FSE

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Picturesque was a gross understatement. Perched on the sun-kissed curve of a quiet bay, the coastal town of Little Point was absolutely gorgeous. It felt like something lifted from one of his Dad’s old watercolour postcards he’d received in the mail when he was back in college. With faded pastels and golden edges, it was like a snapshot in time. A picture that wouldn’t age.

Barrie particularly enjoyed the aesthetic of weathered cobblestone paths that ran like veins between the many shop lots, houses and cramped buildings that littered the small town.

His Dad would’ve loved it here.

Mr. Corwin couldn’t travel on account of his accident and when illness came…well. That was it for the old Hare’s wish to visit a town like this.

Barrie remembered the excuses Dad would come up with as he noted the painted shutters in hues of red, blue and green.

“I’m too busy!” He’d say and then rush out of the house for a night out at the bar.

“Who do you think puts money on the table, Barrie? You’d starve if I took time off.” The old Hare would then spend his weekend watching reruns of Westerns, remarking about his childhood and regaling tales of his youth. Memories of Gramps.

And when Rob made that observation the week before he broke things off? That he was so like his dad that he’d never live in the present enough to be spontaneous?

That hit him like a brick.

The irony of not noticing where he was going and almost knocking his head on hanging baskets of wildflowers was not lost on him.

The smell of salt hung heavy in the air. Barrie stuck out his tongue and could taste it as a cool breeze ruffled his fur. In the distance, he could make out the sounds of gulls echoing like memories that wouldn’t leave.

He missed his Dad.

Barrie realised this was the first time he allowed himself to say that. Rob was too busy chasing Creep cover bands to be with him and when he refused to accompany the Hare to pay his respects, that was the last straw.

Little Point Resort stood at the very edge of the shore. It was a rather fitting narrow, five-story building wedged much like a crooked bookmark between two aging storefronts. The resort’s faded yellow facade peeled just enough to give it character but not too much that it looked old and dilapidated. Flowering vines snaked their way up the stone frame. A narrow awning, red and white in alternating patterns, sagged slightly over the entrance providing shade.

It was quaint and not unlike the books he’d used to read in between classes when he needed an escape. The two stores felt like they leapt straight out of some exotic romantic comedies you’d find people his age reading in cafes. A fishmonger on the left, the smell of salt and vinegar wafting from it, tagging along with the breeze. Another was a sleepy bookstore that didn’t seem open.

The Hare let his imagination run wild momentarily, imagining some hunky small-town seaside boy sweeping him off his feet and introducing him to the locals.

Barrie chuckled to himself and shook his head. He was watching too many Hallmark movies.

“The air does it to ya’ sometimes,” A voice called out. Barrie turned to where he was called, his daydreaming cut short.

The voice belonged to a handsome, stout and chubby Fox. His red-orange fur practically glistened under the setting rays of the sun and colours that bounced off the painted walls.

“Does what?” Barrie asked, cocking his head to the side.

The Fox laughed. It was more of a guffaw. A hearty one. One without a care in the world. A simple laugh.

Barrie thought it was cute.

“Makes ya’ cough or ‘phlegmy’ as maw used to say,” The Fox pointed a finger to his head now. “You were shakin’ your head.”

“Oh! Oh, right. Yeah. Probably the air.” Barrie nodded, trying to recover. He was getting good at that. The casual, quick lie. It was easier than explaining he was fantasising about scenarios.

Oh crap. Was this a scenario?

“Hank.” The Fox walked up to him and let out a paw.

Barrie went in to shake his paw and was met back with the rough texture of The Fox’s paw pads. He definitely did heavy labour. The grip was strong too.

“Sorry?”

“My name. It’s Hank.”

“Oh! Yes, sorry, it’s been a long drive.” Another excuse but not another lie. Score one point for Barrie.

Shit, did he even introduce himself?

“It’s aight’. I get it. Came from far away?”

“Was a three-hour drive. Could’ve been shorter though. I got lost.”

“Okay, I think you’ve got it,”

“Got what?”

Hank cocked an eyebrow and looked at their paws, still intertwined.

Barrie yelped and pulled it back, apologising.

“Are all city folks as jumpy as ya’?” Hank gave him a wide grin and bent down to grab a box filled with fish, placing it on the foldable wooden table he opened up in front of the store.

“You work here?” Barrie asked, trying to make conversation.

“Dad owns it. Passed it down to me. Guess it’s my store now.”

The sign read in large, bold letters: Harold’s.

“Your dad’s name is Harold?” The Hare, noted, amused. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“Yeah?” Hank smiled, happy that someone noticed.

“And your name is Hank?”

“Yeah.” The Fox was beaming now.

“Why?”

“All the men in the family’s name start with the letter H. It’s a thing. Don’t ask.”

“That’s cute.” Barrie spurted out, not thinking.

“Ya’ think it’s cute?” Hank asked, a shit-eating grin plastered on his muzzle.

Foxes. They’re too quick.

“I mean. It’s quirky. Yeah, quirky. Not cute,” Hank raised an eyebrow again and that made Barrie panic.

“Not that you’re not cute. Unless you think you are. Then sure! I mean-”

“Okay, okay. I can be cute if ya’ want. Don’t die before you head in.” Hank nodded toward the entrance of the resort. The Fox let out another hearty laugh.

“Right. I’ll be going in now. Nice to meet you.” Barrie did a half-bow.

For fuck’s sake. Why did he bow?