by Sable Sylvan
“Nope,” said Patricia, eyes narrowing. “The billionaire bear bastard is at his frikkin’ cabin just outside town, living it up with his family, spending the time with them, instead of working to the bone like us. Merry frikkin’ Christmas.”
“So, send him down here to do some work!” insisted Ginger.
“Trust me—although I want to, when Jasper gets involved with the business, he gets very…hands-on, and causes a lot of, well…” started Patricia.
“Well, what?” asked Ginger.
“I shouldn’t speak ill of my boss, especially around the holiday,” said Patricia. “Jasper’s the opposite of a Scrooge, but…whenever he comes into the bakery to shake things up, well, things get shaken up like eggnog and rum at a frat party, and the results are the same—absolutely frikkin’ shifter wild.”
Ginger wiped down the last counters and walked over to the wrapping station. The various tubes of wrapping paper, the spools of ribbon, and the bins of bows, and boxes of gift tags, were all in their proper places. She adjusted everything and realized one thing was missing—a pair of scissors. She went to the kitchen to grab them and walked back to the station to put them back. Richard was there, looking over the station.
“Hey,” said Ginger with a smile, putting the scissors into their holster on the table, a specially made scissor holder built out of wood, slotted into the desk.
“Hey yourself,” said Richard. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Depends on the favor,” answered Ginger, raising a brow.
“Is the table steady?” asked Richard.
Ginger knocked on wood—literally. “Seems steady to me.”
“I mean, if you use it, will it feel steady?” asked Richard. “Although the station has been made to spec, my concern is that the floorboards in this house may not be perfectly aligned.”
“Oh, uh…how would I test that?” asked Ginger.
“Just pretend you are wrapping something,” said Richard, passing Ginger a random item—a red and green quilt. It was a silly exercise, but Ginger picked the cheapest of the materials and started to wrap the quilt. Richard watched her in silence, observing the table, making sure it didn’t move. Ginger finished wrapping up the quilt and put it aside.
“Did I pass the test?” joked Ginger.
“Honestly…I think the table’s fine, but, if you feel any shaking, or unsteadiness, or even just bad vibes, you let me know,” insisted Richard.
“Why do you care so much about the alignment?” asked Ginger with a frown.
“I don’t want to see my favorite baker get hurt on the job,” said Richard. “If the table isn’t balanced correctly, it could tip or move while you work. That’s how accidents happen.”
“Like what, I grab two gift tags instead of one?” joked Ginger.
“Or you end up cutting yourself when you try to cut some ribbon,” Richard said solemnly.
“I’d say you don’t have to worry about me, but…” started Ginger.
“You did fall off a ladder just as I walked in the door and saw you for the first time,” said Richard.
“Well, if you saw me falling from the ladder, why didn’t you go and catch me?” asked Ginger.
“I did,” said Richard with a smirk. “Did you just confuse James and me again?”
Ginger crimsoned. “Sorry! Take it as a compliment—there are worse looking shifters out there.”
Richard quirked a brow.
“I’m just putting myself further down the frikkin’ naughty list,” muttered Ginger. “I’ll just have to make it up to you some way, maybe by catching you when you fall off a ladder.”
“Well, you can’t do that,” said Richard.
“What? You don’t think I’m built for that?” joked Ginger, flexing a flabby arm. She was smaller and weaker than Richard. Being big didn’t mean she was super strong. She was baker strong—but there was no frikkin’ way she’d be able to catch Richard if he fell off a ladder.
“You can’t use that as a way to make things up to me, because you’ve already done that,” said Richard.
“Because I’ve already done what?” asked Ginger.
“Because you’ve already caught me,” said Richard, putting his hands on Ginger’s waist.
“What?” asked Ginger awkwardly with a giggle, thoroughly confused. She stepped forward toward Richard, her heart pounding, sure she knew what the next steps would be. Either Richard was checking her body out, to ensure her thick curves were as sturdy as that table, or he was checking her body out.
