Miss Muffet’s Bears: Freshly Baked Furry Tails, Book 2

by Sylvan, Sable

  Patricia tossed the binder to Alex, and the weight of the thing nearly knocked him off the table. Alex got off the table and started to get the papers back together, while Quentin took a seat, opened his bag, and put a bunch of documents and wood samples on the table.

  “What’s all that?” asked Katrina.

  “Well, Patricia filled Terrence in on things,” said Quentin. “This here, there are some designs for gazebos, trellises, and the like. These are our wood samples.”

  “Gazebos?” asked Alex. “Really?”

  “Let me see your plans,” said Quentin, grabbing them before Alex could stop them. “What are these? Garden sheds? Garages? You’re going to need to do better than that.”

  “I don’t care what we end up making, but Alex and I have been working on this project for a few days now,” said Katrina. “You can’t just waltz in here and try to take over.”

  “Can’t I?” challenged Quentin. “I think you’ll find that I just did, Katrina.” Quentin stepped out of the room and with his arms up around an imaginary partner, he swirled back into the room. Katrina took note that his imaginary dance partner may’ve been ghostly, but they were big, like her.

  “You may call me Miss Muffet,” said Katrina, trying to sound very serious.

  “Okay — Katrina,” said Quentin pointedly. “Alex, Terrence was very clear. He wants Hemlock Crew’s wood used in the construction of…whatever it is we end up building. Apparently, Patricia agrees.”

  “Then why am I on this project?” asked Alex.

  “I don’t know — to provide hard labor?” asked Quentin.

  “And you don’t expect that you’ll be getting your hands dirty?” asked Katrina.

  “Of course not,” said Quentin with a chuckle. “I’m a chef — an artist. I need my hands for my art.”

  “I’m a cook too,” said Alex.

  “Exactly — a cook, not someone who has dedicated their life to the pursuit of the culinary,” said Quentin, reaching out and gesturing emotionally. “My passion in life…well, I don’t expect you to understand it.”

  “Like I don’t know about why you were sent to Hemlock Crew,” said Alex, raising an eyebrow.

  “You don’t know me — so no, you don’t,” growled Quentin.

  “Oh, the story’s all the same,” said Alex. “Shifters like me work our furry butts off at Grizzlyfir, while guys like you are sent out here by your daddies so you can try an honest day’s work. I’m surprised Terrence lets you play around in the kitchen all day, instead of working you the way your father’s probably paid him to.”

  “Wait, paid him to?” asked Katrina, who’d known about the rivalry between Grizzlyfir and Hemlock, and knew of the camps’ reputations. “Like a bribe?”

  “Shifters at Hemlock Crew aren’t paid,” said Alex.

  “That’s awful,” said Katrina.

  “They aren’t paid because they’re there as a sort of…fancy boy’s summer camp,” said Alex. “But here’s the thing — if you’re born with a silver spoon under your tongue, I doubt you’re born with the heart of a true animal beneath your chest.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Quentin. “I suggest you shut up.”

  “Make me,” said Alex, standing quickly.

  Quentin stood to match him, pushing his chair back so hard that it fell.

  Katrina was slower to rise, and she pushed back on Quentin, who was closer to her. Alex came close, but she pushed him away too.

  “Stop it, you two,” said Katrina, blushing, and hoping that Alex and Quentin couldn’t tell that she was more than a little uncomfortable touching their firm, hard pecs through their soft sexy shirts. “We’re all here to work on the same project. The faster we get this done, the faster you two can go back to not seeing each other, not speaking to each other, and not having to think about each other.”

  “I guess you’re right,” grumbled Alex.

  “You are right, Katrina,” said Quentin, surprising both Katrina and Alex. “I’m here for work, not to…well, fight.”

  “Good,” said Katrina, loosening the pressure on Quentin, before turning to Alex, pressing both hands on his chest, and looking up into his eyes. “Alex…can you behave? Can you just let all this go until after we finish this project?”

  “For you — sure,” said Alex.

