Page 7

Across the big oak desk, cluttered with papers, sits Preston. He’s the manager of Static and the person I’m currently trying to impress enough to give me a shot at this job.

He looks more like a bouncer than a manager, with his shaved head, bulging biceps, and thick forearms visible beneath his short-sleeved collared shirt.

Preston glances over my resume before turning his attention back to me. “So, looks like you’ve never been a server before.”

He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but I answer anyway. “No,” I say with an uneasy laugh. “I worked at a local ice cream parlor a few summers in high school,” I offer quickly, not wanting him to think I’m incapable of handling this job.

I knew skipping those practice questions for the interview would come back to bite me. My delivery could've made me sound confident even if I didn’t know the right answers. What’s the saying? Fake it till you make it, right?

After the disastrous interaction with the “hot stranger,” as I’ve dubbed him, I needed to focus on something else—something that was in my control.

My emotions were all over the place after our interaction.

I felt frazzled and wired like I wanted to hibernate and run a marathon, but my body didn’t know which to do first.

I did neither; instead, I busied myself by calling the number attached to the job board flyer. I landed an interview for the next day—a.k.a. today—and figured I’d have plenty of time to prepare.

This morning's weather was perfect, so I walked to campus instead of driving the short distance.

I planned to grab my car before the interview, but as my terrible luck would have it, my last class ran over.

Given that the restaurant is within walking distance from the university, I had to practically sprint the entire way here to avoid being late, skipping the detour to my apartment.

While I made it in time, any chance for mental preparation flew out the window.

Now, just a few minutes in, I feel like I’ve bombed it.

I should just be honest and put us both out of our misery. “My lack of experience might seem like a disaster waiting to happen, but if you give me a chance, I’d like to prove us both wrong.”

He stares at me, arms crossed. Just when I’m starting to think honesty wasn’t the way to go, he laughs. I exhale, relaxing in my seat.

“I’ll give it to you straight. I’d prefer not to hire someone who needs a ton of training when I can find people who can be put straight to work.

” I nod in understanding as he continues.

“However, we’re about to get busy with everyone back from summer break.

I could use an extra set of hands sooner rather than later. You think you’re up for the challenge?”

I'm not sure anyone knows if they’re ready for a challenge until they’re in the situation. But hey, if I’m being offered the job, I’m not turning it down.

Brushing aside any apprehension, I muster as much confidence as I can and say, “Yes, I am.”

“Great. I have a bit more paperwork to finish, but”—he glances briefly at his watch— “I’ll have you wait out front for Macy if you don’t mind. She should be here shortly. She’ll show you around, and you can shadow her until you’ve gotten the hang of things. She’s great with this sort of thing.”

After discussing a few more details and filling out a personal information form, Preston stands up and comes around the desk.

“This is where I say welcome to the team, Bear.” Placing my hand in his extended one, we shake on it. His grip is surprisingly gentle, given the size of his muscles.

Thanking him again, I head to the front, settling into one of the booths nearest the door. I was in such a rush when I power-walked through the doors earlier that I barely noticed my surroundings.

Now that I have a moment to breathe, I take in the exposed beams and bare brick walls that make up most of the interior.

To one side, there’s a huge, fully stocked bar area.

A set of double doors veer off to the other side, presumably leading to the kitchen.

Two chalkboards showcasing specials line one side of the wall, and two flat-screen TVs are positioned on the other.

Spherical copper chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, casting a warm glow.

Copper gears of various sizes fill a few empty spaces on the wall, some singular, others fitting together like a puzzle.

Rows of booths, like the one I’m currently sitting at, line the walls while high-top tables occupy the center.

I’m no interior designer, but if I had to describe this place in two words, it’d be industrial chic.

When my phone vibrates in my bag, stealing my attention, I dig it out, only to frown when I see whose name is on my lock screen. Annoyance bubbles up immediately.

I haven’t heard from Hunter in months. And now, after everything, he texts me like we’re on speaking terms. We’re not. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.