“You’ve already caught me, Ginger…because I’ve been falling for you,” said Richard, pulling Ginger closer, feeling her softness beneath him as his hardness stiffened. His cock was filling out for her, expanding like a Christmas tree drawn out of the attic and opened up for the holidays, just as his heart had opened for Ginger.
Richard pulled Ginger closer. Her heart kept beating faster and faster. She felt his thickening brush against the top of her waist, reminding her of just how much taller than her he was. Bear shifters were taller than the average…well, taller than the average bear, when the average bear isn’t a bear at all and is just a non-shifter human. Ginger wasn’t exceptionally tall for a woman. She was broad, not big-boned. She owned it. She was plush, big, beautiful, and a woman, and that’s all there was to it. She was used to feeling big, but Richard, well…he made her feel tiny as if he was an entire fantasy land she could lose herself in. She could wander the valleys of his muscles and the mountains of his flesh and presumably the rivers, lakes, fjords, and canyons of his firmness, for days.
Ginger ran her hands up through Richard’s ginger hair. She had no idea what his mate mark meant, what it symbolized…but maybe, the mark wasn’t what mattered. Richard had ginger hair. Her name was Ginger. Maybe Fate was playing hairdresser for the Christmas pageant. Perhaps that was a sign she was meant to be with James.
James.
She wasn’t with James.
She was with Richard.
So why did she feel like she was with James?
That same hair was the exact same color as Richard’s hair. They were the same exact shade of ginger. If that was a sign from Fate, who was to say Fate was pointing Ginger in Richard’s direction, rather than toward James? Or maybe Fate had pushed Ginger not so gently into Richard’s arms when Ginger had fallen off that step ladder.
Ginger sighed.
“What is it?” asked Richard.
“It’s nothing,” said Ginger.
“If it’s nothing, why did you sigh?” asked Richard.
Ginger wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to say anything, and she didn’t want Richard to keep prying, so she did something to ensure both their mouths stayed quiet.
She wrapped her arms around Richard’s shoulders, holding her hands behind his neck, got in her toes, and before she could even lick her lips, Richard had pulled her up by the hips.
“Ooh!” said Ginger, legs flailing, before Richard put her thick butt on the table.
“I know one way we can test out this table,” growled Richard.
Richard bucked up against Ginger. Ginger felt his rock-hard cock pressing against her through his pants. It would be so easy to undo the zipper and slide her panties to the side, but…she knew she had to stop things before they went too far.
Ginger pulled Richard close and gave him one kiss, right on the lips, pressing her lips to his for a split second before pulling away. She knew if she kissed him for longer than that, things would progress too quickly.
“I can’t,” said Ginger softly.
“Hey, babe, that’s fine,” said Richard, brushing Ginger’s hair back and helping her off the table. As Ginger put things away, Richard’s bear teased him—Run, run, run, as fast as you can—you can’t catch Ginger unless it’s fated, bear man.
Chapter Three
On the third day of Christmas, Fate sent Ginger three rolls of wrapping paper…
Ginger hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss sin
ce it’d happened. She’d gone home, put up some of her small Christmas decorations, as she lived alone, and watched a Christmas movie on television. But, although it was the Christmas season, it felt more like the lead up to Valentine’s Day. Her heart was fluttering, her stomach was churning, and her head was spinning—although all that could’ve been from the copious amounts of sugar she’d consumed. She didn’t eat diet anything, particularly Christmas pastries. As she munched on some gingerbread men, she’d thought about which ginger bear she’d rather munch on.
The Christmas pop-up shop had a kitchen. It wasn’t a big baking kitchen like the one at her ‘home’ Bear Claw Bakery location. Still, it was a kitchen, and it had an oven, counters, and a fridge, and space for tools, so it was good enough for baking. On the bakery CEO’s suggestion, Ginger had been assigned the duty of baking some gingerbread men and women and children and animals and other Christmas stuff on the premises. Baking would make the entire store smell of gingerbread. As gingerbread was Ginger’s favorite baked good to make, this was not much of a chore at all.
