by Sable Sylvan
“You should call him,” said Aunt Helen. “Have some fun while he’s in town.”
“Aunt Helen! I’m sure he only gave me his card as a joke,” said Talia, looking at the card she was still holding in her hand. “Besides, I’m too busy with the store.”
“Well, you’re going to have to call him,” said Aunt Bertha, looking at the counter. “Because he forgot something. Something big.”
Chapter Two
“What did he forget?” asked Talia.
“To fill out the shipping form,” said Aunt Bertha, picking up the clipboard on the counter. The store’s customers rarely used the shipping forms: the store had them as a formality, but they only used them to fulfill the few online orders they had. “We can’t send him the, oh, three thousand, five hundred dollars worth of yarn we owe him, if we don’t have a frikkin’ address.”
“There isn’t any address on the business card...but he said he was staying in town for the weekend,” said Talia. “I can call him tonight and meet up and have him fill out the forms.”
Cedar Aspen had been the last customer of the day at Spinning A Yarn, so after Talia helped her aunts clean up the store proper, she used the store phone to call up Cedar.
The phone rang twice before he picked up. “Hello?” he said.
Talia blushed. He wasn’t even in the store and he had a strong effect on her. “Hey Cedar...this is Talia, from Spinning A Yarn?”
“Hey Talia,” said Cedar. “Let me guess: you moved some stuff around, and there’s room for me at your birthday party?”
Talia laughed. “No, it’s actually business related, I swear. You never filled out the shipping forms for the yarn shipments for your grandma. I need the address...but because it’s such a big, expensive order, we also need your signature.”
“Wow, I forgot? That’s dumb, even for me,” said Cedar. “Tell you what. I’m actually at dinner with my grandma right now...but do you want to meet up with me at nine tonight? I can fill out the forms in person, and it’ll be faster than sending them, having me print them, mail them, you get it.”
“Yeah, that’s perfect, actually,” said Talia with a small smile, leaning against the counter. “Where do you wanna meet up?”
“We could just meet up at my grandma’s house,” said Cedar. Cedar gave the address to Talia who wrote it down on a scrap of paper by the register.
“Got it,” said Talia. “See you then.”
“See you, Talia,” said Cedar.
Talia hung up the phone and leaned against the register. She’d be seeing Cedar again in just a few hours, and just the thought of the big, strong shifter send butterflies to her stomach.
“Did you get the address?” asked Lorraine from the backroom.
“Kind of,” said Talia. “I’m going to meet up with him at his grandma’s house to get the signatures for the form too.”
“Good thinking,” said Lorraine, sticking her arm out the backroom door and giving a thumbs up to her niece.
“You aren’t going to wear that, are you?” asked Helen, looking over Talia. She was wearing practical clothes: jeans with big pockets, comfy sneakers for working retail, and a big sweater, with a standard apron, filled with pins and receipts.
“What’s wrong with what she’s wearing?” asked Bertha, crossing her arms. Bertha and the rest of the aunts all wore the same thing that Talia was wearing.
“It’s fine for work, but not for a date with a boy,” said Helen.
“It’s not a date, Aunt Helen,” said Talia. “It’s business.”
“No boy invites a girl to his grandma’s house unless he has intentions,” said Helen. “And bear shifter men...well, they don’t exactly open up their houses or their families to just anyone.”
“I’m just getting the forms signed,” said Talia. “It’s not like I’m being invited to dinner.”
The phone rang. Talia was spooked for a second: nobody called the store. Talia answered the phone. “Hello?” she answered.
“Hey, Talia, it’s Cedar,” said Cedar. “I know this is going to sound stupid but...do you want to come over to have dinner with my family tonight? We’re starting at eight thirty. I know it’s short notice but –”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” said Talia, looking to her aunt Helen and then back at the phone. Sometimes, she swore Aunt Helen was a psychic, as her ability to predict things was downright uncanny.
“Great. Wear something warm,” said Cedar. “It’s for the moon watching ceremony.”
