Exclusive Excerpt from Dusty’s Snack Shack:

Dusty pulled Ken close. Lovingly, he stroked Ken’s short, brown hair, well-coiffed and soft. “It’s okay, Ken. You’re just tired and upset because we have to say goodbye. Besides, there’s a new job you’re about to start. That alone has to be stressing you out. I’m sure everything will look better once you return to Virginia.”

Ken pulled away. “Are you kidding me?” Fiery and challenging, his eyes bore into Dusty’s. “I know what’s been happening here. It’s been happening since we first laid eyes on each other. And yet I’m willing to throw it all away. To throw you away. To throw us away. To fail in yet another relationship, just when we’re beginning to grow close.” He looked at the ceiling. His scream, deep and guttural, and yet strangely controlled, reverberated against the four walls. Benji stood and shook himself. He looked askance at the two men, then stretched out on the floor again. “It makes no sense, Dusty. Each and every time I get close to somebody, what I do—what I always do—makes no fucking sense. So don’t humor me with your reassurances. Just don’t. I must face facts for a change. One, in particular, requires my total consideration.” He looked defiantly into Dusty’s face. “I’m falling in love with you.”

Dusty was struck speechless. Only Benji’s rhythmic breathing broke through the silence. “Well, Ken, I—”

But Dusty had not the time to finish his sentiment before Ken lurched from the sofa. He ran into the bedroom. Slammed the door. Dusty didn’t know whether he should have followed him or stayed.

He opted for the easier choice.

When Ken returned, he was carrying two suitcases.

“I’ve got to go.” It was a simple statement, delivered in monotone. “I’m sorry, Dusty, but it’s time. Prolonging our separation will only make us sadder. I have no choice but to put on my big-boy britches and accept the fact that I have no control over—well, over much of anything. Over my life, in particular.”

Dusty spoke. No matter the effort, he couldn’t keep his voice free of desperation. “Ken. Please. Don’t go. Not like this. You know that I feel—”

“No!” Ken shouted the word loudly enough, angrily enough, to frighten Benji, who ran into the kitchen. “Don’t make our separation impossible. I know what I have to do. I know that I have to do it now, or it may never happen.”

Then, without another word—without a goodbye, a kiss, or even a quick embrace—Ken forced his way through the front door and to his car.

Dusty heard the Corvette start.

He took a deep, tremulous breath.

He even prayed to hear the engine shut off.

But it didn’t.

The sound of the car’s engine filled the air as Ken backed out. He heard a pause when Ken changed gears from reverse to drive. He heard the squeal of sports tires and the diminishing hum of a modern engine as the distance stretched between Ken’s car and Dusty’s home.

Then, Dusty burst into tears.

He buried his head into his new sofa pillow. The slogan, We Are Family, muffled his anguished sobs, while his tears seeped into burlap fabric.

From the kitchen, not knowing whether his human parent needed him—or needed him to stay where he was—Benji whimpered as though he understood perfectly the meaninglessness of this sorry moment.