Carmen isn't going to lie, but he can't remember hiring you.

Everything from the start of the restaurant renovations to opening night, when he got stuck in the walk-in, is a massive blur of expenses and new hires and bills and new equipment.

What he does know, however, is how much everyone seems to love you. He watches from the window sometimes, when service is going slow, and he can see the beaming smile on your face as you interact with a table full of customers, all of them seemingly happy.

You're a people person, that much is clear.

And Richie is always singing your praises, going on and on about how customers have started to request you when you come in, about how every single video on The Bear's Instagram page that features you just boosts views enormously.

From what he's heard, you're the type of person he needs. And you're fucking gorgeous too.

He watches one night as you finish up, saying your goodbyes to the rest of the team and making your way out front, headphones on your head and your bag slung over your shoulder, slipping down your arm from the shiny material of your coat.

You stop on the sidewalk and pull your phone out, just waiting outside the restaurant, in the cold snow, head down and completely shut off from the dark, Chicago night.

This is his chance. He has to make a move.

Before he can stop himself, his feet carry him out, through front of house and out the front doors, shoving his hands into his pockets as he pauses next to you. You haven't seen him.

He clears his throat awkwardly, his mind already racing as a flush creeps up his neck. Oh, he's never been the best at talking to people.

"Hey, uh... You, uh... Y'can wait inside the restaurant, y'know?.. You don't have to stand in the cold..."