at least she had asked. After receiving the treat, Mr. Wigglesworth retreated to the passenger side seat and curled around it as if Travis were seconds away from snatching it back.

The girl passed Travis’s drink to him with a wink, but all he could think of was how glad he was that she was only working the register and not making drinks.

Since Travis had never had a dog before, he didn’t know what to think, but as soon as he and Mr. Wigglesworth entered the pet store, the scenario kept playing on repeat. Cute girl would approach and fawn over the dog while simultaneously batting her eyelashes at Travis. If only they were cute boys instead.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full. Can I help you find anything?” asked a deep voice from behind him, and Travis prayed the face was as smooth as the voice as he turned around.

Not bad, actually. Warm eyes surrounded by waves of dark blonde hair and a sparkling white smile. Travis clutched Mr. Wigglesworth a little too tight as he made his pleased perusal, but the dog only responded with a paw to the face.

“First timer, here,” Travis said, lifting the dog as if he wasn’t already the center of attention.

“In that case, we’ll need a cart.”

Travis’s wallet groaned every time Caleb, the all-American surfer clerk, put something else into the cart, but Travis couldn’t find his voice to say no. All Caleb had to do was flash that blinding smile and Travis nodded and watched helplessly as the cart filled higher and higher.

When they got to the row with the collars, Travis cleared his throat twice to be able to speak.

“It has to be pretty,” he said when Caleb held up a black leather collar. “I promised my sister.”

Aunt Lucinda had taken Caitlyn shopping for the day so that Travis could do his work for the tribe and get some errands in. Since not even Copper Beach was large enough for a mall, the two headed in the opposite direction from Travis, inland about an hour and half. They had left well before noon, and Travis wasn’t expecting them to return until after dinner. He’d never been clothes shopping with Aunt Lucinda before, but he had the experience with his mom and Caitlyn. Even thinking of it now made him shudder.

Caitlyn had been upset to discover she wouldn’t get to pick out everything for Mr. Wigglesworth, so she had wrangled the promise about the collar from him on her way out the door. Mr. Wigglesworth had gotten snuggles and kisses and coos. Travis had gotten a finger to the face.

Caleb held up a baby blue plaid collar in one hand and a light purple collar dotted with pink paw prints in the other.

“I think these are the prettiest we have, except for those with the bows.” His head nodded in the direction of a section of collars with hot pink bows attached. “But honestly, the dogs hate those. They’re scratchy and always tickle their ears.”

“We’ll take the purple one.”

Caleb tossed it into the cart with a grin that travelled the length of Travis’s spine. “Who needs gender norms, right?”

“Sure,” Travis said, too focused on not popping a boner while holding onto Mr. Wigglesworth.

After he recovered from the surprise in his pants, Travis hurried through the rest of the decisions and the checkout, wanting to get in the car and get home. If he timed it right, there should be plenty of time for a warm shower and the company of his right hand. Travis hadn’t had a boner in months. He hadn’t even masturbated or enjoyed so much as a tingle. If his mind was still getting over the shock, his body had cooperated to give him time to heal.

Apparently, his body had decided he was good now.

Much to his chagrin, by the time he arrived home, the image of a sunny smile and dimpled chin had faded. He showered again but stroking his length couldn’t stir up any residual tingles, and he exited the bathroom without any satisfaction.

He flopped onto the couch and reached for the remote, immediately joined by a fluffy, clean, collared Mr. Wigglesworth.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Wiggsy.”

Whitman pulled up a chair at the long oak table. It was his first time attending a town budget meeting without Mrs. Clemens by his side. He tapped the side of his stack of papers, getting them perfectly in line. He set his pen, the retractable kind that had teeth marks on the top from his nervous habit, down in line with the papers, and folded his hands in his lap.

He was a professional. He had great ideas and had put them together clearly and concisely. There was no reason for this not to go well, even if his bald head was glistening from nerves. It wasn’t often that he was thankful for his premature hair loss, but given that he would still look about fifteen instead of the thirty-two with a full head of hair, it allowed him to be otherwise taken seriously.

Mayor Greene welcomed him, then went about the meeting as usual. Whitman had to clear his throat at the end and ask everyone to sit back down, since there hadn’t even been an opening to throw out new ideas or a chance for a roundtable discussion. He had noticed it before, but Mrs. Clemens was not the type to sit and be steamrolled, so Whitman decided he wouldn’t be either. Surprised looks gave way to amusement, and they sat, exchanging looks that said they were humoring him since he was new and didn’t understand.

Whitman launched into the speech he had prepared, passing around flyers that he had designed and printed, on his own time and with his home printer.

Utilities. Out of all the arguments, pro and con, that the town and tribal councils could have focused on, and they picked utilities.

“I just don’t know if it will be worth the extra electricity you’ll have to use,” Delilah Patterson said with a frown.

