"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts."

Sherlock Holmes, A Scandal in Bohemia by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

EASTER EGGS, ANNOUNCEMENTS, AND A POLL AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER. PLEASE READ THE NOTE.

The loud drone of a hairdryer competed with a playlist from Taelia's impressive collection of music as the vixen finished ridding herself of moisture after a shower. Draped with a towel, she shook her head to enjoy the remaining heat before setting to work on her preparations.

We'd be laughing, watching the sunset fade to black

Show the names, play the happy sooooong.

Yeah-eh.

Yeah, yeah, when you call me, I can hear it in your voice

Oh sure, wanna see me and tell me all about her

La la, I'll be acting through my tears

Guess you'll never know that I should win

An Oscar for this scene I'm in!

She reached into the medicine cabinet, where she kept a few little squirt bottles like one might use for nasal spray. Now, which one? Oranges? she mused. Then she shook her head. Think I'll try this one; haven't used it in a while. Uncapping the chosen bottle, she stuck it into the fur of her neck just beside her windpipe. A light squeeze on the bottle deposited a squirt of liquid against her skin, and before she had even reached the other side of her neck the scent of gingerbread and vanilla reached her nostrils. She took an appreciative sniff and smiled; citrus was good for most purposes, but she liked gingerbread and the vanilla would help her relax. Some mammals kept scents in spray bottles, but she preferred these. They might use it up a little faster, but being able to deliver the aroma directly to the skin where body heat could activate it and make it spread had its benefits. Besides, the sprays didn't stick long enough for her liking.

Having taken care of that little ritual, she set about brushing her fur. As usual, the fluff on her body was attended to more for shape than looks; after all, the main thing there was to have it sit comfortably when she had it covered up. She did experiment a little with the fur on her head, though, before sticking to the usual.

A little brushing, a little combing, just a touch of spray, and there. She studied herself. She looked about the same as usual, but the spray had given her fur just a little extra shine. It wouldn't be soft and silky, but she trusted Nick would be keeping his paws to himself anyway. She got the impression he wasn't the pawsy type.

Trading the towel for a bath robe, she picked up her music player and headed into her bedroom. The apartment was a decent size for a fox den – not that different in floor space from Judy's, although a different layout and lower ceilings made it feel like a bigger area. There was sort of a common room which doubled as a kitchen and a living room – ideal for someone who liked to experiment with food on a whim. Then there was the bathroom and, at the back, the aforementioned bedroom. A bunk bed tucked into a corner to her left had been converted into a bed below and a mini-office of sorts up top where an older-model computer sat amid CD racks and a tape player. It was really designed for the young of larger species, but it worked well for a grown vixen. Besides, it had been at a tag sale. You couldn't beat those prices.

That, of course, was immaterial to her at the moment. Right now she had one thing on her mind: getting dressed for her date. In the back corner, next to her exercise bike – another garage sale find – she kept a rustic-built wardrobe. Made of apple wood with a mirror inside the door, it had been a graduation present from her older brother (Mom, Dad, and an uncle had teamed up to refurbish the car, which was used but very practical). She had admired good craftwork for years, but never imagined that her brother – a factory worker – would scrape together enough for something like this. She had all but begged him to take it back and give her something less expensive, but he and his wife had resorted to blackmail; they said they'd be very hurt if she didn't take it. Now it made her smile... at least until she opened the door, stopped and stared, and let out a despairing groan.

I forgot to do the laundry! In a flash it all came back to her: earlier that day she had tried a new recipe, got distracted, and produced an accident which was really best forgotten. That and her efforts to recover the catastrophe had thrown her so far off track that the laundromat escaped her completely.

Nice, Taelia, she thought to herself as her eyes turned to the full hamper at the foot of her bed. Just go and get stupid over a guy... again.

