MEET CUT(E)
The Butcher Series Book 1
BY TIFFANY CARBY

1 Flame / Dark Romance

“Good to see you, Mr. Griffith,” I greeted one of my favorite customers who came into the shop.

“Nice to see you too, son. What do you have for me today?”

Mr. Griffith, or Fred as he always insisted I call him but could never bring myself to do so, came in every Tuesday morning. I’m not sure if he figured out that was when I typically had a lull in business or if he just liked to “shoot the shit,” as he called it, when fewer people were in the store.

Mr. Griffith, like most people in town, knew my grandpappy. So when he passed away several years back, they made sure I felt at home running the place by myself.

Just about every Tuesday the two of us made a menu together for his family dinners for the rest of the week and upcoming weekend. He and his wife were both getting up in years, but their minds were still strong. Anabelle’s arthritis in her hands kept her from doing much cooking, so I helped him out with recipes here and there and taught him a few tricks to make evening meals a little easier.

Fred and Annabelle needed tender cuts of meat and things that he could easily make in a slow cooker and set and forget. I was happy to help him and all the customers that came into the shop. Hazenberg really was a nice town and I appreciated the kindness shown to me by the people who supported my grandpappy’s shop for so many years.

“You know, when I was your age, I had muscles like that,” Fred said, pointing at my upper arms. “Wore my T-shirts tight too…rolled up a pack of Kool’s in the sleeve.”

“I’d say you still have some guns and just don’t want to show them off,” I said and teased him. His chuckle was a nice sound.

I handed him the bag of meat we had picked out and we went over to the register.

“Now, you know all the recipes for this week by heart…nothing new today. And I already called Ellie Beth over at the grocery and she’s gonna have a cart ready with the rest of your ingredients. You’ll just need to pick up any extra things you need on your weekly shopping trip.”

“You’re too good to this old man, Drake. I appreciate your kindness.” Mr. Griffith was genuine. He paid for his purchases and I reminded him I would do the same for anybody else in town who came in and needed help.

He left and I had a few minutes alone in the shop to regroup. I just had a large drop off from Stonewall Farm before Fred came in and needed to get it inventoried and put out pretty quickly. I tied on my red apron over my tight white shop T-shirt, as Fred had pointed out, and got busy. Some days I wondered how I got it all done, running the shop all by myself, but the days went by quickly and I always had the company of Chuck, my short-haired orange tabby cat.

She (yes, my little Chuck Roast was a she) went anywhere she wanted. She wore a harness and walked with me better than any dog companion. Chuck knew her boundaries and stayed out of the processing area, knowing where her cat hair was not allowed. She rarely shed though, for which I was thankful given the business I was in. And she didn’t grow to be a typical adult-size cat either. She was five years old and still little. I got her after my grandpappy passed away. My little six-pound Roast filled a little bit of the void from missing him, I think.

Chuck was a good greeter. Everyone always asked where she was if she wasn’t at the door to greet them upon arrival. Even if it wasn’t intentional, Chuck was good marketing for the butcher shop. She wore a red collar and I had a special tag made that was shaped like a steak with her information printed on it.

The bell that hung above the door jingled whenever someone came in, so I always knew if I was in the back when it was time to come out. But Chuck also greeted everyone with a good headbutt and a meow.

I had the inventory down to a science when deliveries were made during the day. I could put it in the computer later, but I needed to make sure I knew how many of each item came into the shop so I could get the cold things sorted and in the refrigerated cases out front without delay.

Stonewall Farm supplied me with beef, mostly, but their canned goods and fresh items like butter and eggs were things I could always count on. I never tried to take away business from the local grocery or the Walmart in town, but I could sell local items much easier than the others and I had regular customers who preferred to buy local.

Meat was about 80 percent of where I made my money. The other 20 percent came from the sale of local items.

Chuck sat by and watched while I stocked the fridge with cartons of eggs. I noticed it was time to add more jerky to the display case too. Selling a pack or two of my award-winning jerky was normal with just about every order.

Even Fred bought some to gnaw on with his dentures.

I thought about Fred back in his prime. I bet he and my grandpappy stirred up all kinds of trouble. I’d been known to stir up some in my day too.

–from Meet Cut(e) by Tiffany Carby for the Possessed by Passion Collection.