Thankfully, Whitman had come prepared. He had broken down, to the hour, how much utilities averaged for the library. Though he had never been a boy scout, he felt “be prepared” should be every gay man’s motto, so he had planned for every eventuality. He just hadn’t imagined utilities was where the conversation would go, when he mentally rehearsed his presentation.

“You have a community where thirty-seven percent of the population is between eighteen and thirty-eight. We have programs for the children at the library, so why not for your adults? Not everyone wants to, or can, drive to Copper Beach for the evening.”

“That’s why we have Lucky’s,” said one of the town council, whose name Whitman had forgotten. Whitman was pretty sure he had been introduced as part owner of Lucky’s, so he had to watch his step. Although Delilah Patterson’s sneer when Lucky’s was mentioned was an interesting development, and something he could possibly work to his advantage.

“Lucky’s is a great option, but not everyone wants to drink. This program gives the community a fun, healthy alternative, at an incredibly low cost. Other small towns have similar programs,” Whitman passed around the hand-out he’d made, showing how other small communities had summer events for their residents. Granted, some of these were incredibly well-off small communities surrounding Victoria and Vancouver. He didn’t think that Slat Creek would ever be able to pull off a free summer Shakespeare festival, even if his imagination soared with the idea. He hoped they didn’t know or notice those facts and focused on the size and makeup of the comparisons he’d chosen, instead. Towns with under a thousand residents. Towns with lots of twenty-somethings – millennials who congratulated themselves on the radical idea that community was cool and not a dirty word.

“I like the idea of something alcohol-free,” Delilah said, and Whitman did a mental fist-pump. “But are you sure that you can pull it off with the numbers you have here?”

“The library already has the equipment and the license to show movies, because of the kids’ summer camp. I’m hoping that I can convince the school to let us borrow their popcorn machine. And I’ve already bought a lot of things like the trophy and blankets for the lawn at garage sales, using my own money.”

“Most of our young people already have their evenings planned. People don’t change their habits much around here,” Mayor Greene said. “We won’t reimburse you for what you’ve already spent.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” Whitman said. “I just want a chance to try. I know I’m new here, but it’s always been my dream to live in a small town. I don’t want to drive for an hour just to hang out with other people my age. I want to get to know the people of Slat Creek and spend my evenings here. Together.”

“I’m going to keep an eye on the utility bills,” Delilah said. “But as long as it stays within the amount that you are claiming, then I’m all for you trying. I hate it when my grandson and his friends go into the city for the evening. I always worry about the drive back, especially because they’re at that age where they think they’re invincible, and they drive like it, too. I’ll make the motion in favor of allowing Mr. Todd to proceed with his project, but I would like to add that we will take it back up in a month, after we have a chance to see the actual costs of the events.”

Delilah stared at the man who sat beside her, another member of the tribal council that Whitman recognized from around town but hadn’t spoken to outside of these meetings. Apparently, though, with the tribe, what Delilah said was law, because one raised eyebrow later, and the man was seconding Delilah’s motion. The mayor and one other woman on the town council voted in favor. The co-owner of Lucky’s was the only one to vote against.

Whitman won, sort of, but it had been a much harder fought win than he had thought it would be. Still, a win was a win, and he would take it. He would prove to the council that he would be a valuable member of their town. He would prove to himself that moving here had not been the most ridiculous and wrong-headed, spur-of-the-moment decision he had ever made.

Alyssa smiled at Travis as he entered the library with Caitlyn on his heels. The look she gave Caitlyn was more reserved, but Travis noticed that happening more frequently since they’d been getting out of the house more.

People knew, or they thought they did, how to handle two young people grieving their mother. They put on a sympathetic face and pretended as though they understood, as though for the five seconds their paths crossed they too had the same hole in their chest.

But they had no idea how to act when one of those kids took their despair to the extreme. Then, that lost child went from sympathetic to worrying, from pitiable to pitiful, and they couldn’t even muster the same sad eyes and half-smile/half-frown that they probably practiced in a mirror to make them appear understanding. No, they simply judged, and that came through loud and clear.

“I’m looking for the librarian?”

“Mr. Todd is in his office. I’ll see if he’s available,” Alyssa said, as though thrilled to have something to do other than stare at the two of them.

The head librarian rubbed at his forehead as he followed behind Alyssa, worry clouding his eyes until they landed on Caitlyn.

“Caity! Does this mean you’ve considered my offer?”

Travis frowned at the man currently beaming at his sister. How familiar were they that he already called her Caity? She only introduced herself that way to friends.

“My brother said yes. I get to work for you this summer.”

Blue eyes danced and Travis almost fell backward when Caitlyn held out a hand for the man to high five.

“Travis, right?” He said after joining Caitlyn in her mini celebratory dance then straightening his tie. “From Molly’s? I’m Whitman Todd, the head librarian now that Mrs. Clemens is officially retired. Let’s go on back to the office so you can fill out the paperwork. This is just the news I needed to cheer me up today.”

