Every Saturday, I sweated in a ridiculous bear suit, handing out flyers until my boss unknowingly started flirting with me.
He had no idea who I was… and I was too scared to tell him because, in real life, I was anything but a cover girl.
I stuffed the last piece of croissant into my mouth, watching Jake from across the office. My boss.
He stood by the coffee machine—tall, athletic, effortlessly charming. His dark hair was perfectly tousled as if he had just rolled out of bed and landed on GQ’s cover.
Meanwhile, I sat at my desk, surrounded by crumpled notes, gripping a plastic fork like it was the last piece of dignity I had left.
He would never notice someone like me.
Someone like me—soft around the edges, with cheeks that refused to cooperate no matter how many diet plans I started (and promptly abandoned).
My feet were a solid size 10, making most cute shoes a cruel joke, and whenever I got nervous, my words tangled up like last year’s Christmas lights.
Jake leaned against the counter, stirring his coffee with lazy confidence.
His friend, Greg, nudged him.
“Dude, you ever notice how Emma looks at you?”
Oh no. Have I been that obvious?
Jake took a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking briefly in my direction. I immediately turned my attention to my screen, pretending to be fascinated by Excel.
“Hey, Emma!”
My heart stopped.
I looked up, mid-chew, only to find Jake watching me, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes.
“You good over there?” He gestured toward me with his coffee cup. “You’ve been staring at me for so long, I was starting to think I had something on my face.”
I nearly choked on my croissant.
“What? No!
I… I was just…” I waved my hand vaguely toward my monitor. “Deep in thought.”
“Deep in thought… about spreadsheets?”
“Yes. Numbers are very… thought-provoking.”
Jake smirked.
“Alright, spreadsheet philosopher. Try not to get too lost in them.”
And with that, he turned back to his conversation, leaving me sitting there, cheeks burning. That was not helping my situation.
I wanted to talk to him, just once, to see if he was as perfect up close as he seemed from a distance.
But the very thought made my palms sweat.
“Emma!”
I jumped. My team leader, Mark, was standing by my desk.
“Stop daydreaming! The reports won’t print themselves!”
I sighed and turned back to my screen, defeated.
Princes belonged in fairy tales.
And in real life? Work, bills, and metabolism had declared war on me years ago.
***
I would have laughed if someone had told me a year ago that I’d be spending my Saturdays stuffed inside a pink bear suit, sweating like a rotisserie chicken while handing out flyers.
And yet, I was, towering over tiny children, waving my oversized paw at passersby, and reconsidering all my life choices.
The costume was stuffy, smelled faintly of popcorn and regret, and made every movement feel like I was trudging through syrup.
A toddler waddled up, staring at me with broad, sticky hands.
“Bear!” she squealed, throwing his arms around my leg. Great.
At that moment, I was a human jungle gym.
“Yes, small human,” I said in my best bear voice, patting his tiny head with my paw.
“Fear not, for I am a friendly bear.”
Her mother gave me a grateful smile before peeling her son away.
I sighed—only six more hours to go. And then…
“Hey, Bear! You look… very cozy.”
I froze.
Oh no.
No, no, no. That voice.
Jake!
I turned slowly, my giant bear head bobbing slightly, and there he was. In gym clothes.
Looking like a walking advertisement for protein shakes and good genetics.
He was smirking. That was it. That was how I died.
“Uh, hi?” I said, realizing that the suit muffled and distorted my voice.
Jake tilted his head, pretending to listen.
“Wait… what was that?”
Oh no!
“You… did you just growl at me?”
His smirk widened, eyes full of amusement. I panicked.
“Yes. I mean, no.
I mean… I only growl at rude customers.”
“Ah, so I’m safe. Unless you secretly think I’m rude?”
“That depends,” I muttered, then immediately regretted it.
Why couldn’t I just nod and wave like a regular mascot?
Jake chuckled.
“I’d better make sure to stay on your good side. Do you at least get paid well for this?”
I glanced at the crumpled stack of flyers in my paw, then at the sun glaring down on me.
“Let’s just say I’m not here for the prestige.”
Jake laughed again, the sound warm and—ugh—stupidly lovely.
My heart did a ridiculous little flip.
“I don’t know,” he said, giving me an appraising look. “I think you’re pulling off the Bear look pretty well. It suits you.”
“Gee, thanks,” I deadpanned, waving a flyer at him.
“Flattery will get you nowhere. Do you want a discount on scented candles or what?”
“Tempting,” he teased. “But I think I’ll pass.”
He was still grinning.
Still standing there.
Oh no. He isn’t leaving!
Jake tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure something out. I braced myself.
“Have we met before?”
“Uhh…” I scrambled for a response, my bear paws twitching.
“I mean… I have one of those faces. Very… generic Bear.”
He chuckled. “Right.
Well, enjoy your shift, Bear. Don’t melt.”
With one last amused glance, he turned and jogged off. I groaned.
This was getting dangerously complicated.
Had he recognized me? No. No way.
But also… maybe?
***
Every weekend, it was the same. I stood outside, sweltering in my furry prison, and Jake stopped by me on his way to the gym.
And somehow, it became our thing.
“Bear, you’re looking extra fluffy today,” he said one
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