There was no way that drive could get any worse.
Well — except for the fact that a spider that had taken up residence in Katrina’s truck visor decided that it was an appropriate time to drop down right on her face and nearly cause her to skid off the road.
At least, it would’ve caused her to scream, if Miss Muffet wasn’t already fuming about having to sit in her tuffet all because some bears had left curds in her way. She was too mad at the werebears to freak out over a tiny little annoying spider.
Katrina smushed the spider with her hand without moving a facial muscle in response to the arachnid’s attack. There weren’t any napkins in the car. Katrina had to wipe her hand on her favorite pair of jeans given she was wearing a new nice white shirt. She narrowed her eyes.
Monday was ruined. The rest of the week was bound to be anything but a fairy tale.
Chapter Two
Katrina pulled a set of loaves of bread out of the oven. Their honey nut bread was very popular with a certain group of shifters up a certain mountain. She wasn’t really a ‘bread’ person, but even she had to admit the bread smelled great.
Katrina, as a jane-of-all-trades, had been put on bread duty, because that week, both lumber camps had put in substantial last-minute orders for bread. Ever since the incident on her dairy run. Katrina had stayed far away from the bears whenever they came to pick up their orders. She was hoping they’d get the message and stay out of her week when it came time for her to make her next dairy run. If they messed up the best part of her week for the second time in a row, well…Goldilocks may have given porridge three chances, but Katrina was no Goldilocks, and bear shifters weren’t porridge. Those bears had been hot, but they’d been too hot. If they hadn’t been, she wouldn’t be icing them out, and as it stood, it didn’t seem like things were going to be ‘just right’ for a while.
Katrina wrapped the loaves in plain brown kraft paper. The orders sent up the mountain were often wrapped plainly, as the lumberjacks would scarf down every crumb without fail. There was no need to wrap them in plastic if they’d just get unwrapped and devoured within a few days.
“Katrina?” called a voice. Katrina looked up. A curvy woman, hair up in a bun, wearing a cardigan, holding a clipboard, was standing in one of the entrances to the back of the bakery.
“What’s up, Patricia?” asked Katrina.
“You have a visitor,” said Patricia.
“A…what?” asked Katrina. “I’m not expecting anyone. I don’t think my parents are in town. Is there another Katrina who works here?”
“He was pretty specific about asking after you,” said Patricia. “Come on.”
“Do I have to?” asked Katrina, raising an eyebrow.
“As your boss — I have to say no,” said Patricia. “As your friend — I gotta say heck yes. He’s hot. Not my kinda hot — I like’m bigger, broader, more…wild, but he’s nice looking. And he smells good.”
“He…what?” asked Katrina. “Okay — you got my attention, because of the smell thing, but that’s it. If he smells like frikkin’ body spray, I’m gonna be annoyed that my time was wasted on this.”
“Well, at least you can keep him occupied while I talk to his boss,” said Patricia. “The Dixon River festival is coming up, and I’m trying to work with Terrence on coming up with something the bakery can do — like hosting a booth or something. We could make a ton of money at the event if we played our cards right…but we don’t exactly have a lot of the equipment necessary to do that yet. I have a plan. But, I’ll tell you more about it when it’s confirmed.”
Katrina took off her gloves to let her hands breathe and kept her hairnet and her apron on for convenience. She walked with Patricia, to the service entrance of the back of the bakery, where, lo and behold, there was a very familiar face. Patricia went to talk to a large, tall man that she recognized as one of the lumber crew’s bosses — was it Damien? Clarence? Jasper? She couldn’t remember, because she wasn’t involved in that side of the business.
The face didn’t have white streaks of cheese on it, but it was familiar nonetheless.
He had a chiseled jawline, with a smattering of stubble. He was wearing dark jeans, a dark green and navy and black plaid flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and surprisingly — black sneakers, instead of hiking boots like his boss, who was talking to Patricia.
“Alex?” asked Katrina.
“No,” insisted the man. “Quentin? Remember? From — “
“Oh, I remember,” said Katrina, crossing her arms. “You inquired about me?”