“Alright, sounds cool, bye,” said Talia quickly, hanging up the phone.
“Who was that?” asked Bertha, her arms crossed.
“It was Cedar...and he just invited me to dinner at his grandma’s house, for the moon watching ceremony,” said Talia.
“Told you it was a date,” said Helen.
“No, this is way more than just a date,” said Bertha. “The moon ceremonies are a big deal, and tonight’s a full moon.”
“How do you of all people know that?” asked Talia.
“Hey, I read the paper, and The Port Jameson Times prints a star and moon chart once a week,” said Bertha. “The moon watching ceremony isn’t usually something humans are invited to.”
“He said to wear something warm,” said Talia.
“I have just the thing,” said Bertha. “You head home in your car, get cleaned up. I’ll come by and get you the sweater I’m thinking of.”
“Thanks so much,” said Talia, bringing Bertha and Helen in for a big family hug. She felt safe and protected in her aunts’ embrace. She pulled away. “I’ll meet you at home then.”
Talia took off her apron and left it behind the counter. She went to the employee parking lot and got in her car and headed to their house a few blocks away from the store. She hopped in the shower and scrubbed up quickly, excited for her date, the first date she’d had in a long time, and the only date she’d ever been this excited for.
Talia got out of the shower and headed to her room in a big fluffy robe. On her bed was a mid length black dress, a pair of warm tights, a pair of dark brown leather hiking boots (Talia’s own), and a beautiful sweater. The sweater was thick knit, made of midnight blue yarn with a dark black lining and with silver thread stitched into the patterns of constellations on the sweater’s back. The sweater was a button-up with a hood, the edges hemmed with the same silver thread used for the constellations.
Talia slipped into matching undergarments from her dresser: she chose an all black bra and panty set to match the dress. Then, she slipped on the warm tights, the thick black dress with a flouncy fit and flare skirt, and then, the boots, which had been worn from the many hikes she’d taken with her aunties on the weekends they had free, and finally, she put on the sweater. Although the sweater was thick, it hugged her curves in all the right places, without the buttons at the front gaping.
Talia did a turn: the skirt’s generous material swirled around her. She turned the other way: the material swirled the other direction and then hung down in pleats.
Talia picked out one of her purses, a navy blue purse made of waterproof material with many small compartments, and packed the forms, a pen, her wallet, and her cell phone. The purse was her go-to purse for outings where she didn’t know what she’d need to bring to be prepared for any situation, so she had things like a mini first aid kid, a sewing kit, and lip balm in the bag.
Talia slung the purse over her shoulder and headed out into the living room. Her aunt Bertha was in the kitchen making dinner for everyone: it was the first dinner Talia was missing in a long time, as after high school, most of her friends had left town to go to college. “You look good,” called Bertha.
“Thanks, Aunt Bertha,” said Talia. “Is there...anything else I should know about the moon watching ceremony?”
Bertha put down her mixing spoon. “Well, you’ve lived in Port Jameson your whole life. Tell me what you know about bear shifters.”
“They’re the most common shifters here, them or the wolves,�
�� said Talia. “And they mostly work up at the mills. They like to work with their hands...and the moon is important to them.”
“That’s right, and what do shifters have?” asked Bertha.
“Uh...the ability to shift?” said Talia. “Oh. And the mate mark.”
“And what does the mate mark mean?” asked Bertha, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“It’s a sign, for a shifter. It lets them know who their fated mate is, their true love for life,” said Talia with a small smile.
“And how do shifters know who their fated mate is, who they really are?” asked Bertha.
“They know...after they mate,” said Talia, blushing. “So, after having sex, they know. Everyone knows that, Aunt Bertha.”
“Yeah, well, Cedar Asher is still a man,” said Bertha. “And you can never be too careful. Guys can be stupid and will often do whatever it takes to get a girl into bed.”
“Gosh, Aunt Bertha!” said Talia, her face turning bright crimson. “You really thing...Cedar wants that with me?”
