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

by Sylvan, Sable

  Katrina just stood there for a second, letting Quentin and Alex warm her up, allowing them to calm her down, letting them show her that things could feel alright, even if they wouldn’t be okay.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Katrina. “Quentin, you’re right — I was lashing out. I’m not mad at either of you. I just…I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

  “No offense, Katrina, but the booth wasn’t really your job,” said Alex.

  “But Patricia — “ started Katrina.

  “Patricia wants you to supervise us and make sure that the bakery can use whatever we build as a booth for the festival,” said Quentin. “Have you ever made your own recipe?”

  “Uh…actually, no,” said Katrina shyly. “I make what other people tell me to make.”

  “Okay, well…when you make your own recipe, you can mess up,” said Alex.

  “And you don’t have to eat the gross stuff,” said Quentin. “If you mess up, it sucks — it feels like a waste of time and energy and ingredients. But, it’s a learning experience. You can figure out what went wrong, and go from there.”

  “So looking at this ‘recipe’…what went wrong?” asked Katrina.

  “We tried to combine dishes that didn’t work,” said Quentin. “It was like combining burgers and sushi.”

  “And we should stick to one or the other,” said Alex.

  “So, are we going to build the booth, or are we building a gazebo?” asked Katrina.

  “That’s up to you,” said Quentin.

  “Okay, okay — I don’t have the papers on me,” said Katrina. “How big is the space again?”

  “Well, because Grizzlyfir, Hemlock, and Bear Claw are all combining their spaces at the festival to have one big space…” started Alex.

  “What?” asked Katrina, pulling out of the hug to look at both Alex and Quentin. Had they hugged the air out of her lungs, causing her to hallucinate? If so, she was entitled to the ménage equivalent of worker’s comp.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Quentin asked Alex.

  “I think that I am,” said Alex. “Both.”

  “Both,” agreed Quentin.

  “I’m lost,” said Katrina. “Do you two have frikkin’ ménage-powered telepathy? Because I did not get that, and I’m filing a complaint with whoever forgot to give me that.”

  “We can build both structures — separately,” said Alex.

  “We’ll build one gazebo, one shed-style booth,” explained Quentin.

  “Won’t that confuse people?” asked Katrina. “What about the third lot?”

  “It’s a big festival,” said Alex.

  “There’ll be a lot of people, but…you’re right,” admitted Quentin. “I don’t know what we’d do with that extra lot, and how we’d justify it.”

  “Okay, let’s think about this,” said Katrina, wheels turning. “Uh…okay. Booth. That was our original idea — me and Alex. We should still do that for the pastries.”

  “And burgers,” said Quentin. “People can’t just eat sweets. Those burgers, man…I hope my crew doesn’t try them or they’ll be asking to have Alex as their new chef.”

  “Cook,” corrected Alex. “But…wait. That’s right. Burgers. We can use those as a recruitment tool — to attract guys that might wanna be lumberjacks. If they know that’s the kinda food they can get at Grizzlyfir, they’ll be likely to sign up.”

  “And what about the gazebo?” asked Katrina. “What’s Hemlock trying to do?”

  “Well — we don’t really need new lumberjacks,” admitted Quentin. “I think Terrence is trying to do more business networking. This festival is really focused on local businesses.”

  “So, they won’t want burgers,” said Alex. “What do rich people like? Sushi?”

  “We do like sushi,” admitted Quentin. “I’m not the greatest sushi chef in the world, but I know my nori from my wakame.”

  “Your what from your what?” asked Alex.

  “Exactly,” said Quentin. “I’ll make fancy food for the fancy folks. The gazebo is small so we can set up a secluded area for the business meetings between our bosses and the business owners.”

  “What about the middle space?” asked Katrina.

  “We’ll need it for food and supplies and prep space,” said Alex. “After all — Quentin’s going to need somewhere to do all that fish filleting, and I don’t want to lose an eye. I barely trust him with a knife.”