Ginger took the mixing bowl. Every night, she ran the dishwasher, and every morning, she took everything out, dried it off if still moist, and put it in its place. She poured in a big bag of the bakery’s premixed dry ingredients for the gingerbread, which included everything but flour. She combined the first batch of dry ingredients with butter and molasses. The aroma of the spices made the kitchen area start to smell warm, but the real magic would be made once Ginger put the gingerbread in the oven.
She added flour to the mix, stirred it about, and added milk. She rolled the dough out on a baking mat, covered in powdered sugar and flour, and the smooth clay-like dough, filled with spices rather than silt, started to look a lot more like gingerbread. She grabbed a cookie cutter and started to stamp out shapes. She put the shapes on a buttered baking sheet.
It wasn’t until it was time to put the baking sheet in the oven that she realized she’d just made a full frikkin’ sheet of cookies with a single shape, rather than a variety of Christmas shapes like trees and bells.
Every last cookie was shaped like a bear.
Here a bear, there a bear, everywhere, a werebear.
Luckily, the variety of cookie shapes didn’t really matter. But darn it, why had Ginger chosen the bear shape?
She hadn’t just stamped one bear out of the dough. She’d stamped out nearly a dozen! That was the last thing Ginger needed—more bears to choose from! She was already having problems figuring out which of the bears she wanted. The last thing she’d need was more options.
Ginger slid the tray of gingerbread bears into the hot oven. Now, the question was, which ginger bear would be sliding into her hot oven?
Ginger went into her cookie jar of day-old gingerbread cookies and grabbed two to munch on as she figured out which bear was better for her. In terms of appearances, they were tied. The two bears nearly looked like twins. They were tall, broad-shouldered, with a layer of fat over their barrel chests to keep them warm during their winter hibernation. They were both bear shifters. They both had ginger hair that made the winter days seem warmer just for their presence.
But, Ginger could only pick one bear. She had to weigh the pros and cons.
There was Richard. He was part of Grizzlyfir Crew, which had a reputation for hiring friendly bear shifters.
Then, there was James. He was in hemlock Crew, which had a reputation for training rich boys and helping them become rich men.
Richard had been assertive and kissed her the afternoon before.
But, James probably would’ve done the same darn thing
But, James hadn’t. Therefore, James wasn’t fated to have kissed her that afternoon, or he would’ve.
But, just because Richard been fated to have one kiss with Ginger, did that mean he was fated to be with her forever? After all, Ginger had kissed plenty of shifters before! They’d all used the line about how Fate had drawn them together, that they were destined to be together forever, but, given Ginger was single, it was apparent that Fate hadn’t had much to do with the smooching.
Or, maybe Fate had, and she was giving Ginger the run-around.
“Hey, Ginger,” said Patricia, walking up to the counter of the still empty store. “I brought by more wrapping paper.”
“Thanks, Patricia,” said Ginger. “Can I ask you a question?”
“About bears?” asked Patricia.
“Yeah—how did you guess?” asked Ginger. “Are you a mind reader?”
“No,” said Patricia with a laugh, putting down the three big rolls of wrapping paper, in green, red, and gold. “I just saw what you’re eating and put two and two together—kind of like how you put bear and bear together. You want to know about ménages, do you?”
Ginger looked down, She was eating two bears—two bears made of gingerbread.
“Are you frikkin’ kidding me?” murmured Ginger.
“So you do want to know about ménages?” asked Patricia.
“No—I just, I randomly picked these cookies out of the jar,” Ginger explained lamely. “I didn’t mean to grab two bears.”
“Guess it was fated,” said Patricia, shrugging her shoulders. “There’s a difference between what we mean to do, and what we’re meant to do. We can control what we mean to do, but what we’re really meant to do, that’s fated.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to leave the question of whom I’m meant to be with up to Fate,” said Ginger, before quickly finishing one of the bears. “I…want to be able…to pick…my own destiny.”
