by Sable Sylvan
There were big, thick cobwebs on the front of the brand new booth. Pepper was no Miss Muffet. She wasn’t the kinda gal that sat on her tuffet, and she wasn’t afraid of any spiders. But, cobwebs, on the booth? That was just her luck!
Pepper walked up to the booth. There were no spiders. She touched the cobwebs. They were made of some artificial fiber. Of course, it wasn’t real. It was a prank — probably from some teens.
She walked up to the deck. Somebody had put a scarecrow up on the deck, one with a fake pumpkin for a head. Real original. Oliver was working nearby.
“Hey, Oliver,” said Pepper. “Peter didn’t get in yet?”
“Nope — guess he’s off picking a peck of pickled peppers or something,” said Oliver.
“Well, what he’s gotta start picking is pumpkins,” said Pepper. “We need some for the display case.” Pepper made herself a coffee and made Oliver his coffee how he liked it.
She looked up at the scarecrow and jokingly asked, “Want some?”
Pepper laughed to herself and sipped her coffee. “You know, we’re going to have to pick up all the trash.”
“What trash?” asked Oliver.
“All the goofy Halloween shizz that some teens left around the patch,” said Pepper, waving around. There were all kinds of Halloween decorations put up, like purple, orange, and green streamers reading, ‘Boo!’
“How’re you sure it was teens?” asked Oliver.
“Because it looks like a party store threw up in here,” said Pepper. “I have to admit, I’m pretty impressed with the scarecrow.”
Pepper looked at the scarecrow. She could’ve sworn it had moved. That was silly. It must’ve just been because it seemed pretty realistic. It would scare her away if she were a crow.
Well, Pepper wasn’t a crow.
She wasn’t even a crow shifter.
She was a curvy gal who nearly dropped her cup when the scarecrow lunged at her
“Ahh!” shouted Pepper, nearly falling off the bench, but the scarecrow caught her. “No! Help, Oliver!”
Oliver was laughing while the scarecrow helped Pepper up. “Peter…take off…take off the mask.”
“Peter?” asked Pepper. “Of course it’s frikkin’ Peter. Of course! You two are the worst.”
Peter took the fake pumpkin off his head. “It was getting hot in there — nearly as hot as you.”
“Oh, don’t think you can win my forgiveness with flattery,” said Pepper. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Okay, but — it was kinda funny,” said Oliver.
“It wasn’t!” said Pepper.
“Okay — but…it was kinda funny,” said Peter. “We were surprised you lasted so long! We put all the goofy decor and up to put a smile on your face. We took it a little far, but…”
“…It was kinda funny,” finished Oliver.
“You guys!” squealed Pepper.
“Two against one, democracy wins again,” said Oliver. “Now, if you two are done messing around, we gotta stop pretending the patch is haunted and actually get to work.”
“Easy for you two to say, given you’re the frikkin’ reasons the town thinks this place is haunted!” said Pepper.
“Sorry — we know it’s bad for business,” said Oliver shyly. “But hey — at least we get a good story out of it.”
“Well, it is bad for business, and — ” started Pepper, but then, something in her head clicked. Maybe it was because she was in a contrarian mood and Oliver had agreed the haunting was bad for business, so she decided she had to counter him. Maybe it was because she’d just been scared.
“And what?” asked Peter.
“Come with me,” said Pepper. “Peter — put that mask on.”
“Why?” asked Peter.
“No time to explain, and after the scare you two just gave me, I think you owe it to me to just do as I frikkin’ say!” said Pepper. “Come on!”
Peter put the mask back on, and Oliver and Peter followed Pepper all the way to Patricia’s office. Pepper knocked and positioned Peter to be in front of the doorway.
Patricia let out a squeak when she saw Peter in his scary costume. Oliver took off Peter’s mask.
“You three nearly scared me to death!” scolded Patricia.
“Exactly — and because it’s Halloween season, we need to lean into the fact people think the pumpkin patch is haunted,” said Pepper. “We’ve been trying to get people to stop spreading the rumor, and it’s only made it seem more true. We look guilty by being defensive. What we should do is use it as a marketing tool — the same way we use the fact this is a teenage hangout spot as a marketing tool, rather than get annoyed that it keeps away folks that don’t like teens.”