  “Great,” said Katrina. “Now, we’ve got a lot of hard work to do, and Patricia just had the bakery repaired from the last fight your crews had here. If you two could wait on ripping each other apart, wait until you’re both outside the bakery and away from me, that’d be frikkin’ great.”

  Chapter Five

  Katrina’s wish only came half-true.

  She mulled things over as she walked over the lawn, away from the chaos.

  Pro: Alex and Quentin had waited until they were away from the bakery to rip each other to shreds.

  Con: They were doing it in front of her.

  Pro: They weren’t going to kill each other.

  Con: They were wasting Katrina’s valuable time, and that made her want to kill them.

  Katrina replayed the events in her head…

  * * *

  Katrina was working at the bakery, on some brand-new muffins developed by another baker. Decorating the muffins was very tricky because it involved arranging almond slices a certain way. As she attempted to add a delicate piece of marzipan to the muffin, as a glue for the almond slices, her concentration was broken, and the marzipan ball ended up smooshed on the muffin, making it look…very handmade.

  Katrina closed her eyes and took in a breath. She’d heard a bang against the door. It was probably a bird. She’d have to go out and toss it into the woods so that nobody tripped on it. Or, if it were alive, she’d have to take it to the wildlife refuge to get fixed up. Or, if it were alive and angry, she’d end up needing to shoo it out of the bakery with a big frikkin’ stick, and if she used a broom and got dust everywhere, she’d have to stay late to clean it up. Maybe she’d go after it with a frikkin’ spatula.

  There was another bang against the service door. Katrina went to see if the first bird’s lover had also hit the door, or if maybe, someone was actually waiting there.

  Katrina opened the door. Outside, Alex was waiting for her.

  “Hey,” said Katrina, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s up?”

  “Didn’t Patricia tell you we’re supposed to work on our first set of plans up at Grizzlyfir?” asked Alex. “I came by to pick you up.”

  “She did tell me, and I plum forgot,” said Katrina, shaking her head. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be right there. I just gotta put my apron away and get cleaned up and finish up this batch of muffins.”

  Katrina hurriedly got ready, told Patricia she was heading off and rushed back outside.

  There was a small worn SUV in the service lot. She got in the passenger’s seat. The car was old, but it was clean. It didn’t have the new car smell, but it did smell like pine, and not from any air freshener.

  “This car yours?” asked Katrina.

  “Nah,” said Alex, leaning in to kiss Katrina on the cheek. “This belongs to the camp. I have some old four-door sedan up at camp, but it’s not comfortable. Given this is camp business, I thought it only fitting to give my Cinderella a proper carriage ride to the castle.”

  “You know, in that story, the carriage was just a pumpkin, right?” asked Katrina. “I prefer my pumpkins in my pies, not as carriages. I also don’t know if I’d call Grizzlyfir a castle.”

  “Oh, you’re no fun,” said Alex. “What’s the point of living in a place as magical as Port Jameson if you don’t believe in fairytales?”

  “I’ve always been a very practical person. Plus, I’m not interested in dresses and balls,” said Katrina.

  “You’re not interested in balls?” asked Alex, raising an eyebrow.

  “You know what I mean,” said Katrina with a laugh. “But…princes? Or guys that treat gals like princesses? Well, even I h
ave to admit, I’ve always wanted a fairytale happy ending.”

  “But sugar, this is just your once-upon-a-time,” said Alex. Alex turned Katrina’s face towards his and kissed her on the lips again.

  The talk of princes had gotten Katrina thinking about the one rich guy she knew — Quentin. She knew Hemlock Crew had a reputation, and the other day, Alex and Quentin had all but confirmed her suspicions. She knew from things like Quentin’s soft hands and nice shirt that he was used to a certain lifestyle. Quentin wasn’t as nice as Alex, but there was something about him that just made her…well, she hated to admit it, but, he made her melt inside.

  Katrina knew it was wrong to like Quentin, especially when he’d been such a sassy jerk…but why did she feel like kissing Alex was wrong too?

  “Earth to Katrina,” said Alex, waving his hand in front of Katrina’s face. “Did I turn into a gorgon or something and petrify you with my handsome good looks?”

  “N-no,” said Katrina, shaking her head. “I was just thinking about…it’s not important.”

