The Night Shift: A Red Dead Redemption 2 AU

vii. Doing Things Right

Even though Outlaw was closed, Mia found herself gravitating toward downtown anyway on the last Monday before the holidays started, under the auspices of finally replacing her worn work shoes. That late morning she browsed half-heartedly through the boutiques on the avenue that led, eventually, to the restaurant's street, the park across from it.

By the afternoon she was passing the restaurant, her reflection looking back at her in the front windows. Beyond her own face were a few lights; visible through the pass into the kitchen. She shrugged to herself, figuring she might as well see who was around, hoping to get a free lunch out of the deal.

She unlocked and relocked the front door and pushed through the swinging kitchen door, faced with Arthur at the bench, engaged in the fussy task of cutting the membrane off of grapefruits.

"Hey, Mia," he said, just glancing up from his work. He was dressed casually, an opened plaid button-down over a white t-shirt and jeans. It looked like he'd considered an apron, one bundled on the bench close to him, but ultimately decided against it.

"Hey," she said, shedding herself of her coat and pulling a stool close to him to watch him work.

"What are you doin' around?" Arthur had a way of talking while he was prepping or cooking, Mia had noticed, one that seldom rose above a murmur, his lips barely parted.

"Just some shopping," she said. "Thought I'd pop in."

"Mhm." He'd still barely moved, other than the artful turns of the knife in his hand freeing one segment of grapefruit at a time, putting the jewelled fruit into a waiting container.

"You know," she tried, clasping her hands and sliding forward, so that she appeared in his downcast eyeline. "I've figured something out."

His brilliant eyes met hers. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You're secretly nice."

Mia saw the eyes twinkle, the corner of Arthur's mouth lift. "You're secretly nice, Chef," he corrected, and she sighed dramatically, provoking a laugh out of him.

"I'm serious," she stressed, "You have this big, bad reputation, but you're nice. You helped me out with that dickhead, the other night. You walked me home. And those birds, a ways back, for the married couple? When did you even make those?"

Arthur shrugged, and then frowned, as though he'd forgotten. He went to respond, perhaps to defend his reputation, when Dutch came into the kitchen, pausing briefly at the sight of them both at the bench.

"Well, look at you two," he said, pulling the fine, woven scarf from his neck.

"Hi, Dutch," Mia greeted, nervous that she shouldn't have been in the restaurant, after all.

"Hi, Mia," he replied, then, "Arthur, could I speak with you a moment?"

"Sure," Arthur stood and stretched, passing the paring knife to Mia. "I know it's your day off, but if you're stickin' around, you mind supreming some of these?"

"No, sure," she said, taking the knife from him.

"Thanks," he said, following Dutch into his office, wiping grapefruit pulp from his hands on a kitchen towel.

As Mia tried replicating Arthur's careful cuts, dropping her sections of grapefruit into the container - where they co-mingled convincingly enough with his - she couldn't help but overhear their conversation, as low as both men were speaking.

"Now Arthur, as you know, it's been a bit of a rough quarter for us, food cost-wise," Dutch said. "Some of those specials just aren't selling. I know they're beautiful, but the adventurous eaters do tasting, anyway."