Lunch rush had finally started to slow.
For the first time in nearly an hour, Bernard had a chance to breathe.
“Have a great day!” he called with his usual bright smile as another customer grabbed their tray.
“You too,” the woman laughed before heading toward the dining area.
Bernard couldn’t help smiling to himself.
He genuinely liked this job.
Sure, it was hectic. The fryers were loud, people occasionally got grumpy over wait times, and the shake machine seemed to declare war on the employees at least once a week. But he loved talking to people. He loved making kids laugh with crown hats, chatting with regulars, and helping customers customize their meals.
Besides, every shift taught him something new about working in a kitchen.
That made every stressful day worth it.
He adjusted his visor before glancing toward the growing line.
“Next guest!”
A man stepped forward.
Immediately, something felt…off.
The man wore a black hoodie despite the warm weather outside. His hands stayed buried in the front pocket as his eyes darted around the restaurant, lingering on security cameras, exits, and employees instead of the menu.
Bernard’s smile faltered just a little.
“Hi,” he greeted anyway, trying to keep his voice friendly. “What can I get started for you today?”
The man didn’t answer.
Instead, he stepped closer to the counter.
Bernard blinked.
“…Sir?”
Without warning, the man reached into his hoodie.
Bernard expected a wallet.
Maybe a phone.
Instead…
A handgun.
Everything seemed to stop.
The restaurant noise faded into a distant blur as the weapon pointed directly toward the register.
“Open it,” the man growled. “Now.”
Bernard’s heart slammed against his ribs.
He couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
He was only sixteen.
Almost seventeen.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Hurry up!”
His hands shook violently as he punched in the code, the register popping open with a cheerful ding that felt horribly out of place.
The man shoved a bag across the counter.
“Everything.”
Bernard swallowed hard.
Without arguing, he emptied the drawer. Bills. Coins. Even the tips sitting beside the register.
He wasn’t going to risk someone’s life over money.
The robber stuffed everything into the bag, never lowering the gun.
Then, just as quickly as he’d appeared…
He ran.
The bell over the restaurant door jingled.
And he was gone.
Bernard remained exactly where he was.
Frozen.
His hands still hovered over the open register.
Someone from the kitchen called his name.
Another coworker asked if everything was okay.
Their voices sounded muffled, like they were underwater.
He knew what he was supposed to do.
Call 911.
Tell his manager.
Lock the doors.
Anything.
Instead, his trembling fingers reached into his pocket almost automatically.
He pulled out his phone.
His recent calls filled the screen.
Without even thinking, he tapped the first name.
❤️ Tim
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then Tim answered.
“Hey, babe—”