  “If you say so,” said Alex cheerily, totally in the dark about Katrina’s feelings for Quentin. Alex started the car and drove the SUV up the hill until they reached Grizzlyfir.

  Alex parked the van. The other cars in the lot all looked pretty rough, except for a bright red sportscar that Katrina assumed must belong to Darius, although it didn’t seem his style, just given that Darius was Grizzlyfir’s top dog — or was he the top bear?

  Katrina followed Alex to a spot on the lawn that had a picnic table and some sack lunches and a cooler of beverages. The picnic table was near a big smooth flat dirt patch, and there was a cart of wood and tools, as well as a folder of blueprints on the table held down by a rock.

  “Wow,” said Katrina. “You really are prepared.”

  “I had the guys bring lunch out,” said Alex. “It’s nothing fancy — just some wraps. That work for you?”

  “Absolutely,” said Katrina.

  “There’s sports drink, water, juice, iced tea, and iced coffee in the cooler,” said Alex. “Didn’t know what you like so had them put out some of everything.”

  “That’s really too kind,” said Katrina. “You’re so organized!”

  “Well…there’s one thing here I don’t recognize,” said Alex, looking over the lumber pile. “This wood…it’s not from Grizzlyfir.”

  “It’s not?” asked Katrina.

  “No — it’s not ours,” said Alex. “I know our stock. Our wood is over there, in that pile.”

  “And this other wood, it wasn’t here before?” asked Katrina.

  “No,” said Alex. “I do this thing when I cook, where I put out all my stuff, and — “

  “Mise en place,” said a voice.

  Katrina and Alex both looked around.

  “Mise en place,” repeated the voice. “It’s French, for ‘everything in its place,’ and it’s a very common chef’s term.” Quentin stepped out of the shadows from a nearby tree.

  “Quentin!” growled Alex. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I told you — Terrence was very clear,” said Quentin. “Hemlock Crew’s wood has to get used on this project.”

  “Why were you creeping around in the shadows?” asked Katrina.

  “Is it now a crime to want to be creepy and make an dramatic entrance?” asked Quentin, swirling his hand in the air.

  “That kinda behavior is why people think Hemlock Crew is a vampire coven,” said Katrina, a hand on her hip.

  “I never said I wasn’t a vampire,” said Quentin, raising his eyebrows.

  “Well, vampires can’t eat garlic, but can they help build frikkin’ booths?” asked Katrina. “Come on. We just have to make this one frikkin’ booth, and that’s it. You two never have to see each other again.”

  “I still can’t believe we’re making a stock shed,” said Quentin. “Absolutely no customizations — well, except for the wood. Good thing I brought my own from home — enough to share with the whole class.”

  “Even if I did want to use that wood, I can’t, because I don’t know how to use it,” said Alex. “Wouldn’t a fancy-pants chef like you know that a good chef doesn’t use new ingredients on important jobs, unless they know how to work with them?”

  “First of all, I’m flattered you think these are my fancy pants,” said Quentin, motioning over his worn black denim pants that had leather patches over the knees, as if a college professor had put their tweed coat on over the legs for a department bet. “Secondly, wood’s wood. It’s not saffron, or goat cheese, or a copper pan, or an enameled Dutch oven. It’s wood.”

  “Then you make it,” said Alex, crossing his arms. “Nobody wants to hear about your disgusting Dutch ovens.”

  “That is why I’m here,” said Quentin, raising a brow. “I’m supposed to make sure this thing gets built, so…guess I better get started.”

  Katrina took a seat and opened her bag lunch. There was a delicious spinach tortilla turkey wrap, with bacon and lettuce and tomato slices.

  Quentin rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. His dark hair stood out from his olive skin. He looked over the plans and opened the toolbox, pulling out a hammer and some nails.

  “I suppose these will do,” said Quentin. “They’re rather…thrifty.”

  “Sorry I didn’t ask Darius to blow money on golden hammers and nails!” blithered Alex, arms crossed. “Are you going to show us what you got or what?”

  Quentin went and grabbed a piece of lumber from the Hemlock Crew pile of wood.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” asked Alex.

