by Sable Sylvan
Sitting on the two queen beds in the room, they’d continued their conversation about her classes, and they had kicked off their shoes to let their feet breathe.
“You have big feet,” said Alice.
“You have small feet,” said the man, matter-of-factly.
“And your hands are big,” said Alice.
The man reached out towards Alice, and she met him halfway. He pushed his hand against hers, so their palms were touching and facing one another. His hands were much larger than hers, even though his manicured nails made his hands look small.
“You’re right, they are big,” said the man. “But I already knew that. I’m a lot bigger than you, you know.
“Bigger than this?” asked Alice, motioning to her body. She knew she had a whole lot of body and curves galore.
“But of course,” said the man. “I’m a bear. I’m bigger, taller, broader, stronger─”
“Stronger? I don’t know about that,” said Alice. “I am from the South and southern girls, well, we’re either fainting magnolias or we’re strong folk, and me, I’m folk. I’m no lady. Would a lady be wearing these ratty old sneakers?”
“Men don’t care about shoes…or about that perfume you’re wearing. More of a lady than anyone else at this party,” said the man. “A whole lot of lady.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Alice. “And I’ll have you know this is my roommate’s perfume.”
“It means you have curves on curves,” said the man. “That’s a good thing. Men like that, as well as a woman’s natural scent. They don’t care about shoes or perfume.”
“Really?” asked Alice. “You’re just saying that to be polite.”
“No, I’m just saying that because they’ve driven me wild since I first saw you across the room at this party, and I knew I had to have you,” said the man.
“So come get me,” said Alice.
That was all the bear shifter needed to hear…
* * *
Alice woke up with a start on Monday morning. What the heck was going on with her? The last thing she needed to be thinking about with a situation like this was a man, especially when Herbert was driving her nuts with both his relentless hunt of the hot sauce recipes and the games he played with her heart. She went downstairs, as going back to sleep at seven in the morning would mess up her sleep cycle, like one of those writers that stayed up to an ungodly hour putting the finishing touches on their novel.
Alice went downstairs and brewed some coffee. While the coffee pot was gurgling, she checked her laptop for messages. None of the distributors she’d contacted had wanted anything to do with her grandfather’s sauces yet. Quincy Hot Sauce had a storefront in Fallowedirt, with a kitchen in the back, and permits and licenses were accounted for. However, a storefront in Fallowedirt didn’t mean jack squat when the real estate prices were dirt low. She’d need to go over to the storefront that day, while her siblings were at their day jobs, so she could start working on her meat for the contest. Her siblings had been filled in on the situation with Herbert. Well, to be fair, they had been filled in on the situation regarding the hot sauce, not regarding her hot lust. She had to deal with that on her own.
Addison, who was two years younger than her, had had a summer job just like the rest of the siblings, but hers had started and ended early (while the other three’s had started later in the summer), so she had time to go to the shop with Alice. Once the siblings had all had breakfast, Addison and Alice were off to the hot sauce shop.
“You think that this place needs a new coat of paint?” asked Addison as she turned the lights on, revealing the yellowed but not peeling white paint.
“Yes, but I also think we’ve got more pressing matters to take care of,” said Alice. “Like, how we’re going to beat the Scoville Brothers in next week’s contest.”
“It’ll be easy,” said Addison. “Just use one of your old standbys. You could make hot fries and still win.”
“That kind of attitude is why you’ve gotta stay in school, Addy,” teased Alice. “But seriously, we can’t rest on our laurels. I don’t want to go to court over some frikkin’ hot sauce. If we win this contest, we don’t have to worry about these polar bears any longer. We can go back to living our lives.”
“You have to admit it’s at least a little bit exciting,” said Addison.
“Yes, but, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned exciting isn’t always good,” said Alice. “It can be dangerous.” She thought back to the night she’d had in New York City, about how exciting and fun it had been in the moment, and the heartache it had caused her for months afterward.