  “And I’m not trying to get burned by Alex’s grill,” said Quentin. “Alex? With a hot grilling fork? Near my ass? No thanks. I’m not looking to get castrated next weekend.”

  “Are we going to have time to get the structures done in time?” asked Katrina. “I know the gazebo’s all ready, but…”

  “The shed I was building is based on one of our prefab models,” explained Alex. “It’ll take a crew of guys an afternoon to make it, tops. It just means that on the day of, we might have to hustle to get everything set up.”

  “Okay, let’s practice,” said Katrina. “Let’s pretend we’re pitching this, see how it sounds. Alex, you be Darius. Quentin, you be Terrence.”

  “I’ll be Patricia as well,” said Quentin.

  He cleared his throat and spoke in a high-pitched falsetto that sounded nothing like Patricia. “Oh, Katrina! And your two handsome bears! Whatever can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to talk about the festival,” said Katrina.

  “Did you pick the booth?” asked Alex, in a very deep voice, pretending to be Darius. “Of course you did! Grizzlyfir is the best.”

  “Nonsense! Of course, this fair maiden — who is not as fair as my precious Patricia who I will definitely tell my feelings to one day — picked the gazebo, in which I will one day propose to my gorgeous Patricia!” said Quentin, pretending to be Terrence, hamming it up.

  “You two are going to make me mess this up,” said Katrina. “Okay. Give me a second.”

  Katrina took a deep breath and closed her eyes and on opening them, regained her composure.

  “Okay — what if we didn’t pick a booth or pick a gazebo?” asked Katrina. “What if…we didn’t have to pick at all?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Alex.

  “What if we could get just a little more space…and have the gazebo and tables set up in one area, with the booth set up on the same space?” asked Katrina.

  “What good would that do?” asked Quentin.

  “Think about it — we’d serve pastries out of the booth, which would be built by Grizzlyfir, and be goofy, built like a cake,” said Katrina. “That would help get the word out to the townsfolk — for hiring new folks, for smaller sales and gigs.”

  “And the gazebo?” asked Quentin.

  “Corporate sales,” said Katrina. “Terrence and Darius and Patricia can stay in the gazebo area and entertain the high-rolling guests, with gourmet canapes, made by you, Quentin.”

  “I’m Terrence, not Quentin!” said Quentin in a low growl.

  “And so, I’m just supposed to stand around and let you two have all the fun?” asked Alex. “I mean — Alex is supposed to just sit aside and watch all this and miss touching his mate’s big, curvy butt while she tries to work?”

  “Okay — what about burgers?” asked Katrina, stifling giggles.

  “What about them?” asked Quentin.

  “Alex makes an amazing burger — the best,” said Katrina.

  “I agree — under one condition,” said Quentin. “I need to taste these burgers of Alex’s to make sure they’re good enough to warrant more picnic tables.”

  “I concur — and that means I need to try your appetizers to make sure they’re not going to scare away the townsfolk,” said Alex.

  “How was that?” asked Katrina.

  “We need to rehearse,” admitted Alex. “ But, everything’s going to be fine.”

  “You promise?” asked Katrina.

  “I don’t promise,” said Quentin. “Look, Katrina — I can’t promise things won’t
go wrong again. But, I can promise that Alex and I will be there if things do go wrong, and we’re on your team. You’re not doing any of this alone.”

  “You know what?” asked Katrina. “That wasn’t the answer I wanted. I wanted you to say everything was going to be entirely okay, but…”

  “But he’s right,” said Alex.

  “He’s right,” said Katrina. “You’re both right. We’re gonna try our darnedest to make this thing work — come heck or high river.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Katrina and the bears walked into the meeting room, where Patricia was rubbing her temples while Terrence and Darius argued. As soon as the three younger folks walked in, Terrence and Darius stopped and shot each other looks.

  “What’s up?” asked Katrina.

  “We were waiting for you,” said Patricia.

  “I mean, what were they talking about?” asked Katrina.

  “Just whether — “ started Darius.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Terrence. “Take a seat. We’re very excited to hear about your plans for a gazebo.”