“So what do you think we should do?” asked Patricia.
“We do a hay bale maze, and if you make it through, you get a free pie,” said Pepper. “If you don’t make it through, you still get pie — just a slice.”
“A hay bale maze?” asked Patricia. “Is there going to be room?”
“What we can do is clear out a certain part of the patch by picking those pumpkins and sending them out and using them first,” explained Pepper. “We have room for a small hay bale maze, so we just need to make it super scary.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” asked Patricia.
“Well…I know Hemlock Crew has a bunch of vampire costumes, and if Grizzlyfir is willing to pitch in some bears, we can make that maze super spooky,” said Pepper. “We’re just going to need to find a connection for the hay bales, and see if we can afford it as a marketing expense. The maze should be free, to attract people to the patch. Once they’re there, we can sell cider and such.”
“Okay — so we should make this an after-hours thing for the older kids and adults, but also, do a lighter, less scary version for the younger kids,” said Patricia, wheels turning in her head. “After all, the little ones need to get in on the fun — and parents love to buy sugary stuff for their kids. Well, kids love the sugary stuff, and parents buy them whatever they want.”
“We’re going to need to assign more people to the patch, and we’re going to need to work out deals with a farmer for the bales, and the crews for the monsters and labor to put up the maze,” said Pepper. “We’re also going to need to promote this event. I suggest we start with the paper, community center, and the local schools, with different campaigns for the daytime patch and the nighttime patch.”
“And we’re going to need to bake up a storm — but I think we can make a ton of money,” said Patricia. “I’ll run this by Jasper.”
“Do you want me to sell this to Darius?” asked Oliver.
“Or have me mention it to Terrence?” asked Peter.
“That’d be great, because you two have been their eyes on the ground, but I’ll also keep them in the loop,” explained Patricia. “I really think you’ve got something here, Pepper. People need a reason to make the hike to this location instead of getting our stuff at the Main Street location. The patch will be a great draw. Let’s all get back to work.”
Peter and Oliver nodded.
“Pepper? Do you mind hanging back?” asked Patricia.
“Sure,” said Pepper, staying behind as the bears headed to the back of the bakery. As they were friends of the bakery, they were always welcome to the seconds and broken pastries that wouldn’t get sold to the public.
“I wanted to say you seem really, really happy with those bears,” said Patricia.
“I never thought I’d be into ménages,” said Pepper.
“Well, you look so happy with two bears that I have half a mind to find two bears of my own!” joked Patricia.
“Why not date Darius and Terrence?” asked Pepper.
“No way! There are so many problems with that sentence that I’d need to write an eight-book series of novellas to address why that could never, ever work — in extensive detail,” added Patricia.
“Message received, loud and clear,” said Pepper.
&
nbsp; “By the way — how’s the recipe coming?” asked Patricia.
“I haven’t submitted it yet,” said Pepper.
“Yeah. I noticed,” sassed Patricia. “Look, Pepper. I like your pies. They’ve all been great. But…unless you submit a recipe, I cannot put it in the recipe book, and I cannot have the other bakers make it. They won’t be able to make it, without the recipe. You feel me?”
“Yeah, I get it,” said Pepper.
“Okay, well…what you don’t get is this,” said Patricia. “I haven’t shared this with you, but…what I’m going to tell you will either make you way too nervous to submit your recipe or, it’ll give you the kick in the plus-size pants that you need to just print this recipe out and give it to me — hard.”
“What is it?” asked Pepper.
“Jasper Dixon, my boss, the owner of the entire Bear Claw Bakery franchise, is going to the pumpkin patch for Halloween,” said Patricia.
“Jasper Dixon? He’s a frikkin’ billionaire! Why would he go to our podunk pumpkin patch on Halloween? He could fly to frikkin’ Transylvania! Or go to Paris and have a rave in the catacombs!” exclaimed Pepper.