“So what dish are you thinking of making?” asked Alice.
“I know that whatever I make has to use the Special Sauce,” said Alice. “After all, that’s Grandpa’s signature sauce and the sauce that got us in this dang mess. I know I’ve got to make something with meat, of course. This is Texas, after all. I’m going with beef or pork.”
“Go with pork,” said Addison. “Trust me.”
“All right, pork it is, and I trust you, but, why?” asked Alice.
“Pork’s going to go a lot better with that sauce than beef,” said Addison. “You want the sauce to shine, not just the meat. The pork flavor won’t overpower the Special Sauce. That’s the jalapeño sauce, right?”
“Right,” said Alice. “Do you think it needs something else, though? What cut of pork is gonna work?”
“Pulled pork, in our slow cooker,” said Addison. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”
“Pulled pork would be perfect,” said Alice. “It’s a good meat to sauce ratio. It’s all about that volume to surface area ratio, you see. More sauce covering more meat is more better, as Grandpa always said. But how do we serve pulled pork to the judges? I don’t think a roll will do, but I have a crazy idea.”
“What is it?” asked Addison. “Better yet, don’t tell me. Surprise me with the first batch.”
“You got it, sis,” said Alice. “I’m gonna need to go to the store. Think you can handle the shop while I’m out?”
“Nuh-uh-uh,” said Addison. “You’re supposed to be managing things here. I’ll go to the store and leave you to work on the paperwork. Business is gonna be slow today anyway. No offense.”
“None taken, and tell me about it. I’ll text you what I need you to pick up, and don’t skimp on the quality,” said Alice, tossing Addison the keys as she moved to the back office to look at the rest of the gosh dang bills she was going to have to figure out how to pay…and quick. The inventory on the shelves was getting dusty, its shelf life quickly expiring, and if she couldn’t sell all those bottles, well, she was going to have to figure out how to unload that inventory and how to pay for the ingredients for more sauces. There was no frikkin’ way that she could afford a lawsuit. This cook-off would mean the difference between a delicious family legacy…and it ending before her story ever really even began.
Chapter Four
There was more to the dream. There was so much more.
The fox-masked man moved to her, reaching for her mask. Alice pushed his hand away.
“No,” said Alice. “We keep the masks on.”
“Whatever your heart desires,” said the man. He caressed her arm, tracing lines from her wrists up to her shoulders with the tips of his fingers. “How far do you want to take this?”
“All the way,” said Alice. “I need you.”
“Not as much as I need you,” said the man. He put Alice’s hand in his.
Alice was shocked by the texture of his hand. The human parts were manicured, soft, but the shifter parts were calloused and hard. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe he really did know what it took to complete a hard day’s work. Had he been a lumberman, swinging an ax against a tree in a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows? Had he been a fisherman, riding the seas just to catch his dinner? Or maybe he’d been a soldier, fighting for the freedom of the girls in his country the same way that American
soldiers fought for her liberties, including her right to pursue this man.
The man took her hand and moved it to the top of his pants. She felt the bulge. It was throbbing so hard and fast that it almost seemed to be vibrating.
“Can I…” started Alice, moving up to undo the man’s pants.
The man held her wrist firmly, not firmly enough to hurt her.
“I have some rules of my own,” said the man. “So, do you want to play my game?”
“That’s all I want to do,” said Alice.
“Obedient. Good,” said the bear shifter, and she swore that she could see his steely gray-blue eyes let out a light that reminded her of lighting striking through a storm. There was no way that his eyes had really flashed, right? It must’ve been a trick of the light. “I do love playing with new dolls.”
“Me, a doll?” said Alice. “Don’t be silly.”
“What, nobody’s ever told you that you look absolutely criminal in an evening gown?” said the man.
“You think I’ve worn a dress like this before?” asked Alice, turning away to hide her blushing cheeks. She couldn’t help but smile. It was obvious that this man knew how to flatter a woman. “If this was from my closet, then why would I be stuck wearing sneakers to a fancy party like this?”