  “Or for the shed-booth-thing,” said Darius.

  “Well, we’re not doing either,” said Katrina, sitting down. “Our idea is to do something completely different.”

  “We’re going to build the shed,” said Alex.

  “I knew it,” said Darius. “Terrence — pay up.”

  “But, we’re also going to do a gazebo,” said Quentin.

  “I guess it’s you who has to — wait, what?” asked Terrence.

  “We’re doing both,” said Katrina.

  “I don’t get it,” said Darius.

  “We’re doing a booth for the bakery, and we’ll sell burgers out of that, along with the pastries,” said Alex. “Quentin pointed out that the kind of guys that would want to work for Grizzlyfir, well, they care about things like the culture, and food’s part of our culture.”

  “Your burgers can get someone to sign up to join a lumber crew?” asked Terrence incredulously.

  “Best dang burgers I’ve had,” said Quentin.

  “No shizz?” asked Terrence warily.

  “What he makes are straight-up tasty burgers,” insisted Quentin. “If I came back to camp after a grueling day chopping wood, and saw one of those on my dinner plate, I’d feel like I’d gone to hog heaven — and I’m not even a were-hog.”

  “The booth will be made with Grizzlyfir labor, according to our plans, and using our wood,” said Alex.

  “So then why the heck has Quentin been spending so much time on this project?” asked Terrence. “Why is he working on this if it doesn’t do anything for Hemlock?”

  “That’s where the gazebo comes in,” said Katrina.

  “Alex pointed out that my food…well, it’s for, shall we say, a more ‘refined’ palate,” said Quentin.

  “So, it’s fancy-schmancy bullshizz,” said Darius.

  “Exactly, and that’s not what most people are going to want to eat at the festival — but it is what the fancy-schmancy people will want to eat: people like CEOs, businessmen, rich people looking to have their houses renovated,” said Quentin. “Those people will want to have a place to sit and talk to their fellow business owners — you three.” Quentin motioned over the table.

  “The gazebo will showcase off Hemlock Crew’s skills and wood,” explained Alex. “People are going to want to make a choice — one crew, or the other, for given jobs. If we combine our skills and our wood…”

  “Then you have a heck of a ménage?” asked Patricia. “Get it? Wood?”

  “…If we combine things, people will be confused about who to hire for specific jobs,” said Alex. “We have to let the work, and the wood, speak for itself — but by showing that all three businesses can work together…”

  “…We’re signaling that we can work together, and that means we’ll be able to work with clients, on jobs big, small, complicated, simple, whatever,” finished Quentin, fist-bumping Alex.

  “Well…I approve, but I don’t really care about the structures,” admitted Patricia.

  “I guess it’d be fine,” said Darius. “But, don’t expect me to eat fancy canapes and wear a suit.”

  “And here I am, surprised you even know the word ‘canapes,’” teased Terrence.

  * * *

  “Okay — and how many muffins was that?” asked Patricia.

  “Six dozen,” said Katrina. “They’ve been popular here, and I think going with something that’s cheap, easy to hand out, popular, and will drive people to the store is what we want.”

  “Got it,” said Patricia.

  “I have your ingredients list,” said Terrence. “Any additions?”

  “None,” said Quentin. “We should try and get my ingredients as close to the festival date as possible, to ensure they’re fresh.”

  “And you?” Darius asked Alex.

  “I’m good, but we need to have a few guys on the grill,” said Alex. “I’m going to be busy running the register. Do we have the business cards printed up?”

  Darius closed his eyes and took in a breath. Terrence’s eyes went wide. Patricia looked at the two boss bears and looked amused.

  “Let me guess — you two didn’t get your cards printed up?” asked Patricia.

  “I mean, I have a few in my wallet,” said Darius.

  “I forgot to order them,” said Terrence. “We don’t really do a lot of recruiting or business with…the general public.”

  “If you aren’t recruiting and don’t do jobs with the public, why are you on this job?” asked Darius.

  Terrence shot Darius a pointed look. “The same reason you are.”

