Chapter 9
ZACK
“Have a great day at work,” Ford singsonged as I walked out the door.
“I’m spending some time in the den today because Asher needs my help with a new project.”
The smile on Ford’s face sagged for a second, and I wondered what he could have against me going to my den and being with my good friend. But he recovered and replaced it with his usual dazzling grin.
I drove into town and beyond to the den. Spending time with Asher was always enjoyable because I admired how he’d overcome his tragic history. His mate, Weston, was human, and they’d gotten past their differences, mated, and they now had a child.
But I wasn’t on den land to discuss that.
Asher and his den mates ran a successful fish-drying business, but they were looking to expand and build a bigger, more sophisticated facility, while using their traditional den practices.
And I’d been instructed that they wanted it as environmentally friendly as possible.
It was a lot, but I was up to the task, having lived in the den and the area all my life.
Asher greeted me with a hug, and he invited me into the dining hall for tea.
But I was eager to get to work but understood den etiquette of welcoming a visitor with refreshments before talking business.
Besides, sitting with a friend and chatting about life and recent events took my mind to one place. Ford and his dragon.
Even if I mentioned him to Asher, would my friend believe my fated mate was a dragon? That was a stretch, even for a polar bear shifter who’d been adopted and raised by wolves.
We walked over the grass, made lush by the spring rains, to the existing facility, and Asher pushed open the main door. The current setup was a low timber-framed building with racks running wall to wall in parallel rows.
Fish sat on every horizontal surface. They’d been split and cleaned, and the sharp smell made my eyes water until I adjusted to it because I’d grown up around this strong smell. My bear was inhaling what he called the tantalizing aroma, and I reminded him Asher always gave me fish when I visited.
I bet Ford’s dragon would hate the smell in here. My bear prided himself on not feeling nauseated by stinky fish.
I told him of a country I’d read about where rotten shark meat was a delicacy.
Take me there, he insisted, but I shushed him because Asher was talking.
“We're running out of space,” Asher continued. “We had fourteen people working here last summer. This year we're expecting closer to twenty, and we've already got more buyers lined up which will double the volume.”
My first thought was about Ford. If his current job didn’t work out, maybe he could work for Asher, though the other polar bear shifters might object to a fire-breather in their midst.
I walked the length of the room with one hand trailing along the edge of an empty rack. The building was forty feet long. The place had good bones—I knew because I’d helped build it—but the ventilation was the problem.
The small windows at either end were propped open, but there was no ridge vent. In a warm, humid summer, that would cost drying time and product quality.
“You’re mainly working with arctic char, aren’t you? Or have you changed to whitefish?”
“Yes, char. As you know, we salt-brine them first, and they hang for five to eight days depending on the weather.” Asher leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“The problem isn't just space. It's dependent on the weather.
If it's cloudy and humid for three days straight, we slow down, and we've had batches go bad.”
I was already sketching the new facility out in my head, including the orientation. “You want the new structure facing south. Let the long summer do as much of the work as possible.”
“That's what I figured.”
We strolled toward the meeting hall, and I explained the ridge vent would run the full length of the roof. Cool air would come in low through vented side panels, and the warm air would rise and exit at the ridge. “Keeps the fish drying even on overcast days as long as there's any warmth at all.”
I’d done a grain-drying barn last year using the same principle.
How I wished my relationship problems were as easy to fix as Asher’s new building.
Weston greeted us and invited me to stay for lunch.
In the afternoon, I’d have to walk the site, take measurements, and check the drainage, so it made sense to eat here.
Besides, I wasn’t going to refuse den hospitality in the hope of skedaddling into town and catching a glimpse of Ford on his lunch break.
“So how’s the single life?” Asher was serving me rice and didn’t catch my eye.
Of course he’s heard about the bingo night and me and Ford buying groceries and being seen around town together.
“Fine.” He’d get it out of me eventually, but I was interested to see how far he’d go.
“Oh, really?” Now he looked at me and gave me a lopsided smile.
“Yeah.” I took a mouthful of fish and rice as Weston nudged his mate.
“See, that’s not what I heard.” He let that sink in before continuing. “Seems you’ve been seen about town with a dashing young stranger.”
“Maybe.” I was determined to make my friend work for the information.
“Oh, stop it, you two.” Weston had apparently had enough of us dancing around one another. “What my mate is trying to say is are you sleeping with the guy and is he sticking around?”
“We’re not mated, if that’s what you’re asking.” I kept eating and waited for the next barrage of questions.
“But are you fated?” Both of them said together.
“Maybe.”
Asher dropped his fork onto the plate. “Why are you being so weird?” He tilted his head toward Weston. “Would you prefer it was just us?”
Weston locked eyes with me, as if he was asking permission to stay.
“No, it's fine. You’re both my friends. Yes, we’re fated but not marked.”
Weston nudged his mate. “Sounds familiar.”
“Honey, we’re talking about Zack’s relationship, not ours.” He kissed Weston’s brow.
I pushed my plate away and sat back. Before I could discuss what had gone wrong, I had to explain why or the why that Ford gave.
“He’s not a polar bear but pretty much the exact opposite.”
“Huh? Like a mouse or something? That would be difficult living here with so many predators.” Asher drummed his fingers on the table.
“No, size-wise he’s bigger than us, and he’s not an elephant.”
They both looked at one another, and I could almost see their minds churning with possibilities.
“His wingspan is magnificent.” I let them sit with that for a moment. “I didn’t know these beasts existed.”
Asher and his mate leaned forward. “Tell us,” Weston whispered.
“A fire-breathing dragon.”
“What?” Weston squealed and slapped a hand over his mouth. He put a finger to his lips because their daughter was napping.
“Yeah, he’s really cool.”
“I’d say a fire-breather is the opposite of cool,” Asher noted.
They pestered me with questions, some of which I couldn’t answer. Why? When? How?
“Whoa. I’m not him, but dragons have some odd rules about mating and so no mark.” I tugged my shirt to reveal how Ford hadn’t marked me.
Weston wondered how dragons performed the marking ceremony. He thought Ford might be worried he’d incinerate me. I didn’t think it was that simple. We could come up with a workaround to avoid blistering my skin and melting me.
Asher tapped his chin. “What was that advice you gave me before Weston and I marked one another?” He smirked. “I’m trying to remember, it’s coming to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re not funny.” I got up from the table, ready to continue working. “I told you to talk to Weston.”
Asher cocked his head. “That was good advice. You should try that.”
I put Ford out of my head during the afternoon, but on the drive home, he filled it again. Images of him at the bingo night, strolling out the bathroom with wet hair, and laughing at a TV show ran on a loop.
When I got out of the car, the front door was open, and I paused because a delicious aroma washed over me. Not a mate scent but a cooking one. Had he made dinner? We’d always done it together. There hadn’t been much in the fridge, and I’d been planning on taking out frozen meals.
“Surprise!” Ford appeared on the porch wearing my apron and holding a wooden spoon. He was probably talking about the food, but I was eying him with a streak of sauce on his cheek and his brows daubed with sweat.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
I was, but not only for dinner.