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"You're in high spirits," Bob says, pulling a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.

Bertha cracks an egg to add to her mix, looking up at her husband. "Hm? I just want to ensure our new neighbor feels right at home."

"The coyote?" Bob chuckles, guzzling down his drink. He smacks his lips and slams the empty pitcher on the counter. "Okay, but don't get charmed by him."

"Oh, Bobby, why would you even say something like that?"

Bob scratches his chin, his eyes focused outside. "Uh, It's nothing. Gotta get to work."

"Bye, Mom"

"See ya, mom."

Bertha sighs as her kids head out, Billy to his college studies and Becca to her day job. They zoom on out of the development, leaving her, as usual, home alone. Alone with just herself and her thoughts of a dashing canine figure on a motorcycle, looking like one of those extraordinary leads in one of her novels.

"Better be careful with Becca," she says to herself. "Boy like that could gobble her up." She shudders at the implication, imagining the gobbling not on her daughter but on herself.

A husky voice calls out from the back when she heads out with her dessert baked and ready. "The gate's unlocked. Come on around. I'm doing garden work!"

Curious, the bovine finds the gate to the privacy fence and opens it, peering inside, gasping.

On the other side of the fence is the lithe figure of her new neighbor, dressed in workman's boots, sturdy jeans, and thick gardener's gloves, his naked chest and back rippling with muscles and splotched with dirt. He stomps on a shovel, digging up a particularly nasty weed, and hefts it with a display of machismo.

He takes the shovel to the ground and turns toward her, a smile on his face. The small splotches of grey on his muzzle show he is not relatively as young as she expected.

"So, the neighbor gives me a traditional welcoming pie. Homemade?" he asks.

"Y-yes." She holds it out. "I'm Bertha... Bertha Kine."

"I was wondering when I'd get a name after you ran back inside the other night," the Coyote says, removing his gloves and holding his hands out to her. They are solid but delicate.

"Oh, here you go. Mr. Rey." She says.

"I know it's cliche to say this," says the new neighbor, swirling a finger over the

topping. He brings his finger to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and pulling the digit free. "But Mr. Rey was my father. You may call me Cody if you wish, Miss Kine."

"Mrs.," she says, almost out of obligation. "And you can call me Bertha if you want."

"It is a strong name for a strong woman, yes?" He says, "Come, let us take this inside.

"O-oh, yes, it is rather hot, isn't it?"

"Very," He says, a soft growl in his voice.

Soon, the two are inside, and Cody places the pie down, going to the refrigerator. "I hope you don't mind the boxes everywhere. I'm still figuring some things out."

"Oh, no worries. You should see my house!" Bertha says, pulling up a stool and sitting on it.

Cody brings out a carton of milk, placing it aside the pie. "Would you like to share?" he asks, scooting across from her.

"Oh no, thanks. I'm trying to watch my diet.

"Oh, but is that necessary?" he asks, pinching the carton open. "You look to be the very model of bovine beauty." He says this, tilting his head back and gulping down the milk. When he brings it away from his mouth, he leaves himself with a thick mustache.

She crosses her leg over the other. "That's very flattering, Mister, uh, Cody."

"Mister Cody?" He laughs. "That won't do, not from you, Bertha."

He smiles, placing his hand in front of hers on the table. "You seem like a hard-working woman, no? Yet you are all alone in your house. Why is this?"

"I kinda always wanted to see what it's like being the housewife," Bertha admits.

"In this economy? Your husband must be loaded."

"We are well off, enough to live here."

"This is true. I would not be out here if I could not afford such luxuries. But you have four vehicles. That means four living in your home?"

"That's right."

"Ah, yes, yes." He cuts the pie, placing a piece upon a plate. He forgoes silverware, taking a bite. A few moments of slow mastication and a swallow later, he continues. "This is magnificent. Are you a professional?"

"Me? Oh no! I mean, I did take some classes once upon a time. But, I'm more of a writer nowadays."

"Ah, of what variety?"

Bertha blushes. "W-well, nothing really published as of yet. I've been honing my craft while working on various odd jobs."

"Let me guess... you are making the next big mystery thriller."

She chuckles. "No, it's actually romance."

"Ah, amor. And you must be basing it off your experiences? The excitement in college? How you met that charming bull of a husband?"

She runs a hand through her hair. "N-not really, I--wait, 'charming'?"

"Yes, indeed. I can see why you would fall for such a big strong display of machismo."

"Oh, yes, he was certainly something else back in the day. He's been hit on rough times since, well...."

"Say no more. Life throws things at us that we must deal with. This is something the young do not understand, but we do. For instance, me? I had to pick up and leave home once I told my father I had feelings for men."

"Oh,"

"Oh?"

"I didn't know you were gay."

He smirks. "Does this disappoint you, Bertha?"

She blushes. "N-no! I mean, why would it?"

He moves his hand closer to hers, clasping her hand and bringing it to her lips. "One can appreciate their own gender and not be gay."

Bertha bites her lip, shuddering.

"I feel you know exactly what I mean. Have you a tale to tell? A woman of your beauty would charm man and woman alike."

Parting her lips a moment, Bertha closed them, gulped, and then spoke up. "Are you... charmed?"

"Si."