Page 8 of Forget Me Not (The Shifters of Timberfall #1)

Bastien

Three weeks slithered by. Bastien took every opportunity to run over to The Glass, always searching for hazel eyes.

He couldn’t place it, but as soon as their eyes met, he recognized her— knew her from somewhere.

The feeling was infectious, and it was starting to take over.

Every time he would drag himself back to Hal’s, coffee in one hand, sandwiches in the other, he looked like a walking storm cloud.

Why couldn’t he shake her from his head?

Those melancholic, doe eyes had rooted themselves somewhere deep.

Every night, he tucked himself away in the mausoleum, losing himself to fictional worlds until the creaky iron gate sang him home.

What began with two hesitant steps one night quickly escalated to twelve the next, until Bas stood close enough that when the doe laid her head on the granite, he could reach out his nose and nudge her rear leg—if he wanted to.

She watched him now. Ever since that first night she saw him, she always looked for him.

She would wait, eyes tracking him as he settled nearby, and once he was still, she’d return her gaze to the stone and ignore him completely for the rest of the night.

With spring approaching, Delanira had started pestering Bastien to take her to Bozeman to go dress shopping, for both prom and graduation.

When he offhandedly suggested she wear the same dress to both events, she’d shrieked, accusing him of “wanting her to die from social ridicule.”

Soriah, on the other hand, had expertly dodged the subject altogether by simply saying, “We still have time before we have to think about that,” before walking away.

Even with the change of season approaching, the mountain air was brisk and the ground still covered with patches of snow.

Bas cursed the slick ground as he penguin-shuffled down the alley toward the butcher shop’s back door.

He had already caught a patch of black ice once when he was running late.

The resulting bruise had taken the better part of a month to heal and he was in no rush for a repeat.

Stacks of empty crates lined the walls of the back room.

They had received a truck load of carcasses from Hal’s supplier, Doug, two weeks prior and now it was time to get everything cut and stored.

It was Hal’s standard to let the meat hang for fourteen days before doing anything with it, which meant today was processing day and that was Bastien’s favorite.

He enjoyed having something more challenging than counting change and arguing about why a tri-tip cost more than a chuck-roast. After four years he also considered himself to be decently skilled with a knife and enjoyed the chance to put the skill to use.

“Mornin’, son!” Hal grunted as he fought to get the cooler door propped open. “This blasted door—you mind snaggin’ that other one?” Bas gave a quick nod before jogging across the wide hallway to open the cooler directly opposite his boss.

Hal was very proud of his rail system, saying it was the best investment he ever made.

Tracks started at the bay door, where Doug would stop his cooler trailer, then they ran down the hall to the hanging room, where the meat would age.

The track continued back out across the hall to the processing room (that Hal insisted on calling The Carving Room), and then cut straight back out and down the hall to complete the loop.

A carcass would be pulled up onto a hook using a ceiling mounted winch, straight from the trailer, then pushed along the rails straight into the walk-in cooler.

After tenderizing, that same carcass could then be pushed along the rails across the hall, where it would hang on one side of a nine-foot slab of butcher block.

From there, it was easy enough for one person to quarter the carcass, while another cut down the slabs of meat.

“You ever going to invest in the upgrades to have this system motorized?” Bas huffed twenty minutes later as he pushed the first carcass across the hall.

“Bah! Unnecessary expense at my age. Besides, I already have a motor.” Hal raised a brow in jest.

Bastien made a show of rolling his eyes as he came to a stop on his side of the counter. Hal let out a hearty laugh and the two set to work.

It only took three hours for the men to fill one rack with steaks and roasts, and a second with miscellaneous cuts for the grinder. Hal cleared his throat as he gestured vaguely for Bastien to wheel over the cart with the vacuum sealer mounted on top.

“I think it’s about time I retired.”

The cart slammed into the counter as Bas snapped his eyes up to his boss. “What?”

“You heard me, son. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m no spring chicken. I think it’s time to stay home with Hattie and watch her fuss over those damned ducks.”

Bas stared as Hal avoided his gaze and loaded a handful of meat into the grinder’s tub.

“Nothing is set in stone, I haven’t even told Hattie yet. There would be a lot of details I’d need to work out ahead of time…” He sighed, finally looking up. “I just wanted you to be the first one to know. I feel I owe you that much. ”

Bas grunted out a thanks before blindly finishing out the morning. He knew from the beginning the old man would likely retire sooner rather than later, but that didn’t stop him from being surprised when the prospect of it finally happening came up.

Giggles and the scent of spice in the air greeted Bastien when he arrived home, a sign that Del had company and his mother made her famous cocoa.

“ Mijo ?” Soriah peeked her head around the corner and frowned when she saw his face. “Come sit, I saved you some cocoa.” She waved for him to follow and turned back into the kitchen, her long white braid whipping behind her.

“Thanks, Mama,” Bas murmured, settling onto a stool at the counter and wrapping his hands around the large clay mug that had been pushed his way.

“Now, tell me what has you so sour.” His mother smiled and leaned against the counter facing him.

“It’s nothing.” Bas sighed, then, noting his mother’s raised brow, added, “Yet.”

Soriah waited patiently as Bas took a sip of his drink, testing the temperature, before emptying half the mug in one go. He let the rich chocolate soothe the burning sensation the cayenne powder caused before he continued, “Hal is thinking about retiring. I don’t know what it means for me—us.”

He envisioned the worst: Hal selling the shop to retire, a new owner not wanting to keep him on, repurposing the building.

Then what?

He knew he couldn’t make it without the generous salary he earned as a butcher’s apprentice.

“Mijo,” Soriah called gently, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. “Patience. Until there is something to worry about,” she looked pointedly at him, “don’t.”

Bas fought to keep from rolling his eyes.

“It’s not just the job, Mama. I really like what I do—I’m good at it. I don’t want another job.” And it was true. In the four years he had been working under Hal, he’d grown to love the artistry behind the work.

“You buy it then.” Soriah shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer.

“Buy it?” He scoffed. “With what money, Mama? I make good money, but I can’t afford to buy a business. I used my entire savings to get us here.” Pushing away from the counter, he paced the length of the kitchen and ran his fingers through his hair, entwining his fingers behind his neck.

“Bastien Artemio, you did not have to use your savings. I could have gone back to work—that was your choice, so don’t make me feel bad for it.

And we both know that you do have the money to buy it.

Your brother left it to you for a reason and he would be disappointed in you for not using it.

Especially for something like this,” Soriah scolded, her voice breaking at the end.

Eyes brimming with tears, she turned and walked out of the kitchen.