“You think this is a fancy party?” asked the man.
“Well, isn’t it?” asked Alice.
“No. It’s not half as refined as any party that has earned your presence should be,” said the man, lifting her hand up to his mask. Alice heard his lips make a kissing sound, and for a second, she wished that she’d let him take off her mask.
The man kept a hold of Alice’s hand and made kissing motions up her arms, all the way up to her shoulders. When he reached her soft, curved shoulders, he put an arm around her and lowered her to the bed gently. He pressed his face against the front of her chest and kissed down her torso, which was still covered by the dress until he reached the space between her legs.
“Wait. I want you to make this a night I’ll remember forever,” said Alice. “Make it special, make it…kinky. Leave an impression.”
“An impression? Trust me, I can make an impression,” said the man in the fox mask…
* * *
Alice woke suddenly. She looked at her alarm. It was still seven. They didn’t have to be at the fairgrounds until ten, but she might as well get started cooking.
Alice headed downstairs to finish up the last of the work that had to be done for her dish and of course, she put on a pot of coffee.
Her sisters came down one by one and helped with various chores without needing to be asked to. Living together had been tough at the start of the summer, and they’d had their share of spats and squabbles, but no real fights. By now, they had gotten into a groove and were able to live together with minimal drama. Cayenne helped pack the car while Savina started a load of laundry. Abigail worked on cleaning up the bathrooms while Addison vacuumed the common spaces. All this allowed Alice to get the finishing touches on their entry completed.
The five Quincy Sisters got into the car and headed to the fairground to set up. There were many entrants in the various contests, with the hot sauce competition attracting people from all over the county. There were restaurant owners, other hot sauce companies, and people who were entering their own home brewed hot sauce. Bright Star County took their hot sauce seriously. There were two scores that the hot sauces would be awarded. First, there was a judge’s score. This was taken as an average of all the scores given by the judges for elements such as innovation and heat levels. Hotter wasn’t always better, and the Special Sauce was a mild sauce, so the fact that it wasn’t as hot as an habanero wouldn’t detract points. The second score was the community score. This was based on how many people voted for a given dish as their favorite, on a scale of one to five. A score of one was the lowest score, awarded to people who had the lowest number of people that liked their dish and sauce. A score of five was the highest score, awarded to the most popular dish and sauce. The scores were graded on a scale, mathematically, by some nerds with calculators.
Alice and the gals set up their table with pretty red and white checkered vinyl table clothes and platters of the dish that they’d made, along with little paper cups of hot sauce. Somebody had already hauled out a pair of folding tables and chairs to their assigned spot. That way, people could choose how much sauce they wanted to try. They’d also packed themselves some sandwiches for lunch and brought a large drink dispenser of another one of their family’s secret recipes, a decaf watermelon sweet tea mixed with lemonade that had been brewed that morning by Savina while she waited on the laundry They also filled two smaller containers with plain watermelon lemonade and plain watermelon tea for people that didn’t like to have it mixed together. Savina and Alice were struggling to lift up the keg when a familiar face appeared.
Alice crossed her arms. It was Herbert. Tall, handsome, and icy blond, as usual, he was wearing a heathered charcoal gray v-neck shirt and dark navy jeans that were nearly black, with designer sneakers. Europeans. Typical. Of course, he had a smile on his face. What the heck did he want now?
“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Herbert?” asked Alice.
“Hey, my brothers and I helped set your table up,” said Herbert, lifting up the dispenser with one arm as if it were nothing and setting it down gently on the table for drinks. “We Scovilles finish what we start.”
“And we Quincys don’t need help from some Scovilles,” said Alice. “We can handle this ourselves. We’re not damsels in distress. The only thing that’s in distress is your claim on our sauce.”
“And what dish did you make?” asked Herbert. “Vegetables?” He motioned to the platter.