“We didn’t have a chance to talk earlier,” said Quentin. “I…I’ve never had the chance to ask you this before because we’ve never really had a chance to talk. It’s surprising, given we’ve worked in Port Jameson for years — but I guess Fate works in mysterious ways.”
“What is this about?” asked Katrina, raising a brow. “I’ve lived here long enough to know that when a shifter mentions Fate, he’s either about to say something profound, or he’s spilling bullshizz to score a lay. Which is it?”
“I wanted to ask you on a date,” said Quentin.
“Why?” asked Katrina, raising her eyebrow up so high it nearly knocked a Russian satellite out of orbit.
“Uh…well, to get to know you better,” said Quentin. “You’re beautiful, Katrina — curvy, sassy, and I know you have a sweet side. I can just tell.”
“Okay — so it’s spilling bullshizz,” said Katrina. “Bye.”
“Wait — what?” asked Quentin. “You’re saying no?”
“Of course I’m saying no!” hissed Katrina. “You are part of the reason that my Monday morning got messed up! That’s my favorite part of the week!”
“Why?” asked Quentin, furrowing a brow. “Mondays suck.”
“Maybe you’d know why it’s my favorite part of the week if you took the chance to get to know me before asking me out because of ‘oh Fate and bears and mates and shizz,’” said Katrina, using a fake deep voice to make fun of Quentin. “Bah! I’m not interested, Quentin — and frankly, you didn’t even apologize for the part you played in that kerfuffle! Take a hint and leave me alone.”
“Whatever,” said Quentin with a smirk. “Look, Katrina — I tried to be nice, but — “
“That was you trying to be nice?” challenged Katrina.
“But, apparently, you don’t want a nice guy,” continued Quentin, leaning in to whisper into Katrina’s ear, leaning in so close that it sent a chill down her spine, as she was sure Quentin’s bear would take over and make Quentin gobble Katrina right up. “I guess that means you must want a bad boy — and for you, I swear, I can be real bad. Real, real bad.”
Katrina took in a breath, and that’s when she scented it.
She hadn’t smelled it before because the hills smelled so strongly of the pine that the lumber crews chopped down, on the same mound that housed the Bear Claw Bakery near its wild base, like a wild tuft at the bottom of a shaft.
With Quentin’s mouth so close to her ear, her nose was near his neck, and she could smell the scent that made her want to bite into Quentin to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
He smelled of marionberry pancakes, with freshly whipped cream, pancakes that were hot off the griddle, that could make the cream melt just as he was making her panties dissolve into nothing.
Katrina wasn’t the only one with a good sense of smell. Quentin pulled away, and she swore she heard him growl, and then, he chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” asked Katrina.
“I guess I was right,” said Quentin. “You do like bad boys.”
“There’s…there’s no conceivable way for you to know that,” said Katrina, blushing.
“Isn’t there?” asked Quentin, tapping the side of his nose and winking before getting into the truck — not in the driver’s seat.
Katrina hurried back into the bakery, embarrassed. Knowing shifters and their senses, Quentin could probably scent out her arousa
l through the dang windshield of the truck, and she wouldn’t’ve put it past him to roll down the window. She sniffed the air, trying to see if her arousal was really that obvious, and when she didn’t scent anything, she felt relief.
Katrina went back to baking bread, annoyed at Quentin, annoyed at everything about him, from his rakish good looks — he had no right being so good looking, to his intoxicatingly sweet scent — he had no right smelling so delicious. She felt like the bee drawn to the flower, no — a moth, to a flame. At least a bee could go to another flower. A moth…well, one flame could draw it in, singe its wing, and cause it to fall to the ground like Icarus, with dusty wings that had flown too close to the light.
Was Katrina really meant to be with Quentin? She wasn’t sure — but what she did know was that the irrational part of her body was yelling at her to do something to him. It was the part that told her to sleep in instead of going to work, the part that admitted that vegetables were not as tasty as pastries. It was the part of her that made her select fancy lacy bras and panties instead of more practical clothing even though she’d told herself that spending an extra fifteen bucks for some chintzy diamantes made no sense. Well, that irrational part was the part that wanted Quentin.