And yes, the irony of our names together being Bear Hunter was never lost on me. In the beginning, I thought it was a funny coincidence. Looking back, it was more of a bad omen.

I swipe on the notification purely out of curiosity.

Hunter: Bumped into Pia on campus. She said you transferred schools?!

I roll my eyes as I read his words. Here I was, naively thinking I’d finally get the apology I was owed. But no, he’s only curious about my life because he’s no longer privy to the details.

Part of me wants to type back, “Who’s this?” to mess with him. I should have deleted his number the day everything happened, but I didn’t. Somewhere along the line, as the days turned into months, I stopped thinking about him altogether.

Deciding to keep the conversation brief, I send a one-word response.

Bear: Yes.

Hunter: Seriously, Bear, tell me this is a joke??

As if he deserves the effort a joke like that would take to pull off.

Bear: It’s not.

Hunter: You weren’t even planning on telling me?

My irritation goes up a notch. How dare he think I owe him anything after what he did?

Bear: We broke up, remember?

Hunter: That doesn’t mean I stopped caring. We had a good few years. Can I call you?

My phone rings, his name lighting up the screen. He didn’t even wait for my reply. I hate that he still thinks we have that kind of relationship.

There was a time when I’d drop everything to hear his voice. Now, I let the call ring out. As the screen goes dark, I realize I feel…nothing.

The Bear he knew would have thought she at least owed it to him to hear him out, if only for the good memories they shared. She would have answered, even if she didn’t want to, listening as he rambled on about whatever he thought she wanted to hear.

Not today, and never again.

The thought is liberating, and I have to bite my lip to keep a smile from spreading. A sense of closure settles over me.

When his name pops up again with a text message, I don’t bother reading it. I lock my phone, drop it back in my bag, and lean against the padding of the booth.

Without meaning to, my mind drifts to what—or rather, who—brought on this sudden change in attitude.

Last night, I lay awake longer than I care to admit, thinking about him .

He’s somehow wormed his way into my brain and taken root. I remember every little detail of our encounter, no doubt because of how much it’s been churning in my head.

God, did he have to be so annoyingly beautiful? My eyes enjoyed staring at his physical features—a lot. Even now, thinking about how he leaned into me, invading my space, has me squeezing my thighs together.

I immediately slam the brakes on that train of thought.

He had someone showering in his apartment, for God’s sake! And given how quickly he shoved me out, it was clear he didn't want whoever it was seeing me.

Good looks aside, our encounter stuck with me for another reason. I’m not proud of how I snapped at him for calling me Teddy Bear or when I had a go at him for rummaging through my stuff. But a small part of me is glad I stuck up for myself.

For whatever reason, around him, I felt comfortable enough not to keep my mouth shut for once. Which is weird because I hardly know him.

And then there’s someone like Hunter—someone I’d known for years but never once felt like I could have that sort of outburst around without being judged for it. Or being told I’m acting irrationally.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when the front door whooshes open. A girl around my age with dark brown hair walks in.

I slide out of the booth, hoping she’ll notice me.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

Her hazel eyes widen when she finally glances up from the phone in her hand, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’

“Shit,” she laughs after a beat.“I didn’t even notice you.”

“Sorry, I thought saying something would have startled you more,” I admit with an apologetic shrug.

“You must be Bear. I got a text about you.” She explains, holding her phone in the air. “I’m Macy.” The smile she offers immediately puts me at ease.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, my own smile appearing.

“Preston mentioned showing you around and that you’ll shadow me.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “He said you’re the best at it.”

“Right,” she rolls her eyes playfully and motions for me to walk with her. “Let’s start in the break room. It’s where the extra uniforms are kept.”

We head toward Preston’s office but veer right instead of left. Macy points out the restrooms along the way, and a little further down, we stop in front of a door with a Staff Only sign hanging on it.

