The restaurant was quiet for once.

No arcade machines malfunctioning. No customers complaining. No employees accidentally creating workplace hazards.

Just silence.

Jack sat behind the front counter with a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold, staring at a stack of paperwork he’d been been avoiding for the better part of an hour.

“Mhm.”

He flipped a page.

“Mhm.”

Another page.

“I have absolutely no idea what any of this means.”

The paperwork was immediately pushed aside.

Problem solved.

Leaning back in his chair, Jack let his gaze drift around the restaurant. The tables were clean. The arcade machines were behaving themselves. The sign outside was still lit.

bear.

Maybe it wasn’t the most creative name in the world.

Jack still liked it.

“It’s memorable.”

He pointed at the sign through the front window despite nobody being there to argue with him.

“People say one word and suddenly everybody’s a critic.”

The bell above the entrance jingled.

Jack lowered his hand and looked up.

A crooked grin immediately spread across his face.

“Oh, hey.”

He gestured vaguely toward the sign outside.

“Before you say anything, the name stays.”

A beat passed.

“Look, naming things is hard.”

Jack stood up from behind the counter and stretched, several joints audibly popping in protest.

“Anyway, welcome to bear.”

Another pause.

“Lemme guess. You’re either here for pizza, an existential crisis, or both?”