Katrina had just finished packaging up the next set of loaves of bread when Patricia came up to her with her arms crossed.
“Well?” asked Patricia.
“Well, what?” asked Katrina.
“Did you and…?” prodded Patricia.
“Did me and who, do what?” asked Katrina, raising a brow.
“That’s the question — did you and Quentin do anything?” asked Patricia.
“Well — he asked me out, and I said no,” said Katrina.
“So…if I told you that there was another handsome bear outside, asking about you, what would you do?” asked Patricia.
“I’d probably tell him to stuff it like a turkey,” said Katrina.
“Well, it ain’t Thanksgiving yet…and I don’t want you to come to my Thanksgiving single,” joked Patricia — only half-jokingly. “Even though there’s no way I’ll find someone by then — or else I’d be going to Punta Cana for the dang winter — I know that Fate has a plan for you.”
“And you think that Fate expects me to deal with werebear bullshizz?” asked Katrina.
“If it walks like a bear, talks like a bear, it’s probably a bad boy,” said Patricia. “Come on. At least tell this guy exactly where he can stuff it. It’ll be cathartic — and cheaper than therapy.”
“Fine, fine,” said Katrina. She walked outside with Patricia. Another truck was sitting out there — an orange truck with the word ‘Grizzlyfir’ spray-painted on the side through a stencil. Leaning against the truck, there was a handsome man with blonde hair, holding a bouquet wrapped in newspaper.
The man’s bear scented something — her. He turned and saw that she was standing against the service entrance to the bakery. He hurriedly got up, straightened his shirt back out, pushed his hair back, and walked over to her with the basket.
“Katrina,” said Alex. “Thank you for coming out to see me.”
“You’re welcome,” said Katrina cautiously.
“These are for you,” said Alex, lifting the basket. “Katrina, I — “
“The answer is no,” said Katrina. “And because the answer is no, I can’t accept whatever is in that basket.”
“No to my apology?” asked Alex.
“What apology?” asked Katrina.
“Well — you didn’t exactly let me get to it,” said Alex. “I wanted to apologize for my part — for Grizzlyfir’s part — in what happened on Monday. I brought these as a peace offering.”
“Wait — you’re actually here to apologize?” asked Katrina.
Alex moved back the red and white check fabric covering the goods in the basket. On the very top, there was a white index card, with the word ‘Sorry!’ written in purple marker, the letter o decorated to look like a frowny-faced emoji.
“Either I’m great at sleight of hand and just slipped that in…” started Alex, and Katrina blushed upon hearing Alex say ‘slipped that in.’
“Or?” asked Katrina
“…Or maybe, just maybe, maybe…I’m actually here to apologize to you about what happened,” said Alex. “You know, you don’t have to accept my apology to accept these apple turnovers.”
“You made me apple turnovers?” asked Katrina.
“Yeah — to prove that we’re really going to try and turnover a new leaf,” joked Alex. “Look — you shouldn’t’ve gotten caught up in the drama.”
“I shouldn’t’ve?” asked Katrina, quirking a brow.
“I mean — we shouldn’t’ve gotten you caught up in it,” Alex said. “I…look. I can’t promise you there won’t be more lumberjack drama, because that’s a promise I can’t keep. It’s not a promise I can make. But…I can promise that I’ll try to make sure the bakery doesn’t get involved in it again. That’s why…”
“Did you tell her about the new schedule?” called Alex’s boss, who had been talking to Patricia.
“I was getting to it!” Alex called back.
“What schedule change?” asked Katrina.
“We’re going to do our dairy pickup on another day, so we don’t overlap with you and Hemlock Crew, because the roads up that way aren’t exactly built to handle that many cars,” said Alex. “I suggested this to my boss — Darius, that guy over there — and he’s working on coming up with a schedule with Terrence — the guy running Hemlock — and your boss, to make sure that overlap is minimal.”