“I saw the way he looked at you,” said Bertha. “He looked...hungry. Plus, you’ve got these Ackerson curves.” Bertha swung her hips left and right dramatically, using her spoon in the air to poke in one direction and then the other.
Talia laughed. Her aunt Bertha was the most protective but also the funniest of all her aunts. “Yeah, I know shifters like their women with a bit of heft,” said Talia.
“My point is...if you aren’t looking to settle down yet, be careful around the shifters,” said Bertha. “Because most of them have their eye on the prize: a cabin with a fated mate, both full of shifter cubs. But, even if you don’t give that Cedar boy the sweet stuff, you better give something to his grandma.” Bertha went through the cabinets until she found what she was looking for: a small clear Mason jar filled with golden ambrosia, covered with dark purple and white ginham fabric, tied with a matching grosgrain ribbon.
Talia read the label. “Is this the last jar of Marion berry honey we have?” asked Talia.
“At least until the harvest,” said Bertha “But no niece of mine is going empty handed to a moon watching ceremony. Be sure to give the grandma the honey, and if things feel right, give that boy some sugar.”
“Of course, I won’t forget,” promised Talia, pocketing the honey. “I think I’ll be home pretty late, so don’t wait up!”
“We won’t,” said Bertha. “Now get out of here, scamp!”
Talia went out to the street where her car was parked and entered Cedar’s grandma’s address into her GPs. She only lived a few streets away, but she lived up on the Port Jameson hill, where lots of shifter families lived, as the hill was covered in forest, and lead into the untamed wild woods that lead up north to Seattle.
It was said that at one time, a bear shifter could wander the woods from Portland straight up to Seattle, without leaving the shade of the trees, but those days were long past, although the human effects on the environment had stilled since the lumber companies had started replanting trees. The replanting was sustainable and brought more jobs into the area, which had revitalized the Port Jameson area.
Talia parked her car and checked her face in the car’s fold down mirror. A touch here, a primp there, and she was ready to go. She got out of the car and walked up the door. The quaint house was lit and looked busy. She rang the doorbell and waited.
Cedar opened the door. Talia almost didn’t recognize him: Cedar was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans with a dark green flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He almost could have passed for one of his company’s mill workers if he’d had more callused hands, a more barrel-chest physique, a scruffier five-o-clock shadow, and more distressed clothes. Even in casual wear, Cedar looked like a male model, and Talia suddenly felt slightly overdressed, in her fancy sweater, dress, and tights. Luckily, just like Cedar, she was wearing hiking boots. At least she’d gotten that right. “Talia! I’m so glad you could make it,” he said, leading her into the house. “I’m sorry this was so last-minute.”
“Well, it’s not every night there’s a moon watching ceremony,” said a woman’s voice. Talia followed Cedar to its source, a woman who was sitting in a rocking chair, with a blanket knitted in her hand.
“Grandma, this is Talia, the girl I was telling you about,” said Cedar. “Talia, this is my grandmother, Mildred Dixon. She’s my mother’s mother.”
“You can call me Grandma Dixon, dear,” said the woman, reaching out. That’s when Talia realized that the woman’s eyes were milky: she was blind. Talia reached out her hand and took the elderly woman’s hand into hers gently. The woman had a surprisingly strong grip. “You’re the girl from the yarn shop.”
“That’s right,” said Talia. “I see you’re already enjoying the gift Cedar got you. I hope it’s to your liking.”
“Well, I just hope I’m following the pattern,” said the woman with a laugh. “Tell me, dear, how is it?”
She looked at the knitting the woman was doing: she was using the new needles and the new yarn, and although the woman couldn’t see, the stitches on the blanket were very even. “It looks good,” said Talia.
“Dearie, if you haven’t noticed, I can’t exactly see...so if there’s something wrong, you need to let me know,” said the frail older woman. “I can feel with my fingers, but sometimes, I miss things I wouldn’t’ve back when my peepers were fully functioning.”
