Page 51 of The Quirky Vet

But I'm chuffed about the way we handled the situation as much as I am about getting to explore his body a bit more.

We said we wouldn't let what's happening between us jeopardise our friendship, and I meant it. If we're going to do this properly, we're going to have to be mature and talk about things. Even when it's hard and awkward and uncomfortable.

Because the alternative is so much worse. I never want to lose him or ruin what we've got, so if things ever get tough, I'll remind myself that the only way to navigate this is to put my big boy pants on and work through it. Because he's worth it. Muir issoworth it.

The four of us check out the performances from the Scuttlebutt High School theatre kids, which aren't half bad. Who knows? The next Hugh Jackman or Nicole Kidman could be in our midst.

After that, we grab some food since I am starving. Muir grabs some heart-shaped meat pies from Mrs. Mangle's truck, along with a bunch of lamingtons—sponge cake squares coated in chocolate and rolled in coconut—to share.

Wilby and I stock up at the sausage sizzle because I'm a sucker for grilled sausages served on a slice of white bread with onions and mustard.

And Col wants to go all-out Aussie and try a Chiko roll for the first time, which is a deep-fried roll filled with beef, cabbage, and other veggies.

I also grab some damper, typical Aussie bread cooked over an open fire, for later. It's been given a Pride glow-up courtesy of a sprinkling of edible glitter over the top. Least I hope it's edible, otherwise I'm going to be shitting glitter for the next few days.

We're happily munching away when Wilby spots Linus and Ryde. "Hey, look over there."

We all turn to where he's pointing, and sure enough, Linus and Ryde are talking to a ripped-as-fuck bare-chested guy.

"Who's the muscle bear?" Col asks.

Wilby chuckles, wiping a bit of BBQ sauce off his chin. "That's not just a muscle bear," he tells his husband. "That's Linus's best mate and Ryde's dad, Oakey."

"Ohhhh." Col bobs his head. "Or, in other words, the reason why Linus isn't pursuing Ryde."

"Exactly." Wilby chomps down on the last of his sausage then licks his fingers clean. "Speaking of complicated love situations."

My ears prick up. "Were we?"

He grins. "Are you two having a good time?"

"Yeah." I look over at Muir tucking into a lamington and feel a wave of warmth wash over me. "We are having a good time," I answer for both of us. "Married life is a good life. Right, hubby?"

He finishes eating. "Right," he shoots back, his eyes sparkling. "Oh. I just remembered. We need to find that goat done up as a unicorn. I want to film you two together."

"To run an online poll asking which one looks gayer?" Wilby jokes, and we all laugh.

"Exactly," Muir says, brushing the crumbs off his thighs and standing up.

"I want to go see the backwards camel races," Col tells Wilby. "They were awesome last year. I need to record them and send it to Brant and Dad because they didn't believe me when I told them about it."

We say goodbye and go our separate ways.

Muir manages to find the goat, and with the owner's permission, we shoot some content. People keep complimenting my outfit, so we film a few clips with those who agree to be on camera.

By the time we're done, we've missed the backwards camel races, so we head over to watch the High Heel Drag Race instead—ten drag queens in six-inch heels running across a hundred-metre strip of dirt.

It's hard to get a clear view, what with all the wigs and sequins and feathers flying in the dust storm the runners create. But suddenly, two queens pull ahead, neck and neck, glitter flying from their outfits in the bright sunshine. It's down to the last few strides, and they're so close I can't tell who's going to take it. The roar from the crowd is deafening, but we're going to have to wait for the announcer to make the call on who won.

"I reckon Hole Lotta Problems crossed the finish line first," I say to Muir.

"Nah. She stuck her purse out. Doesn't count. I think it's Anita Drink Orten."

"Fellas and fairies, ladies and gentlemen if there are any of you out there left, and all our beautiful nonbinary angels, the official winner of this year's High Heel Drag Race is…" The drum roll rumbles through the speakers. "Ahhh, I don't fucking know. No one was paying attention, and someone stuck their purse out to obscure the judge's view."

"So everyone wins!" someone yells out from the crowd.

"Yeah," the announcer concedes. "Everyone fucking wins!"