Being chronically understaffed is a nightmare I can't seem to wake from. Not only did I have to close last night, but here I am, back before dawn, opening. I must have forgotten to lock the back door after closing, because when I walk into the bar, a bear is making its way through the garnishes, one jar at a time.
Tart cherry juice— please let it be cherry juice —splatters the top shelf and dribbles down the liquor bottles. Broken glass shimmers across the floor. It looks like a murder scene, except the only one that is about to be murdered is me, by the bear, that just made eye contact.
“Oh sh—” I shriek as the bear pops the top off another jar— yup, cherries —and plops a juicy one into their maw, White teeth glistening against the red juice.
The bear grumbles faintly as it chews, eyes never leaving mine.
“Good bear,” I say, slowly backing toward the door. “I would taste terrible.” Another step backward. “You don't want to eat me.” I feel my back bump against the doorframe.
The bear places the jar down before stalking toward me, head tilting back and forth, like it's considering the validity of my words.
I press myself harder against the door as I fumble for the doorknob. If I can get back outside, then animal control can deal with the bear, and I can pretend this never happened.
“What are you doing?” The voice is deep and gravely, and it's coming from the bear.
This is definitely a nightmare. This is what happens with sleep deprivation: you start to hallucinate. I pinch my arm and wince at the sharp sting.
“I’m Oliver,” the bear says as it sits on its haunches and points a paw toward its chest. “My friends call me Ollie.” The bear eagerly extends his paw toward me.
I stare back at the bear, then at his paw. Does he want me to shake it?
“What is happening?” I look frantically around the bar for a hidden camera. This must be a prank. Is this just an elaborate bear costume?
“Well, I’m trying to introduce myself.” The bear waves his extended paw between us. “But you haven't told me your name yet.”
“Alex,” I stammer and tentatively take a step closer.
“I’m not going to eat you, Alex,” Oliver says.
“Ok, what are you going to do then?” My voice wobbles.
“I was hoping to come to an a rr angement,” Oliver replies, rolling the r’s.
“What kind of arrangement?” I can’t believe I’m talking to a bear.
“Throw away more cherries, please.” Oliver bares his teeth in a smile, but it looks more like a snarl.
“Alex! What the hell happened in here?” Max, my boss, screams from the front of the bar. Apparently, he doesn't see the bear.
“Do you want me to take care of that?” Oliver looks toward Max.
“How?”
“I said I wouldn't eat you,” Oliver replies with a wink.
K.A. Vargas is a fantasy and romance author with a passion for world-building, complex characters, and happily ever afters. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, crocheting, and adventuring with her husband and young son near their home in Northern California.
---