“May I?” asked Talia, and she took the needles carefully as Grandma Dixon passed them to her. Talia looked over the blanket, row by row, loop by loop...and she saw something that would have been hard for Talia to feel. “It looks like you dropped a stitch. Do you want me to fix that for you?”
“That’d be lovely, dear,” said Grandma Dixon.
Talia held the knitting carefully while she opened her bag and pulled out the jar of honey and passed it to Cedar’s grandma. “I brought you a present, Grandma Dixon.”
Grandma Dixon rolled the jar in her hands. “It’s a glass Mason jar...and there’s an oval label. Cotton fabric. And a grosgrain ribbon. This is a jar of Craston Bros. Honey, isn’t it?” asked Grandma Dixon, a small smile creeping over her face.
“That’s right,” said Talia, working on the dropped stitch.
Grandma Dixon held the jar out. “Cedar, be a dear, and open it. I want to see what kind of honey it is for myself.”
Cedar opened the jar and held it under his grandma’s nose. “I can smell it from here, so I know you can smell it too,” said Cedar.
“Sweet. Earthy...and yet, full of tannins that give it a sourness. It’s all suspended in sweetness. I would know that smell anywhere,” said Grandma Dixon. “That’s marionberry honey. Tell me, Cedar, have you ever had wild marionberry honey?”
“I can’t say I have,” admitted Cedar.
“Well, few people have,” said Grandma Dixon. “But your grandfather and I met one day in the woods because of marionberry honey. Shifters never go onto farm land and steal honey, you know that. But in the forest, any hive is fairy game...and your grandpa and I both had our eyes set on the same hive of sweet marionberry honey, pollinated by wild bees that had made their way over to the marionberry farms for the season. The Marion blackberry cultivar was still new when we were young, but marionberries were all the rage with humans and shifters, which is why we were both on the hunt for such a rare and delicious treat.”
“So who won?” asked Talia. “You or your future husband?”
“Well, wouldn’t you know it, he let me keep the hive as I’d seen it first...and my mother made me whip up a batch of delicious honeybuns and buy some marionberries for him,” said Grandma Dixon with a laugh. “And wouldn’t you know it: both Grandpa Dixon and I had the same mate mark. Of course, I can’t show it to you here, but...we both had an imprint of a blackberry on our chests, which is why we both loved blackberries so much, and why they remained special to me through my life.”
“Wow...that’s a really beautiful story,”
said Talia softly.
“Well, we can’t sit around here knitting and telling old stores for the rest of the evening, we’ve got a moon to watch!” said Grandma Dixon, getting up from the chair. Cedar reached for her and she tapped his hand away. “Cedar, I’ve lived in this house my whole life, I knew my way around it with my eyes shut and I do perfectly fine when you’re gone.”
Cedar followed after Grandma Dixon, to the large dining room full of people that were busy setting the table with a variety of scrumptious treats. Talia nearly gasped when she saw the dining room. While her aunts had kept her well-fed, they were usually busy with the store and cooked basic meals, so Talia had never seen such an amazing spread of food.
Chapter Three
The dining room was larger than the living room, with room for two people at each end of the table, for a total of four spots for heads of the table, perfect for a pair of parents (or grandparents, as the case may be) hosting a big event for the whole clan. The table was made of sturdy wood, handcrafted by one of the first Dixons to move to Port Jameson in the strong push west centuries ago, and the tablecloth was slightly worn, made of red and white check fabric.
Of course, the tablecloth’s tatteredness was irrelevant, as this was a bear shifter gathering, and the shifters were not exactly known for being the neatest of eaters, and everything they did, they did big. One could barely even see the tablecloth, as the table was covered in placements along each edge, and there were tons of dishes covering the table, many fresh out of the kitchen, filled with big shifter bodies bustling around, often knocking into one another.
At each end of the table, there was a wicker basket with a worn fabric interior. One side of the fabric was floral or patterned, whereas the other side had information about flour. Many of the old families still had flour sack fabric goods in their homes, as flour companies had, for a time, printed patterns on the inside of their sacks, to encourage sales. This was old time PNW thriftiness in the flesh.