“Yeah — I heard last month, a fight between the crews really messed up the bakery,” said Katrina. “Well…you’re actually trying to help make things better, so…I guess I could accept your apology. But, I think now, it’s time for me to offer my apology — for, uh…being a little cocky and assuming you were here for another reason.”
“And what reason would that be?” asked Alex, knowing exactly what Katrina had thought.
“I was kinda thinking you were here to maybe invite me on a date,” squeaked Katrina.
“And if I was…” started Alex.
“Then I would’ve said no because you hadn’t apologized for Monday,” said Katrina.
“And if I’d apologized?” asked Alex.
“Well, that’d be a different matter entirely,” said Katrina with a small smile.
“Miss Katrina Muffet…how would you like to get dinner with me sometime?” asked Alex. “I know this really cute place, and the food’s killer, the music’s good, and all that’s missing is the girl.”
“I think I’d really like that,” said Katrina.
“Flip over the card,” said Alex.
Katrina took the basket from Alex and flipped it over. On the back of the card was a phone number.
“You sly bear,” said Katrina.
Darius had gotten into the cab of the van and honked the horn. Alex made the ‘call me’ gesture and mouthed the words, and as he drove away, Katrina couldn’t help but smile…while eating one of his freshly baked apple turnovers.
Chapter Three
“Hey,” said Patricia. “Can you just pick an outfit already?”
“I’m trying to figure out what to wear,” said Katrina.
“I told you already — just wear some jeans, one of those lightweight cotton plaid shirts you’ve got, and some sneakers,” said Patricia.
“Isn’t that a little informal for a date?” asked Katrina.
“They do things differently up the mountain,” said Patricia.
“Easy for you to say — Darius is practically your boyfriend,” said Katrina.
“He is not!” hissed Patricia, throwing a throw pillow at Katrina.
“He totally is!” said Katrina, bopping the pillow back at Patricia like a volleyball champ. “What? You’ve been up to Grizzlyfir at least a dozen times in the last year!”
“I’ve visited Hemlock Crew too, but that doesn’t mean a thing,”
said Patricia.
“Well…I mean, it could,” said Katrina.
“What do you mean?” asked Patricia.
“Patricia and Darius, and Terrence, in a tree…m-é-n-a-g-i-n-g,” sang Katrina.
“M…é…n…oh, no, Katrina,” said Patricia. “I’m not into ménages.”
“Oh, come on — you haven’t fantasized about having two guys at the same time?” asked Katrina. “It’d be so hot!”
“If it’d be so hot, why didn’t you make your date with Alex a double?” asked Patricia.
“You mean like a double date?” asked Katrina. “With who? You and Darius?”
“Okay — bad choice of words,” admitted Patricia. “If you’re into ménages…why didn’t you take Quentin up on his offer?”
“Don’t even get me started on why that wouldn’t work,” said Katrina. “First of all, Quentin is a cocky jerk, and I don’t like him. He’s handsome, but that’s not enough for me. Secondly, he doesn’t get along with Alex. It would never work out.”
“Well, maybe Alex has a friend at Grizzlyfir who’s down for a devil’s threesome,” said Patricia, waggling her eyes.
“Maybe — but right now, I’m, ugh…I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but, I’m looking for more than just sex,” said Katrina. “I like Alex, a lot, and wouldn’t sacrifice a future with him for a night of casual sex with him and another guy.”
“Catching feelings so soon?” asked Patricia.
“No — but, I know that sometimes, some doorways, once shut, can never be reopened,” admitted Katrina, rifling through her closet and finding two shirts. “Now — which one? The baby pink, or the pale blue?”
Ten minutes later, Katrina was slipping on a pair of ratty sandy tan sneakers. She was wearing blue jeans and a baby pink striped shirt, with a white base that was covered in a crosshatch of various shades of pink and lavender. She got into Patricia’s car and they drove up to Grizzlyfir.
Katrina had been to Grizzlyfir a few times for deliveries, but she’d never been there at night. She wasn’t part of the night crew. She preferred the early morning shifts.
Miss Muffet’s Bears: Freshly Baked Furry Tails, Book 2 Page 2