“This is it,” Macy says, gesturing for me to enter. “Feel free to use the lockers to store anything.”

As far as breakrooms go, this one is as standard as they get. A small table with chairs sits in the center, and a worn-in sectional is pushed against one wall. A row of black lockers lines another. There’s a mini fridge with a whiteboard marker above it, but that’s about it for decor.

After putting our bags away, Macy rummages through one of the drawers until she finds what she wants.

She hands me a shirt wrapped in clear plastic. “I guessed your size, but I think this one should fit.”

Taking the shirt from her, I quickly swap mine for the new one. It’s a simple terry-cloth polo with a gold logo printed on the left side.

“How does it look?” I ask, smoothing the fabric down with my palms.

There’s no mirror in here, so I have to rely on Macy’s judgment.

“It looks good. If you need extras, grab some. If we run low on size, just let Preston know so he can stock up.”

“Thanks, and thank you for showing me the ropes.”

“You’re welcome.” She grins. “Let’s head out front and see if anyone else has arrived yet.”

When we return, there are three new faces, and someone has turned on the music. One guy takes chairs off the high-top tables and places them upright, while another sets salt and pepper shakers down. A girl with long, curly black hair is messing with what I assume is the POS system.

“Hey, everyone!” Macy shouts over the music, causing three pairs of eyes to turn toward us. Depending on the night, you’ll work with different people, but in my humble opinion, Elsie and I are the best to have around, " she whispers loudly.

“She’s not wrong.” The girl—Elsie—beams, engulfing me in a hug. “Sorry, I’m a hugger,” she says, flushing.

“Elsie, meet Bear. Bear, meet Elsie.” Macy says.

“Bear?” Elsie’s eyes widen. “I love it! That’s so unique.”

“Thank you. It’s a family name.” I explain, mirroring her smile.

“Bear, meet Owen,” Macy gestures to the shorter of the two guys.

“Nice to meet you,” Owen says politely.

“Nice to meet you, too.” He doesn’t offer a handshake, so I give a slight wave.

“And last, but certainly not least, this is Jackson.”

Unlike Owen, who seemed indifferent to my arrival, Jackson’s wide grin lights up his entire face. The whites of his teeth stand out against his dark complexion.

“Damn girl, what are you doing hiding your gorgeous face around here? And those long legs. You should be out strutting on catwalks.”

“Dude, not cool,” Owen mutters, bumping Jackson with his shoulder.

“What? I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s a compliment and hot.” Jackson flashes me a wink, and I laugh, feeling slightly self-conscious.

It’s not like I’ve never been told to try modeling. I even did a few catalog shoots in middle school, but that’s where it began and ended.

“Not my thing, but thanks for the compliment,” I say, offering him a lopsided grin.

“Bear is shadowing me tonight, and I still need to show her a few things. But I wanted to get the introductions out of the way,” Macy informs everyone.

After a few minutes of small talk, everyone returns to their tasks. The boys wave, and Elsie mouths, You’ve got this.

Macy spends the rest of the time pointing out various things as I follow, trying to absorb as much information as possible. By the end, I feel overwhelmed trying to remember everything and say as much.

“Understandable, but you’ll see it’s much easier once you’re in the flow of things.

Our menu is pretty straightforward—just your standard casual dining type food.

” Reaching the bar area, Macy grabs a drinks menu.

“Now, this can get complicated. Static has some amazing drink options. Luckily, the bartenders handle that. We can pour beers from the tap if they’re backed up and you feel comfortable doing it. ”

"Okay, got it," I say with a determined nod. "The hostess seats them, we take their order and enter it into the POS system, the bartenders handle the drinks, and we pour beers if they're busy,” I repeat everything we went over, ticking each point off my fingers.

“In a nutshell, yes,” she says. “Don’t worry, tonight is purely training. You’ll get the hang of what’s what quickly. And no one expects you to get it right on your first night.”

Macy gives my bicep a light squeeze, and I realize I need her reassurance more than I thought.