  “Well, lucky for you two, I saw this coming,” said Patricia, reaching into her tote bag and pulling out two large boxes the size of loaf pans, passing one to Terence and one to Darius.

  Darius opened his up. The cards were made of brown kraft paper with dark forest green ink. The cards were slightly textured to have a wood effect. His contact info was on the card.

  Terrence looked at the matte black cards. They had silvery, spidery script, the Hemlock Crew heraldry style logo, and his contact info. The back of the card had a wooden texture made by applying a layer of shiny black ink to the matte black card in a series of lines and waves and knots, which made it look like a flat piece of ebony.

  “These are…” started Darius.

  “Frikkin’ incredible,” finished Terrence. “How much?”

  “Consider it a gift — from me, personally,” said Patricia. “After all, you two are contributing the labor and lumber to this project. Only makes sense I’d provide the chocolate chip cookies and the cards.”

  “The festival is this Saturday — and it starts in the afternoon,” said Darius. “What time do we need to get the structure down there?”

  “How long does it take to set up?” Terrence asked the three younger folks.

  “Uh…” started Patricia.

  “I’d say at least two hours,” said Alex.

  “Agreed — and we could use some help,” admitted Quentin.

  “I can’t spare the bakers — they’ll be baking for the festival,” said Patricia.

  “I’ll send three guys down,” said Darius. “Sound good?”

  “I’ll send down five,” said Terrence.

  “I have a feeling these two are going to be at this for a while,” said Patricia. “Alright. Look. Terrence, Darius, you handle yours, and Katrina, you just come to the bakery around ten, because you’ll be working late, and we’ll handle the pastry stuff. Sound like a plan?”

  “Perfect,” said Katrina, getting up and giving Patricia a quick hug before leaving with Alex and Quentin, leaving Darius and Terrence to squabble about contributions and leaving Patricia to play referee.

  Chapter Twelve

  Katrina was loading up the truck with pastries for the festival when she got a call. It was from Quentin. She sighed. Whatever it was, it could wait. She was seeing Quentin and Alex in a few minutes a
nyway, by the river.

  Her phone rang again. It was Quentin, again. She ignored it and kept on loading the truck — and as she turned, Alex called. She ignored that call too.

  The next person to call Katrina was Patricia, and she didn’t call Katrina’s phone — she called her name.

  “Katrina!” called Patricia. “Katrina!”

  Katrina put the box of muffins down in the truck. “Sup, Patricia?”

  “There’s been an accident,” said Patricia.

  “A…a…oh no,” said Katrina, realizing that she should’ve taken the calls from her bears.

  “It’s not a big deal,” said Patricia. “But…the roads leading down from the hill are blocked because a bunch of rocks frikkin’ fell on the road. People are thinking that maybe some drunk kids were messing around and pushed the boulders or something. But, the two main routes up the mountain are blocked.”

  “But everyone’s okay?” asked Katrina.

  “Yes — but it means that the lumber from Grizzlyfir and Hemlock can’t be brought down for today’s event,” said Patricia. “I’m going to try and get a last-minute pavilion, one of those ones with the metal legs and plastic canopies, from a rental place in town, but, it’s peak season for those, and I might not be able to get one this close to the festival.”

  “Okay — well, we can’t control what happens with the lumber,” said Katrina. “We’ve baked all these pastries. We’ve got some folding tables and chairs. We’ve got our payment system set up using the tablet and the card reader. What I think we should do is head down to the river bank, set up shop, and wait and see if the bears up the mountain can figure out a way to get down to the event. This isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

  “You’re being really mature about this,” said Patricia. “You’re usually more of a hothead.”

  “Well, maybe those bears of mine helped me realize that a lot of things aren’t a huge deal,” admitted Katrina. “There are worse ways I could spend my day. Sitting by the river, selling pastries, well, it’s not that bad. It’s hot out — so we’re going to need some beverages. If you can grab some when you’re out and about, and maybe a cooler and some ice, that’d be great, because that was something the bears were supposed to bring.”