by Sable Sylvan
“I actually moved because I never had any luck with shifter guys back in Texas,” admitted Jennifer. “I believe in Fate…and I believe in listening when Fate’s talking. She was practically yelling at me to move the heck on.”
“And now you have — literally ‘moved’ too,” said Patricia. “Oh, Jennifer — that’s the other thing. Your forms, they say your surname is Drury, and they say you live on Drury Lane. Was that a mistake?”
“Nope,” said Jennifer. “To tell you the truth, when I was looking for rentals, and I saw one was on Drury Lane…well, I thought that must be a sign I was fated to move to Port Jameson. It’s real different here, though. More shifters out on the street, walking around.”
“So, you met Terrence and Rufus,” said Patricia with a chuckle.
“You know them?” asked Jennifer.
“Not much happens ‘round here that I don’t catch — except the stuff I don’t catch,” joked Patricia. “Rufus works up there, with Terrence. Terrence is his newest worker.” Patricia motioned up toward the mountains. Jennifer turned and looked where Patricia was pointing.
“What do they do up there?” asked Jennifer.
“You really have no clue?” asked Patricia. “What was Terrence wearing this morning?”
“Flannel,” said Jennifer. “Doesn’t everyone in the PNW wear flannel?”
“Okay — yes, but, Terrence is the real deal,” said Patricia. “He runs Hemlock Crew, a lumber crew.”
“And he’s your boyfriend?” asked Jennifer.
“Me? And Terrence?” asked Patricia. “Ha! No way! Just friends. We’ve known each other for years. His crew…well, they aren’t very popular in town.”
“Why not?” asked Jennifer. “You’d think they’d support a local business, given Hemlock supports businesses like this bakery.”
“That’s the thing,” said Patricia. “Hemlock Crew, well…they’ve got a reputation. They’re prissy rich boys. At least, to most. But…just like a bear shifter running around in his shift, there’s sometimes more to the story than you expect.”
“Interesting metaphor,” said Jennifer. “You know, I ran into a bear today — in his shift.”
“Oh, I know,” said Patricia, raising an eyebrow. “Showed him some, uh, Texas hospitality?”
“I frikkin’ knew that would come back around to bite me in the cupcakes,” said Jennifer, shaking her head.
“Would you mind working the counter for a bit?” asked Patricia. “Business is slow this early in the morning, and our usual front counter worker caught a cold.”
“Sure thing,” said Jennifer. “Can I do it in my apron, so I can grab the muffins when they’re ready to come out of the oven?”
“Of course,” said Patricia. “We are not a fancy-schmancy bakery. We make good baked goods. That’s it. That’s the deal. We’re not ponies in a showroom.”
“Then I better get to it,” said Jennifer. “I have a feeling I’m going to like this bakery — and Port Jameson.”
“Go, go,” said Patricia, shooing away Jennifer.
Jennifer went back inside, grabbed an apron, put her muffins into the oven, and went to the front counter. Nobody was there. She dipped back into the kitchen, started another batch of batter, and then, heard a ding at the counter.
And then another. And another.
“Coming!” called Jennifer.
The dinging continued. She sighed. She was sure there was some exasperated mom out there, with a kid who just loved shiny objects.
Well, she was right on one of those counts.
Except the kid was a fully-grown adult male in a flannel shirt, and Patricia had just told Jennifer that the flannel shirt meant this guy was probably a lumberjack.
“I said I was coming,” said Jennifer, forcing herself to smile.
“Sorry,” said the man sheepishly. “I just love these things.” He dinged the bell again. And then one last time.
Jennifer raised a brow.
“Did you want to buy something?” asked Jennifer.
“Yeah,” said the man. “I was wondering if you had any corn muffins available.”
Jennifer crouched down and looked in the display cabinet. Corn muffins were the one kind of muffin they did not have in stock.
“Not yet,” said Jennifer. “I just tossed a fresh batch into the oven. They’ll be out in fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“I’d wait, but…I gotta run,” said the man. “Okay. Uh…can I get the cranberry bran muffins? A dozen of them?”