“Jasper Dixon ain’t that kinda billionaire,” said Patricia. “He does all kinds of stuff in town. He works with the original Bear Claw Bakeries — this location, and the smaller one on Main Street, and the ones in Seattle and Portland — to develop new products.”
“Would he really like this pie?” asked Pepper.
“Why wouldn’t he?” asked Patricia.
“It’s an intensive and expensive pie to make,” said Pepper. “I don’t think he’ll approve of it.”
“You can’t find out if he wants to go wide with the pie unless you let me submit the recipe,” said Patricia. “It could even go in the Bear Claw Bakery cookbook!”
“There’s no way,” said Pepper.
“Look — you cannot win if you do not play, and you don’t have to approve me submitting it to Jasper. I’ll respect your decision to keep it a private recipe — well, as private as it can be. But…I do need you to at least submit the pie recipe to me so we can make it here,” said Patricia. “You got it?”
“I got it,” said Pepper. “I’ll get it in. Trust me. I just need a few more days.”
“Alright — but you’re cutting it close,” warned Patricia.
Chapter Eleven
“I don’t know if I can do it,” said Pepper. “I’m not ready.” Her heart was beating while her stomach was churning. A storm was brewing inside her, a storm she could not contain and could not calm on her own. That’s why she had them there — her two alpha males, dominant men who got what they wanted.
“Oh, you’re ready,” growled Oliver. “We’ve all been waiting for this. Hell, half the town’s been talking about it. Rumors are spreading. People know what’s going to happen.”
“Do what you’re meant to do, made to do,” ordered Peter. “Such a divine treat…just begging to be savored, tasted, loved in a special way.”
“But…what if I’m not ready?” asked Pepper nervously.
“Submit,” ordered Peter, running his hands through Pepper’s hands, embracing her fingers with his own as his touch ran like rivers between the canyons of her digits. “Share your sweetness.”
“I don’t want to,” whined Pepper, looking up at Peter and biting her lower lip. “Does that make me bad?”
Oliver leaned down to whisper into Pepper. “Oh, yes. That makes you bad — very, very bad. You’re ready, Pepper, and right now…you’re just playing games, with us, and with yourself. You need to submit, and you know it.”
“And I need to be good, huh,” said Pepper. It wasn’t a question. It was an acquiescence. She knew that she had to do it — she had to submit.
“You can’t win if you don’t submit,” said Peter.
“Plus…you’ll feel so, so, so much better if you just submit,” said Oliver. “Just do it, Pepper. Just let it go and let yourself go. Let go over your stress. Let go over your inhibitions and just submit.”
“I’m scared,” said Pepper.
“What’s the worst that could happen to you?” asked Peter. “We’re here for you.”
“You’re going to love submitting,” said Oliver. “You’re going to feel so, so good. So relieved. It’s the only way you can get closure — completion.”
“And it’ll make you feel so, so wonderful,” Peter whispered into Pepper’s other ear, his hot breath blowing aside her hair, pushing it to the nape of her neck. “It’s so easy. So simple. All you have to do to submit…is sign this paper.”
“But there’s no going back,” said Pepper.
Oliver’s hand took something long, about as wide as a soda can, and he slid his hand along its length, readying it for Pepper. He needed to see her mouth on it, kissing it, massaging it with her tongue. It was her job. She had to do it. It was more a favor to her than to him. After all, it’d help her get where she needed to go a whole lot faster if she got things started by using her mouth. She’d make it perfectly slick and ready for when certain things had to be slid into certain other things.
Oliver put it in front of Pepper and watched as her eyes widened. She’d seen it before. She’d seen it just minutes ago. Still, she was looking at it as if she was looking at it for the first time.
“You think it’ll fit?” asked Pepper.
“Well, we’ll have to try,” said Peter. “I wanna see it slide in. We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, Pepper. Share it with us — both of us.”