“No, if you must know, I made jalapeño poppers,” said Alice.
“Jalapeño…poppers?” asked Herbert, genuinely confused.
“Wait, wait, wait, “ said Alice. “Are you seriously telling me that your ‘sophisticated’ self hasn’t been acquainted with jalapeño poppers?”
“Nope, never heard of them,” said Herbert.
“Well, welcome to Texas,” said Alice. “Jalapeño poppers have soft white cheese in them, and they’re breaded and deep-fried.”
“So you did make a vegetable dish,” said Herbert. “We Nordic bears need real food. We need meat, not plants.”
“They’re stuffed with pulled pork and wrapped with bacon, smartass,” said Alice. “The pulled pork was slow cooked in our Special Sauce. Y’know, the sauce you wanna steal. There is extra sauce in the cups, but that’s for people that can handle their heat.”
“Are you saying you don’t think I can handle the heat?” asked Herbert, leaning forward and down to whisper into Alice’s ears.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Alice whispered back.
“Stay right here,” said Herbert.
“I’m not going anywhere anyways,” said Alice.
Alice watched as Herbert walked off towards his table. She hadn’t noticed before because she was so busy setting up, but the Scovilles were only two tables away from her. The brothers Scoville were all wearing some combo of dark neutral v-neck shirt and designer jeans and sneakers. They were all staring at them, but not as some creepy robotic group. No, they were looking at her sisters the same way their eldest brother had been looking at her, and Alice knew what that meant. She knew exactly what they were thinking of.
“Can you believe those guys?” asked Alice. “I can’t believe they have the audacity to check us out like that.”
“I can,” said Savina. “After all, what man can resist the Quincy curves?” She shimmied a bit.
“Speaking of curves, I have something that’ll make our curves stand out,” said Cayenne. She opened her bag and pulled out a parcel and ripped it open. “I ordered these online once you told me what was going on, paid for priority shipping and everything.”
“What is it?” asked Alice.
“Aprons!” said Cayenne, passing
each of the gals an apron. “I thought it only fitting we rep The Quincy Hot Sauce Company today.”
“These are awesome,” said Alice, looking at her apron. The aprons were all large, black, with the words, ‘Quincy Hot Sauce Company’ in a circle around a flame. All printed elements were silver, and the first letter of each word had been covered in rhinestones. There were generous pockets in the front of the aprons as well.
Alice and the gals tied each other into their aprons just as Herbert returned. He was holding a tray of food.
“Here,” said Herbert. “For you.”
“What’s this?” asked Alice. “A peace offering?”
“No way,” said Herbert. “It’s a threat. I told you you’d know when I made a threat. This is the dish that’ll bring the sauce back to the Scovilles.”
“Okay, but what is it?” asked Alice. “It looks like Swedish meatballs.”
“Swedish meatballs? Swedish meatballs?” asked Herbert, genuinely offended. “This is kjøttkaker. Swedish meatballs wishes it was kjøttkaker.”
“And what does kjøttkaker mean?” asked Alice.
“Okay, to be fair, it does mean meatballs,” said Herbert. “Try it. They’re made with ground beef. You Americans do have phenomenal beef. The sauce, like your grandfather’s, is from a secret Scoville family recipe.”
Alice took one of the paper trays. There was a bed of mashed potatoes with four large meatballs, and a plastic fork. She used the fork to open the meatballs. They had been cooked perfectly. Darn. She put the meat in her mouth. It was succulent and juicy and salty but also savory and somewhat sweet. Of course, they packed heat.
Alice took another mouthful. What was the spice? She tasted something astringent, sour, that reminded her of the holidays. It was as if she had been transported to Oslo in the winter. There was something else there, something sweet, that reminded her of her mother’s summer garden. It was spicy as well. She looked at the meatballs. There weren’t any bits of herbs sticking out. The meat must’ve been marinated in a sauce because the flavor was consistent through the meat. She took a final bite and then, realized what she had been tasting.