“Absolutely,” said Jennifer. “Give me one second.”
Jennifer went to Patricia’s office and popped her head in.
“Hey — do we do baker’s dozens here, or regular dozens?” asked Jennifer.
“Baker’s dozens,” answered Patricia. “We give them thirteen, but we charge for twelve. This applies to anything ordered by the dozen, or in dozens — even stuff like cakes or turnovers. Oh, and we do by the dozen discounts. The discounts are listed in the system and on the cards in the counter. Those policies are standard across the Bear Claw Bakeries — one of the few things I don’t think the CEO needs to change!”
Jennifer headed back out and grabbed a pastry box. She managed to fit thirteen muffins into the box. Given thirteen is a prime number, it was hard to jam thirteen muffins into a box evenly, but she did her best.
“There you go,” said Jennifer. “After the dozen discount, your total comes to…twelve dollars.”
“Thanks,” said the man, grabbing a wad of bills that were dirtier and greasier than a duck’s beak in an oil spill and putting it on the counter. “You new in town?”
“You can say that,” said Jennifer. “Whoa, sir. You need to straighten those bills out.”
“Sorry, of course, Jennifer,” said the man.
“How do you know my name?” asked Jennifer.
The man pointed at her boobs. Jennifer looked down and realized she had on a nametag.
“Right,” said Jennifer.
“I’m Jevon,” said the man, counting out fourteen bills. “Jevon Cain.”
“And let me guess — you’re a lumberjack?” asked Jennifer.
“That’s right,” said Jevon. “The flannel gave it away? Or was it the machine grease on the cash?”
“A little column A, a little column B,” said Jennifer with a chuckle. “You’re in Hemlock Crew?”
Jovial Jevon became stony and silent.
“What?” asked Jennifer.
“You’re new in town,” said Jevon. “I wouldn’t expect you to know…but, you should stay away from Hemlock Crew and the Hemlock Lodge. I’m working at Camp Grizzlyfir, for Grizzlyfir Crew, and, uh, we don’t have much in common with Hemlock Crew, ‘cept for the tree chopping and such. You should come by sometime, see how real lumberjacks party.”
Jevon passed Jennifer twelve bucks and put two dollars in the tip jar. That’s when Jennifer noticed the marks on his hand — the paw marks of a bear. There were two bear shifter lumber crews in Port Jameson, and they had beef? Apparently, Port Jameson was much different than Fallowedirt.
“Well, sorry to hear you folks have a spat. Will that be all?” asked Jennifer, passing Jevon his receipt.
“Can I…get your number so I can ring you up sometime?” asked Jevon. “Otherwise, I’ll have to ring this bell instead.” Jevon tapped the silver bell yet again.
“You know, until you dinged it again, I was actually thinking of saying yes,” said Jennifer. “Bye, Jevon.”
Jevon saluted Jennifer and headed out with his order, jingling one last set of bells — the bells tied to the front door.
Patricia popped her head out of her office.
“You good?” asked Patricia.
“Yeah,” said Jennifer.
“If that guy’s hassling you, I can call his boss,” said Patricia.
“I handled it,” said Jennifer. “Was I too harsh?”
“Heck no,” said Patricia with a laugh. “Like I said before — We make good baked goods. That’s
it. That’s the deal. We’re not ponies in a showroom.”
“Well, that phrase doesn’t say a dang thing about bears or lumberjacks,” said Jennifer.
Chapter Two
“So, what do you think?” asked Jennifer, as Patricia took bites of her muffins. Jennifer had gotten to Bear Claw Bakery earlier than usual to whip up three quick batches of muffins. “Honestly…they’re tasty, but, there’s just something missing,” said Patricia. “I know there are only so many ways to make a muffin, but…”
“No, you’re right,’ said Jennifer with a sigh. “We need something special — not something that tastes like it was made en masse in a factory. These are good. They just aren’t great. Over the last week, I came up with three different muffin recipes by changing the ingredient ratios of the standard Bear Claw Bakery muffin base recipe.”