“And I want my own bakery, one that’s really all my own, but I’ll never get that either,” said Patricia. “I’ll just be the manager forever—and that’s my fate. Now, spill the beans.”
“I can’t pick between Richard and James,” admitted Ginger. “I’d go based on appearances, but they look so similar! I just wish I could make a man that has the best qualities of both of them. Richard can make me laugh, and James, well…I guess he can also make me laugh. That was a bad example. I just —”
“So pick both of them,” interrupted Patricia.
“I can’t,” said Ginger. “They don’t really get along. They think I don’t see them squabbling behind my back. Trust me—that’s the least sexy quality about either of them. If I could snap off that part of them, I would.” Ginger snapped the last cookie for effect and got crumbs everywhere.
“I think the part of them that makes them so competitive is the part of them you’re going to want later—the part you probably want right now. Do you know what it is that makes us bakers?” asked Patricia, cutting off Ginger.
“What?” asked Ginger.
“We are made by what we make,” explained Patricia. “We are what we are because of the products we produce—not the other way around.”
“Okay, you’ve lost me,” said Ginger.
“We’re bakers because of the things we bake,” said Patricia. “Bread isn’t bread because we baked it—it’s bread because it’s bread. But, we’re only bakers because of that bread, that bread we’ve baked.”
“So, what’s your point?” asked Ginger.
“Unless you’re secretly Dr. Frankenstein, you aren’t exactly in the business of creating men,” said Patricia. “You can’t take a cookie-cutter out and just stamp some cookie-cutter men out of a sheet of dough.”
“Wish I could, though,” admitted Ginger.
“Trust me, although that seems like an easy solution to your problem, ask yourself this,” started Patricia. “Would you really be happy with a cookie-cutter man?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” admitted Ginger.
“So stick to what you know,” said Patricia. “You do the baking, and let the shifters handle themselves.”
“They can turn into bears…but when will they turn into men, instead of overgrown boys?” asked Ginger, raising an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that the million-dollar question?” mused Patricia.
“That still doesn’t answer the que
stion of how to pick one of them,” said Ginger.
“Don’t pick,” said Patricia. “What’s fated is fated.”
“I can’t just sit around and let Fate decide my, well, fate!” exclaimed Ginger.
“Then pick the one you want,” said Patricia.
“I can’t do that because…well, I don’t know which one I want yet,” admitted Ginger.
“So then maybe you’re making this whole thing into a bigger deal than it has to be,” said Patricia, putting a hand on Ginger’s shoulders. “Maybe you’ve just got cabin fever and need some fresh air.”
“Yeah, maybe I do,” said Ginger. “Do you have any advice on how to work with two strong personalities, given you’re such a good manager?”
“If you think flattery will win me over, you’re absolutely darn tootin’ right,” said Patricia with a laugh. “Look, honey. There’s a big difference between me settling a dispute between two bakers arguing over a workstation, and the situation going on with Richard and James.”
“What, because us bakers are gals?” asked Ginger, crossing her arms.
“No—because that’s an intercompany dispute,” explained Patricia. “Richard and James just plain work for two very different companies. They may be assigned to the same project, but that doesn’t make them friends. Look. You know I handle our wedding orders, right?”
“Of course—everyone wants one of Patty’s famous cakes,” said Ginger.
“Ugh, will people stop calling me ‘Patty?’” groaned Patricia. “Okay, back to the story. Yes. I make those big cakes. When I work the weddings, I always put out those calls for help, although I usually work with the same few girls. Anyway. The Bear Claw Bakery wedding cake crew operates separately from the catering crew, and we all operate separately from the linen and table rental crew. There have been multiple times where we’ve clashed.”
“Over what?” asked Ginger.
“For starters, we’ve had folks from the catering crew come and try to borrow dishes from us for appetizers, and we have to stand firm and not give out the dishes,” said Patricia.