Page 1 of Bear With Me

1

Dennis

Dennis sighed and looked around the cabin he’d rented for his vacation. It was secluded - no neighbors within sight - and quiet, set among pines and oaks, and it was going to be just what he needed for the next two weeks. No people, no work, no commuting. The only human he might need to see would be the grocery delivery guy who’d be coming later today with his order. And that, only if the guy didn’t just deliver, knock, and run, like they usually did these days.

He moved deeper into the cabin, smoothing a palm over the soft coverlet on the bed and then poking his head into the bathroom to see a decadent-looking shower - it had side jets and three shower heads! - next to a deep-set tub. Apparently the cabin’s owners expected him to do a lot of bathing? Well, whatever, he didn’t need to use the tub. He wasn’t much for stewing in his own juices.

His phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out and checked the display: it was the house line at The Strong Retort, his pub. Which meant it was probably Beau, his assistant manager. It was still early in the day, so Beau was in charge on the still-current shift at the pub; Seb wouldn't get in until 5. Ugh. He resisted the urge to decline the call. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Beau - he liked him fine and wouldn’t have appointed him if he didn’t - it was just that this was work calling. During his vacation. He’d told them to sort things out for themselves and only call him in case of emergency.

He gave it even odds that this was an emergency - someone cut off a finger, what do we do? - or just an "emergency" - Marisol can’t find her glasses, have you seen them? Either was entirely possible. Finally, with a deep sigh, he pressed the “Call accept” button. “What’s up, Beau?”

“Oh, thank god!”

Ah, so it was going to be one of those dramatic calls. He really did love Beau, and he did good work, but the guy had no chill. “What’s up?” he said again, keeping his voice as calm and steady as he could in an attempt to set an example for the other man.

“We are out! Of order pads!” Beau almost shouted. “And nobody knows who the vendor is or who we contact to get more!” He paused to draw in a breath, then dropped his voice. “You know not everyone can do it by memory, Dennis!”

He was referring to Marisol, of course, their much-beloved but also scatterbrained-as-hell long-term waitress. Not only was she continually losing her glasses, but the last time she’d tried to remember a customer’s order without writing it down, she’d brought him a Shirley Temple and a grilled cheese, when he’d ordered an IPA and fettuccine. The customer had…not been pleased. So yes, a shortage of order pads did need to be fixed, but quite why this was a Dennis problem and not a Seb problem escaped him.

Dennis stifled the urge to sigh yet again. “There might be some extras in the bottom of the file cabinet in my office,” he told Beau. “And the info for the vendor is in the top drawer of the same cabinet, filed under ‘suppliers’.” As is every other supplier’s information, and as you well know, he thought but didn’t add out loud. No use yelling at Beau. “Tell them to bill us.”

Beau blew out an audible breath. “Oh, thank god,” he said again, but this time his tone was relieved instead of panicked. “Marisol was going to be a mess I didn’t want to have to deal with. I mean, I love her to death but…”

Dennis snickered. “Yeah.” Even Marisol made fun of her brain’s shortcomings, so he didn’t feel too bad laughing along. “You good, then?”

“What?” He could hear the sounds of Beau moving through the back of the house toward Dennis’s office. “Oh, yeah, we’re fine otherwise.” The click-rattle of a filing cabinet drawer being opened. “Aha!” Beau crowed. “You were right, there’s three extras in here. That should hold us for tonight; hopefully the supplier can get us more by tomorrow night.”

“If they can’t, just order the damn things off Amazon with the corporate card. They’ll probably get them to you in two hours flat.”

“Oh, that’s a really good idea!” Beau said cheerfully. “I’ll keep that in the back of my mind. Let me let you go and deliver these pads up front. Enjoy your vacation!”

“Thanks,” Dennis said. “Oh, and Beau?” he added, dropping his voice to a growly register.

“Yeah?”

“Emergencies. Only. From now on.”

Beau gulped audibly. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Uh, sorry. I panicked.”

“Next time you panic, call Seb instead of me unless someone’s dying.” Seb was his general manager and could have easily handled this. In fact, Seb would probably be annoyed that Beau didn’t come straight to him. Oh well. As far as he was concerned, for this week, the pub was not Dennis’s circus and these were not his monkeys.

“Right. Of course. So uh…have a good time away, Boss.”

Dennis grunted. He wasn’t looking so much for a good time - that implied a level of…recreation he wasn’t signing up for - as a calm time. Nobody shouting orders in his ear, nobody getting drunk and needing to be bounced out of the pub, and no needy staff who he adored but also wanted to strangle. “Yeah. I will,” he finally said, because he knew it was what was expected. “Talk to you later. In two weeks,” he quickly corrected himself.

They signed off, and Dennis sighed yet again as he hung up the phone and the room returned to silence. Ah, that was the stuff. Quiet. Solitude. He plopped down on the bed and considered his options.

Option #1: Take a nap. Very tempting, but likely to fuck with his internal clock.

Option #2: Read a book. Wouldn’t fuck with his brain clock, but also might not hold his attention in his current state of blah.

Option #3: Take a walk. Also very tempting, except he might run into other people, and ew.

Was there an option #4? He pondered. He supposed he could, like, unpack. Like a grown-up. But fuck that. He may be a forty year old man who owned a business and ran it with an iron hand, but that didn’t mean he had to be a grown-up. Yeah, napping it was.

***

Dennis woke up some time later, into that type of muddled wakefulness that meant he was unsure not only what day it was but also what century he was in or where he was. He wasn’t in his own bed, that much was clear. It was way too quiet for him to be in his bed in his apartment above the bar, and these sheets were scratchier than his. Plus, the daylight outside the window looked muddy, as if it were late in the day. Had he passed out after a hookup? Nah, there was no one else in bed with him and he didn't feel sticky at all.