Page 2 of A Bear in a Birdbath

A nap would do him a world of good. His bear spent this time of year fighting off the urge to hibernate (and inappropriately hug people), and a rest would refresh them both.

The drive home seemed like too much, so Bruno shifted again, climbed into his new creation, and curled into a comfortable furry lump of cave bear.

No one would bother him, during this week of closure between Christmas and New Year’s. He could sleep for a day, if his hunger let him, and dream of having a warm body here with him to fill all the empty places in his heart.

2

MARGO

Margo prowled the empty bakery.

Harriet had decided to close the shop after Christmas while she went overseas with her new gnome lover, having distributed generous holiday bonuses so that everyone could enjoy a little time with their families or do some traveling.

But Margo didn’t have a family outside of the other bakery employees, and she didn’t have any interest in traveling.

It surprised her how much she missed the business being open. It was such a sense of satisfaction, keeping all the moving pieces in sync, knowing that she was keeping people full and happy, part of a team.

Trolls didn’t usually take day jobs at all, but the city was cracking down on vagrants, so her usual home beneath the river bridge had been cleaned up, and she’d been kicked out. There was a well-lit bike path there now, and a lot of graffiti that she would never have tolerated. But well-mannered bridge trolls didn’t have a place in the rank and file of city administration, and without a deed, she had no claim on the space. She’d been cast adrift, forced to look for a place to rent and a job to pay for it.

Harriet’s bakery, Patty Cakes, had not been her first stop.

Margo had applied at the city junkyard (the dogs were afraid of her), a bodyguard service (the other bodyguards were afraid of her), and a temp agency that flatly rejected her on the basis that she wouldn’t fit in standard office chairs.

“You can’t expect a company to make concessions for a temporary secretary,” the recruiter had said apologetically. “It’s just not reasonable.”

No one would want you, was the unspoken message from every one of them.

Shifters were one thing. Trolls were quite another.

Margo came upon Patty Cakes by word of mouth, because Harriet had a habit of hiring misfits and drifters and Margo realized with chagrin that she was both of those things.

“Do you have any baking experience?” Harriet asked her, eying her from toe to nose. Harriet was tall and slight, but Margo was much taller and not at all slight.

“No,” Margo admitted.

“Customer service?”

Margo thought about that carefully. “In a manner of speaking. I’ve done…transportation oversight. Bridges, mostly.”

Harriet blinked at her. “So, more like security?”

Margo stifled a sigh. It was the obvious role for her and she knew better than to be picky about employment by this point. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Harriet said, shaking her head. “I have all the security I need right now. What I really need is a business manager.”

“To manage the business?” Margo almost salivated. She knew that trolls weren’t associated with brains or organization, but she had always loved contracts and rules and making moving parts fit together.

“That is what a business manager does,” Harriet said dryly, turning away.

Margo felt her cheeks heat. She was so tired of being underestimated. Impulsively, she caught Harriet’s arm, and was surprised by the woman’s unexpected strength. “Look, I’m a troll, not a politician or public speaker. But I can set up spreadsheets and organize a work shift. I know labor laws and can see three violations from your front door. I’d make sure your business was running smoothly and keep you out of trouble. No one shorts me or gives me excuses.”

They looked at each other appraisingly, and Harriet finally chuckled. “You know what? I think you’ll do just fine here. Let’s do a month’s trial and see if we can still stand each other. You might be exactly what this place needs. I’ve got hiring papers, do you have a mailing address?”

Margo’s moment of hope froze into despair. “I’m…between places.”

“I seem to have a type,” Harriet snorted. “I have a spare room in the basement that is not at all cleared for residency if you don’t want to be picky or legal and don’t care about the damp.”

Margo thought wistfully about her below-bridge abode that was a bike path now. “It sounds perfect.”

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