“Well, maybe that recipe shouldn’t be a part of the equation,” said Patricia. “But, no matter what you do…”
“…I need to handle the issue with the gooiness,” finished Jennifer, pushing her fork over the halved muffin on her plate. “I know. These marionberries are much bigger and juicier than regular blackberries. They’re all sinking to the bottom of the muffins…and their juices make the cakey bits all soggy. I’m still not used to working with them.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make the perfect muffin,” said Patricia. “The Port Jameson Bake-Off is in five weeks.”
The familiar sound of the silver bell at the counter of Bear Claw Bakery rang. “Should I go handle that?” asked Jennifer.
“Thanks for being a dear,” said Patricia, as Jennifer headed off. Patricia took another bite of the muffin. It wasn’t bad — but she was sure Jennifer would manage to make a better muffin.
Jennifer went inside the bakery via the employee entrance, took off her jacket, put on her apron, and went to the front counter, where a man in a flannel shirt, with brilliant green eyes and hair that was so dark brown it was nearly black, was waiting and checking his watch. Jennifer rolled her eyes. She had barely taken two minutes to get to the counter!
“Good morning, and welcome to Bear Claw Bakery,’’ said Jennifer. “How can I help you?”
The man looked up from his watch and looked over the woman manning the counter. She was thicker than an oatmeal raisin cookie, but her raised eyebrow made her look more sinful than a triple chocolate brownie. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been more warm and comforting than a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. She was a multifaceted woman, a complex, layered baklava in a world of store-bought cookies. Her thick curves looked like they’d melt in his mouth like icing on a sugar cookie. Just like sugar cookies, they were perfect for every dang season.
“I…uh…was sent to get muffins,” said the man.
“Great,” said Jennifer. “And…what kind of muffins were you sent to get?”
“I…forgot,” admitted the man.
Patricia came to the front counter.
“Rufus? Is that you?” asked Patricia.
Jennifer’s eyes went wide, and her cheeks reddened. That guy was Rufus? She’d accidentally made him motorboat her boobs the other day! No wonder he couldn’t keep it together around her. If she’d gotten all up-close-and-personal with him, while she was in an animal form — maybe that of a fat house cat — and he’d held her up to his firm, broad pecs…well, she was sure she’d have a problem forming sentences too.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Rufus.
“What did I tell all y’all up the mountain about calling me ma’am?” said Patricia before tut-tutting. “Now, let me guess — Terrence sent you down for muffins but didn’t tell you what kind.”
“That’s, uh, right, ma’ — I mean, Patricia,” said Rufus.
“Alright, now, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but, Terrence is trying to teach you a lesson,” said Patricia, leaning over the counter.
“And what lesson would that be?” asked Jennifer, genuinely confused.
“Being observant, problem-solving, asking for help,” said Patricia. “First of all — you learned you can just ask people for help. You don’t gotta handle it alone. That’s part of problem-solving — and the last part of this lesson has to do with being observant. Now. What kind of muffins do you need, Rufus?”
“I still have no clue,” said Rufus with a frown.
“Here’s a hint — what kind of muffins have you had every dang day for breakfast since your daddy sent you to Hemlock Crew?” asked Patricia.
“Blackberry muffins,” admitted Rufus.
“Don’t you mean marionberry muffins?” asked Jennifer.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Rufus, shaking his head. “So…Terrence was trying to make sure that I was paying attention so I wouldn’t have to…”
“…Ask silly questions, to him or to us,” said Patricia with a laugh. “Terrence’s usual order is three dozen marionberry muffins. He has a running tab so just print the receipt and put it in the folder for the Hemlock Crew. It’s next to the folder for Camp Grizzlyfir. Now, Rufus, you send that boss of yours my best.”
“Will do, ma — I mean, Patty,” said Rufus.
“Hey — it’s Patricia,” said Patricia. “Not Patty.”
“Got it, Patricia,” said Rufus.