That little display of exuberance had Travis questioning whether Whitman played for his team or not, but Travis had a strict rule about stereotyping. As a gay Native American, assumptions had been made about him his whole life, and he refused to do the same to anyone else. Plus, Whitman’s eyes didn’t linger. If only they’d linger, he could be certain.

“Bad day?” Caitlyn asked, catching up to him and walking side by side like she already belonged there, while Travis trailed after like a dolt.

“We have town council meetings every Monday morning. Actually, from here on out, you’ll be the one to cover for me, so you’ll learn. I never come back from those meetings in a good mood.”

Whitman pulled one chair from a side table and unearthed another one from a pile of books, setting both in front of his desk.

“Oh no, what happened?” Caitlyn asked, and Travis was surprised to hear that she genuinely sounded concerned. It was the first time in weeks he’d heard her show concern for someone other than herself. Someone human. Mr. Wigglesworth didn’t count.

“I had some ideas they weren’t too fond of, but they seem to think it best to let me try and fail rather than tell me no. Which means we’re just going to have to prove them wrong.”

“Yeet!”

Whitman’s smile created creases around the corners of his eyes. Not the kind from age, but from too much smiling.

“You understood that?” Travis had to ask.

“Unfortunately,” Whitman said, his smile not diminishing in the least.

After seeing them interact, Travis could understand why Caitlyn was so hell-bent on the internship. It may not have been an area that she was familiar with, but to be able to spend time with Whitman probably seemed like a vacation from her normal life. Maybe it was because he wasn’t here when the incidents happened, or maybe he was just special and able to empathize better than most. Whatever it was, for the first time in weeks, no months, Caitlyn was able to hold a conversation with someone like a regular teenage girl. Travis was almost jealous that he wasn’t going to get to experience that respite too.

While Caitlyn filled out paperwork and Travis signed wherever a guardian signature was required, Whitman kept engaging them with questions about the town and the area.

“I’m from Vancouver,” he said, “So this whole small-town thing is new to me.”

“Do you have a green card or something?” Travis asked.

“My parents are U.S. citizens, but they are constantly invited as distinguished professors to colleges and universities throughout Canada and the Pacific Northwest. I was born in Canada, so I have dual citizenship. They stayed in BC to try to keep from moving me around so much when I was younger, but now they are constantly on the go.”

“Professors. I guess that explains the name?”

Whitman laughed like he’d heard that a thousand times already. “No, my mom just loved Walt Whitman. And the idea that I’d have a backwards name – a first name for my surname, and a surname for my first. She’s funny like that.”

“I think I’d hate big cities,” Caitlyn said, her pen hadn’t moved while she sat fascinated with Whitman’s tale. Large chunks of the form were still empty, so Travis gave her a nudge, and she returned it with an eye roll. “But it was always Travis’s goal to move to a big city. Eugene or Portland. I think he even tossed around L.A. once. Anywhere but here.”

“You don’t like it here?” Whitman’s forehead wrinkled with the question.

“Too many people up in your business,” Travis answered, focusing on the pen he still held in his hand, waiting for more signatures. “Too much gossip. Not enough room for anyone or anything that’s different.”

“Oh God.” Whitman laughed, actually laughed at the chunk of his soul Travis had ripped out and laid bare on Whitman’s desk. But Travis quickly patched himself back together when he realized seconds later that Whitman didn’t mean anything negative by it. “Don’t tell me that. I’m always the oddball, wherever I go. If there’s not room for different, then there certainly won’t be room for me.” Whitman stuck the tip of his pen into his mouth in a way that had Travis’s eye glazing over, until he removed the pen and used it to tap on his desk. “That does explain the meeting today, though. Hmm.”

Caitlyn nudged Travis’s arm, and Travis realized that he was staring at Whitman’s bottom lip, where it was slick and wet still, despite the pen no longer being there. Travis’s finger twitched, wanting to drag across his shiny lip and spread it around until his whole mouth glistened.

“You have to sign here,” Caitlyn hissed, and Travis took the paper, shifting to write against the desk and cover up the fact that his dick had started to fill. When he handed the paper back over to Whitman and sat back, crossing his legs to purposely limit the blood flow to that region, Whitman bestowed another grin upon him, almost as if he knew Travis’s predicament.

If his sister hadn’t been here, Travis would have given up. Instead, he pinched the back of his hand as hard as he could, leaving fingernail impressions in the skin, and refocusing his attention. First the pet store clerk yesterday, and now the librarian. His libido had apparently woken from its six-month slumber hungry.

“We should get going,” Travis said, because although they did have the appointment with the vet, Travis mostly just needed some fresh air before his lust for the librarian became a full-blown thing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at ten?” Whitman said, taking the paperwork and slotting it into a file folder.

It took Travis a second to realize Whitman was speaking to his sister and not to him. He had been on the verge of eagerly agreeing, his own work and responsibilities be damned.