She sighed and looked over the few options she had. The dresses would generally be bad picks; most of them were too formal, loose, and long enough to cause problems if she had to go diving in the equipment, or too party-oriented to really work for an occasion like this. There were only two shirts to speak of. One was what she called her 'damsel in distressed' shirt: a grungy, perforated top she reserved for cleaning, painting, and other maintenance jobs. Normally that would have been fine for band practice, especially with some well-worn jeans, but not with Nick in the picture. Okay, door number two it is, she thought, pushing that one aside for the other. That one was in pretty good shape; a gray T-shirt she had gotten as a birthday present from her sister-in-law. Printed on the front was the slogan, 'Things To Do Today: 1. Wake Up. 2. Survive. 3. Go Back to Bed.' She chose that one with some reluctance, scanning the rest of the closet to decide what else might go with it.

Let's see, if I could just find a pair of pants and maybe a jacket that went well together... yeah, these should do. She selected the items – both a shade of blue a little on the light side. They went well together, and gray went with pretty much anything. Better still, if she buttoned the jacket up enough of the way she could cover most of the slogan on the shirt so it wouldn't look like a cry for help. Just leave the top three buttons and fold the jacket open... there; casual, but covered. As an added touch, she fished through a box of sweat headbands she kept in the top of the closet and found one close enough to the jacket and pants that she doubted anyone would notice the subtle difference – or mainly that Nick would. It had been her experience that guys tended to notice color a lot less than girls. Their brains were wired more geometrically – or, as many guys she had known proved, biometrically. She stuck out her tongue at the memory.

Having put herself together, she studied the effect in the mirror. It wasn't overly dressy, but it didn't look slap-dash either. I guess it'll do, she thought, taking off the sweatband and slipping it into her pocket. She might use it later during practice if the fans weren't working again, but it threw off the rest of her look. A quick round-up of her to-go items staged on the bedside table, and she could go wait in the living room. Slipping on her watch and a bracelet or two, she grabbed a bottle of pomegranate juice from the fridge. Then she grabbed a second in case Nick wanted some, giggling at the memory of the previous day's beverage escapade. I hope he skips the hot sauce this time, she thought with a smile.

While this was going on, she'd had her iPaw playing a selection of love songs of one kind or another. At the moment she came back to really noticing the background music, it was closing out a song called 'The Words I Would Say.' She smiled; that one was more a song she had put in the list because of her dad and the advice he had given her after her first bad breakup. Picking up the device, she skipped back to the start of the song.

Three in the morning, and I'm still awake

So I picked up a pen and a page

And I started writing just what I'd say

If we were face to face.

I'd tell you just what you mean to me. Tell you these simple truths...

She let the song take her, leaning against the wall and mouthing the words with a smile.

Be strong in the Lord and never give up hope.

You're gonna do great things, I already know.

God's got His hand on you, so don't live life in fear.

Forgive and forget, but don't forget why you're here.

Taelia went on lip-synching, still smiling contentedly. She wasn't exactly religiously minded – not as much as her parents, at least – but the song was her dad in a nutshell. From the case of nerves she got going to school on the day of an oral report to their last hug parting ways at college graduation, he had always told her not to be afraid. 'Just find your courage, grit your teeth, and plunge ahead,' he always told her. 'Remember, you're never alone.' She could practically still feel his muzzle from all the times he had kissed her forehead as he said it.

The music went through a couple of other songs before a knock came at the door. That must be Nick, she thought. "Just a minute!" She sniffed and decided the scent from her failed experiment had dissipated enough, so she turned off the fans in the windows: in on one side of the room, out on the other. Then she cast a final glance around to make sure everything was in order, which it was. Nick had mentioned the night before that he'd be bringing takeout; she had gotten the place cleaned up, figuring they could eat there before heading out.

She opened the door. "Hey," she smiled.

He grinned, holding up a paper bag and some white paper boxes with wire hangers. "Hey yourself," he replied. He was dressed much as she had seen him the day before, though

1 2 3 4 5

Next page