The Night Shift: A Red Dead Redemption 2 AU

xiii. Dark Days

Before preservice, on the Tuesday after Arthur had quit the restaurant, Mia lingered by his abandoned kitchen station. She touched at some of the things there with a sort of reverence; a small container of toasted sesame seeds, a towel, folded neatly. Near her, on the wall, she found a phone number pencilled in Arthur's tidy writing, labelled Charles.

Her phone was in her hands before she'd even thought, keying in the number and texting:

This is Mia. If you're the Charles I'm thinking of, thanks so much for having me at the cabin

Her message stared back at her, then was immediately replaced by an incoming call screen. She darted for the rear of the kitchen and answered, tentatively: "Hello?"

"Hi, Mia." She'd only heard it the once before, that first bewildering meeting when she'd just started at Outlaw, but nonetheless, she recognized Charles's voice immediately.

"Oh, Charles," she said, pushing through the door to the back, to have more privacy. "I'm so sorry to have bothered you, I just wanted to say thanks." She realized, too late, that he might not have been too interested in talking to her - or anyone from Outlaw - since the restaurant stopped buying from him.

But she could hear the kind smile in Charles's reply: "No bother, Mia. I hope you and Arthur had a great time."

It had been more than great: an incomparable time, maybe one of the best in her life, and it had slipped through her fingers so quickly, so unfairly. The gulf between those days and where she and Arthur stood now seemed immense, but she managed to say, "We really did, thank you." Mia held her cheek and forced her voice to stay level as she asked, "Are you OK? Your business?"

Charles chuckled. "All of the other restaurants in town were thrilled to snap up Chef Morgan's supplier, don't you worry about me. I'm fine."

Mia was glad of that, at least. She remembered Arthur's staunch defence of Charles in Dutch's office and asked: "But you'd rather work with Chef Morgan, right?"

"Of course." There was a momentary quiet, nothing but Charles's steady breathing on the line.

"I shouldn't be saying anything," she said, "but Chef Morgan wants his own restaurant, up by you. Extremely local, small service, destination kind of place." She told Charles about the dream of Antler in a breathless whisper, the pages in her notebook seared into her mind and recounted in detail.

Charles listened in silence and said, only when she was done: "Well, I'm not going anywhere. Let me know if that gets put into motion, I'm on board. Saves me gas money."

She figured Charles wasn't the type to joke and appreciated, so much, that he tried anyway.

"Say hi to Arthur for me," he added, winding down the call.

"Mmm, bye Charles." Mia hung up, swallowing the lump in her throat and going back inside, out from the cold.

She couldn't bear to tell Charles the truth: that she hadn't spoken to Arthur at all since he'd quit. Though not for lack of trying. The Chef hadn't texted her back. He was too technologically disinclined to know about read receipts, and the double-check next to her last message, let's talk it through, please? was damning. He was ignoring her.

Mia felt foolish, mourning something that had barely been hers in the first place. But the hollow in her heart was there.

She was mourning Outlaw, too. The consultant, Micah, had wasted no time finding Arthur's replacement, a Chef fresh from culinary school who made it his first order of business to boot Karen from expo. He screamed at the kitchen staff and servers alike with abandon, hurling plates he deemed not to his liking. His menus were bland and predictable, many of the dishes starting from premade components that replaced the beautiful, fresh foods in the walk-in.