Patricia went back to her office. Jennifer started to fill the pastry boxes with the marionberry muffins baked by the other bakers who weren’t assigned to the Port Jameson Bake-Off project.
“So, you’re new in town,” said Rufus, leaning on the granite counter and peering back at Jennifer, who was bent over, putting the muffins into the box.
“Yeah — but my ‘daddy’ didn’t send me here,” said Jennifer. She peeked out and saw Rufus’ cheeks had turned bright red.
“So, Rufus — why did your ‘daddy’ send you to Port Jameson?” asked Jennifer.
“He wanted me to work for Hemlock Crew,” said Rufus. “He did it, at my age. He says it builds discipline.”
“So, it’s not about money?” asked Jennifer.
Rufus chuckled. “Wait — you’re serious?”
“Well, most lumberjacks do it for money, don’t they?” asked Jennifer.
“Hemlock Crew is…different,” said Rufus. “We’re from all over, and our fathers send us to the crew to get our shift together.”
“Your ‘shift’ together?” asked Jennifer, finishing up boxing the second box of muffins.
“Yeah — because we’re all bear shifters,” said Rufus. “I’m surprised you forgot that.”
It was Jennifer’s turn to blush. “Nobody’s planning on letting me forget, are they? No wonder Hemlock Crew has a reputation.”
“You should swing by Hemlock Crew and check it out for yourself. We’re not as bad as everyone says,” said Rufus.
“And what does everyone say?” asked Jennifer.
“That it’s a gulag for spoiled rich boys to become spoiled rich men,” admitted Rufus.
“And are they wrong?” asked Jennifer.
“Do you really think I’ll answer that honestly?” asked Rufus. “I like you, Jennifer. You’re sassy. Would you want to go out sometime?”
“Yeah,” said Jennifer, standing up, three pastry boxes in hand.
“Really?” asked Rufus.
“Of course not, Rufus,” said Jennifer. “After all…do you really think I’ll answer that honestly?” Jennifer raised a brow.
“Give a guy a chance!” begged Rufus.
“I hardly know you,” said Jennifer.
“Yet we already got to second base,” said Rufus with a wink. “All that talk of daddies has me thinking you want a daddy. No – that you need a daddy.”
“Goodbye, Rufus,” said Jennifer, cheeks turning red as she headed back into the kitchen because there was no denying that what Rufus had said was technically true.
Chapter Three
Jennifer pulled the muffins out of the oven and when they were cooled, took them out of the tins. The bottoms of the muffins came clean off. The wetness of the big marionber
ries had caused the bottoms of the muffins to turn into a soggy mess.
“Great,” said Jennifer, holding up the top half of the muffin. “That’s just great.”
“That actually doesn’t look great,” said Patricia. “Those look frikkin’ terrible.”
“I know,” said Jennifer. “I’ve tried frikkin’ everything, Patricia. I got these berries fresh this morning.”
“How fresh?” asked Patricia, walking over to Jennifer’s station in the bakery’s kitchen.
“As soon as they were put out by the stockist at the grocer,” insisted Jennifer.
“Well, you know…berries you buy in the store, they aren’t exactly as fresh as you can get them,” said Patricia.
“Do you recommend any local farms?” asked Jennifer.
“Yeah,” said Patricia. “Follow me. I’ll go print you a map.”
Jennifer followed Patricia to her office and saw there was a customer at the counter. Jennifer changed course and went to the counter to serve the patron while Patricia went to tip-tap at her computer.
“Good morning,” said Jennifer cheerily — although it had not been the best of mornings for her. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, I’ll just have a bear claw,” said the woman at the counter. “They’re my husband’s favorite. I want to surprise him at work.”
“Isn’t that just the sweetest thing?” asked Jennifer. She bagged up not one, but two bear claws, and gave them to the woman at the counter.
“Oh, but I only have enough money to pay for one,” said the woman, taking three dollars out of her wallet.
“The other one is on the house,” said Jennifer with a wink. “After all — you can’t let your husband eat that pastry all by himself, can you?”