“But what if it doesn’t fit?” asked Pepper. “I’m afraid something might rip…”
“So?” asked Oliver. “Don’t you like living dangerously?” Oliver ran his other hand down Pepper’s rounded shoulders. Pepper’s arms goosebumped as she felt Oliver’s rough hands against her soft skin. It was hard to tell where his rough lumberjack calluses ended and his firm bear paw marks began. He contained multitudes. He wasn’t half-human, half-animal. He was all man, all shifter — all lumberjack, all bear.
“You can always come back and change this silly paper,” said Peter. “But…you can’t start until you’ve signed that dotted line.” Peter took Pepper’s hand in his and clicked the pen that was in Pepper’s hand. He guided her hand over to the start of the line, like a ghost moving a planchette at a seance.
Peter used his other hand to hold something else, something he was dying to see Pepper lick. He’d waited so long to see her press it against her tongue, and she knew she’d love it even more than he did. She just had to give it a chance.
Pepper signed the dotted line at the bottom of the paper and closed her eyes. There was a sense of finality. She’d waited so long to make her decision, weighing the pros and cons, and although Peter had led her hand there…he moved his hand away when it came time to press ink to paper. The ink’s red scratching marks were like claw marks against her back.
“I’m ready,” said Pepper.
With two strong, handsome, muscular werebears, she knew nothing could put her in harm’s way — even if her heart was beating as if she were on the run from a frikkin’ tiger. Peter and Oliver were two big, thick lumberjacks who could split her legs open like a log and nail her harder than a two-by-four. They had promised to show her the time of her life if she just submitted.
Well, she had both a stick and a carrot. Her nervous body was the stick. Their bodies were the carrot.
If she wasn’t ready to submit with them, then she’d never be ready.
Peter held the thing he was holding in his hands out, in front of Pepper. Seeing it just made things so much more…real. She stuck out her tongue and ran her moistness along its length.
“Did I do good?” asked Pepper, licking her lips and tasting its odd flavor on her mouth.
“Very good,” said Peter. “Now. Stuff it in.”
Pepper took what had to be stuffed and slid it in. It barely fit. It was pushing against the sides of the sleeve. Then, there was a wet seal, and it was done.
&nb
sp; “Ooh!” moaned Pepper. “It’s so tight.”
“It’s thick,” said Oliver. “It’s juicy. Just like you. Now. Lick.” Oliver held out what he’d been holding, and Pepper pressed the tip of her tongue against it, swirled it for a second. Then, she took what Oliver was holding and pressed it against what Peter was holding.
“That’s it,” said Pepper. “I guess it’s time to slide it in.” The strange flavor still lingered on her tongue. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but she would forever associate it with a sense of accomplishment.
Pepper walked the envelope over to Patricia’s box and stuffed it in. It was finally done. She’d finalized the recipe, put it in the envelope, stuck a stamp on it, and now, it was in Patricia’s hands. Well, it would be in Patricia’s hands, once she read the recipe.
“Do you think she’ll approve the recipe?” asked Pepper.
“Of course she will,” said Peter. “You’ve worked on your quadruple gingerbread pumpkin pie for over a month now. Every version’s been better than the last…but if you wait any longer to submit the recipe, the other bakers won’t have enough time to learn the recipe for the Halloween season. Patricia won’t have time to order the right ingredients or prepare the caramel and gingerbread sauce packets, or ad materials. Leave your submission in her mailbox and just leave it. Trust Patricia to make the right decision.”
“But what if she makes it wrong?” asked Pepper. “She has to make each recipe from scratch herself before she approves it — to make sure the recipe is easy enough for other bakers to follow, to make sure it’s clear. She’ll follow it to a T, even if there’s a typo — like a tablespoon of salt instead of a teaspoon.”
“Your recipe was thick, so thick, so cohesive, it barely fit in the envelope!” said Peter. “You covered everything from oven-preheating to what sauce design you want swirled on the top of the pies. There’s no way she can mess it up.”
“Don’t you feel better now that you’ve submitted?” asked Peter. “Don’t you feel relieved?”
“Yeah — but knowing the whole town wants to try this pie…it does make me kinda nervous,” admitted Pepper. “Thanks for helping me out with the envelope and stamps and such.”
