After the death of his son and, struggling with his own grief, Colt hits the road. He finds himself in a small town where the wizard, Atticus, protects the magical creatures that live there. Shortly after arriving, Colt begins to see visions of whit...
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Dinner was at 6. Everything was ready, and Colt called Carla and Abigail into the kitchen almost ten minutes before the doors were set to open.
"Alright, we have a lineup outside," he began, barely aware of how he was wringing his hands together. "We're going to do so great. Both of you are so talented and I'm counting on you."
"This is a bit of a lame pep-talk," Abigail cut in with the same level of sass that Colt had begun to expect from her. "I think you're the one who's nervous, Colt. Like you said, we'll all do great, including you."
He couldn't help but smile at her teenage optimism, and it was contagious. It was the same blind optimism and mindset he needed to be a business owner, and the same attitude he once had.
Colt sighed and wondered when he'd gotten so old. "You're right," he said. "Good luck!"
Like a performer before he walks on stage, Colt's nerves vanished once orders began flooding the kitchen. He took the tickets Carla deposited in the kitchen, careful to check her handwriting and clarify if he needed. Moments into the service, he missed having a good POS system.
Service didn't go perfectly, none of them did, but there were no major problems either. All the guests got their food in the timely manner and left happy in the end. They even managed to flip the tables the couple of times before Service ended at 10:00pm.
At first, Colt had envisioned putting together a menu of a hearty stew dish, but that wasn't appropriate for summer when the heat threatened to roast everyone out of house and home. So, he redid it. The new menu was fresh with as many local ingredients as he could find, a process that had been tricky since he didn't know any of the farmers that worked the land around there. That would need to be something to be improved on in the future: better ingredients.
It was nearly 11:00pm and Abigail was falling asleep on her feet. Service was long-over, but cleaning the kitchen was going to take some time without any other staff to do the job for them. Colt could see her movements slowing after a night of rushing about the kitchen, the hand she was using the wipe down the counter pausing as exhausted flooded her. Colt felt it too, but he was a little more conditioned from years of working in restaurant kitchens already.
"You can go home," he offered up. "We're basically all done here."
She surprised him by shaking her head and standing up straighter, but even the renewed effort couldn't hide the droop in her shoulders.
"Seriously, go," he pushed again. "You're falling asleep on me."
"I don't know if this work is for me," she admitted and Colt resisted telling her that serving food until 10:00pm in such a small town wasn't sustainable. Deciding to serve food so late had paid off, but it was also summertime and the weekend where locals and tourists alike were in the area.
"That's fine if it isn't," he assured. "Goodnight."
The kitchen was almost clean anyway. Colt was ensuring that everything was put back where he'd found it. If it were his kitchen, he'd have a system and a specific place for everything, but it wasn't his kitchen and he needed to respect that.
"Ah, Colt. Good job." Carla came into the kitchen. Her face was flushed with exhaustion and the strain of working a busy shift. "We haven't been that busy in quite a while."
"I'm sorry to ask this of you," he said, wiping down the surfaces with a diluted bleach solution. "Thanks for lending a hand."
"Well, it is my business." While Colt cleaned, Carla tugged a chair into the kitchen and sat down. "Which brings me to the next topic. Colt, are you intending to buy this place?"
He flushed at that, feeling guilty. Carla had hinted that she'd wished her husband would sell, and that they were aging out of the business, but he'd never explicitly stated his intentions to either of them. This was, perhaps a misstep on his part. He knew he should have spoken to them first, at least before he'd begun arranging his finances just so.
Colt paused in his cleaning
"I... think I'd like to," he said quietly.
He was relieved that Carla didn't appear angry, or even surprised. She looked up and around, her gaze distant, as though imagining the place during another time. It was only then that Colt realized how personal this restaurant was to her, and to her husband. Most restaurants begin similar to when Colt opened Nero, for deeply personal reasons and adding personal touches. The Colt of the past, before the blackness pulled him down, would have noticed that realization sooner. Offering to cook in a kitchen that wasn't his and in a restaurant he didn't own, for no reason other than to... what? Show Grant that Colt could cook better, fresher food? That he could attract the locals and tourists alike? It seemed pretentious to him now, and Colt's collar heated with embarrassment.
"I think that I was arrogant," he admitted. "I set out to accomplish... something. I'm not so sure anymore."
As much as Colt wanted to think that he was helping this couple get their business back together, he suspected that his true motivations were much more selfish. Looking back, it felt more like a way to get himself back into the kitchen. Perhaps even to feel good about himself as he convinced that he was teaching the next generation of cooks in Abigail. It was disgraceful.
"Well, I've been trying to get him to sell this place for years," Carla said with a smile. "I want to retire and relax a little. I would support you buying this place, but it isn't me you have to convince. I won't sell this place out from under my husband."