  “Showing you what I’ve got,” said Quentin, getting to work.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” said Alex, quickly grabbing precut lumber from his own pile of wood and setting up shop a distance away. Both Quentin and Alex were building identical copies of the shed-turned-booth, with wood from their respective camps. Katrina dug into her lunch and pulled out a banana.

  Katrina was unpeeling the banana when she felt eyes on her eye. She looked up. Quentin and Alex were both watching her peel the banana.

  “Uh…can I help you?” asked Katrina.

  “No,” said Alex, although what he really wanted to say was, yes, but in my bedroom, and it’ll require a lot less clothing.

  “I wouldn’t mind some help,” said Quentin. “Is there any iced coffee in that cooler?”

  Katrina went to the cooler. “Yeah. There’s plain, mocha, vanilla, and s’mores flavor.”

  “S’mores,” said Quentin.

  “Not even a please?” asked Alex. “Wow, s’mores coffee — what a manly drink.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Quentin answered sarcastically. “If roasting a bone juice sausage on a sharp stick, over a fire, isn’t manly, then I don’t know what is.”

  Katrina couldn’t help but laugh. She knew Alex was supposed to be her favorite. After all, they’d had a fun burger-filled date already, and Quentin was a cocky, sassy bastard — but that was also what made Quentin so damn sexy. He always had some smart quip ready to roll off his tongue.

  Quentin winked at Katrina and went back to work.

  “Surprised Terrence sent you out here,” said Alex.

  “Why?” asked Quentin.

  “Isn’t Marvin the main carpenter at Hemlock?” asked Alex.

  “Isn’t Oliver the head carpenter here?” retorted Quentin.

  “This job’s easy-peasy,” said Alex. “No need to trouble Oliver with it — but I understand if you need Marvin to take over for you.”

  “And why would I need that?” asked Quentin.

  “Because you obviously have no idea what you’re doing,” said Alex with a smirk. “You should know better than to do things that you just aren’t meant to do — like carpentry, or trying to woo my mate.”

  “Now, hold on,” Katrina retorted. “I’m not anyone’s mate — or anyone’s girlfriend.”

  “Well, looks like the little lady has her own thoughts on the matter,” said Quenti
n.

  “I’m not little, and if you two keep up like this, I won’t be a lady neither,” said Katrina, balling her fists. “Get back to work — and stop frikkin’ fighting, and talking about me like I’m not frikkin’ here! Argh!”

  Katrina went to the cooler and got herself a diet soda. She chugged it and then got another and chugged that one too before getting a third soda for sippin’.

  “Uh…you doing okay there, Katrina?” asked Quentin. “You drank those pretty quickly…you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” muttered Katrina. “Just needed something to help me…” Katrina stopped, feeling a rumbling in her tummy.

  “To help you what?” asked Alex.

  Katrina just glared at him and sipped her soda, trying to will away what was brewing in her stomach.

  “Katrina? Are you okay?” asked Quentin.

  “I’m fi — brap!” said Katrina, burping halfway through the word ‘fine,’ her cheeks turning crimson. She had chugged the sodas to cool down, literally — as the July heat was nothing to mess with — and figuratively — as a cold sweet beverage would ground her so she wouldn’t focus on being angry at the werebears. She’d just forgotten that, by picking soda over juice, there could be some…unintended consequences.

  Alex smiled and sucked in his lips to try and seal what was brewing in his chest. His cheeks swelled and pinkened as he tried to wish away the feeling he felt — which wasn’t a burp but wasn’t wholly unlike a burp.

  “What?” asked Katrina. “What’s so fun — brugh!” Katrina burped again, and this time, Alex couldn’t hold it in. He doubled over laughing. Katrina’s cheeks got so red that she nearly turned into a very angry cherry, then and there.

  “Oh, like you’ve never had one too many beers and — “ started Katrina, closing her eyes for a second. “ — And…burped.”

  “I’m sorry — it’s just kinda cute,” said Alex.

  “Alex, I don’t want to hear you mention my burping fit ever again,” said Katrina.

  “I can’t promise that,” said Alex.