Chapter Text
“…oh, and can I get that soup without the squash?”
He lowered his notepad, taking a deep breath. “Are you serious?”
“Excuse me?”
Astarion sighed. “You want the butternut squash chili, but without the squash?”
The woman rolled her eyes at him. “Yes. Is that really so hard?”
He had to contain a chuckle. “I’ll ask the chef.”
“Much better.” She shooed him away with her hand.
Astarion ran his fingers through his bleach blonde curls, making a discontented face as he stalked back to the kitchen, already knowing how this interaction was gonna go. No, Astarion, I can’t take a fundamental component out of this dish. You know you can say no to these requests, right? I mean, what do these people think, that they can write their own menu? “Hey, chef,” he called out as he pushed the double doors open.
“-and K, I need those fries for- I see you Astarion, just wait a second.” The cook replying back to him was squinting at a ticket, trying to decipher what it said. “Lae’zel, I’m sorry, I absolutely cannot tell what this thing says. If you must insist upon giving me your hand written tickets for some god forsaken reason, it would be tremendously helpful if you could write a bit neater-“
The server in question stared daggers at him, arms crossed over her chest. “Perhaps instead you should start wearing your glasses.”
Thoroughly frustrated with this, the chef turned his attention to Astarion, who had begun impatiently tapping his foot. “What do you need now?”
“This lady at 36 wants her chili without the butternut squash.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell your lady at table 36 that I cannot just remove a fundamental component of the dish. You realize you can deny people outright and you don’t have to take all of these to me, yes? I mean really, if she wanted to make her own menu, she could’ve-“
“Eaten at home. I’ll let her know.” He took a rapid swig from his styrofoam cup of lemonade that he had so tediously scribed his name on before returning to the customer. “Ma’am, the chef politely declines modifications to-“
“Fine, whatever. I’ll have the harvest beet salad. With… salmon.”
He whipped out his favorite pen, and scrawled down the order with a satisfying click. “Great. And for you, sir?”
“Short rib.”
“Just as is?”
“Uh… yeah? I just want the short rib.”
He put on his most saccharine smile. “I’ll have those out soon for you guys, then.” After he typed their order into the computer, he took a quick scan of the dining room — pretty empty, of course, considering it was 4pm on a Thursday — then grabbed his lemonade and made his usual pilgrimage to the host stand.
The hostess started talking without looking up from her book. “What did that bitch at 36 want? I saw you talking to her.”
“She wanted to take the squash out of the chili.”
She giggled, sliding her bookmark into place. “Why am I not surprised? And how did Chef take that?”
“As well as you’d think.”
“‘Why don’t these people just eat at home if they want to change my menu so desperately?’” she said in a mocking tone.
“Literally almost exactly what he said. Hey, I think-“
Before he could finish his thought, he felt the unmistakeable presence of his boss behind him. “Astarion. I suspect if you’re out here talking to Jennevelle, you must be done with all of your side work? Your tables all have their food?”
He sighed. “I’ll get right on it, Minthara.”
“You’d better.” Just as quickly as she appeared, she vanished.
Jenn shivered playfully. “She’s fucking terrifying.”
“You’re telling me.”
She smacked him on the arm. “Well, you’d better go start looking busy before she smites you or something.”
“Ugh. Fine.” He frowned, hard, and meandered back to the kitchen. “Chef K?”
“Hello?” Karlach poked her head up from whatever it was she was cooking. “Oh, hey! Good timing. Try this.”
She shoved a spoon at Astarion. He stuck it into his mouth without question. “Good. What is it?”
“Just a little somethin’ I was trying out. I’ll have Gale try it when he comes back.”
“Where’d he go?”
“Out back to have a smoke, I think.”
“Figures. I-“
Before he could even form a sentence, Jennevelle burst into the kitchen. “Astarion.”
“What?”
“Can you…”
“No.”
“Take a table on the patio?”
He sighed, again. “How many is it?”
“Four.”
“Any kids?”
“No.”
“Fine.”
…
“Y’know, Wyll…” Astarion said, slinking up to the bar.
The man chuckled. “Is whatever you’re about to say to me work appropriate, Astarion?”
“I was just thinking how much my quality of life would improve if-“
“Ok. What do you want?”
“Oh, if that CHILD at my table outside there had a virgin strawberry daiquiri. He was just oh so upset.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow, but reached for the blender anyway.
“Oh- in a styrofoam cup. Of course. Because a glass would be breakable, obviously.”
“Uh huh.” He smiled, knowingly, and made the drink, slipping it into Astarions hand when he was finished. “And, by the way, I saw them come in. Unless it was a very tall child, you don’t have to lie to me, you can just ask.”
“Hmph.” He took his drink and retreated back to his refuge against the counter by the soda machine in the kitchen. He sipped on it and scrolled aimlessly through his phone, trying to deter people from talking to him. The restaurant closed in a half an hour. Fucking finally. This was his third double in a row before getting two days off. His feet ached, his forehead was unfairly sweaty, and he reeked of… just food in general, really.
At last, Minthara’s cold voice uttered the words he had been longing to hear: “Astarion, you’re cut. Go home.”
He smiled brightly, prancing over to chef Gale. He stared wordlessly at him until he looked up. “What, Astarion?”
“Can I get some food?”
“Ah, you’ve come to the right place! What would you like?”
He rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. “What do you think?”
“I’ll call you when it’s done.”
That was an acceptable answer. Just as he was about to go out and find Jenn, she popped back into the kitchen, lid already off her cup, ready to fill it one last time before heading home. “Are you still good to take me home, Star?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, of course.”
“Thanks,” she replied, taking a sip of her fresh cherry Coke.
“Is that you over there, Jennevelle?” Gale called as he dropped something in the fryer.
“Yes, hello!”
“Anything to eat for you tonight?”
She walked closer. “Well, if you INSIST…”
Gale smiled. “I don’t, but go ahead.”
“Just a bowl of soup to go for me, thank you.”
“Sure. Which one?”
“Hm… the chili. But without the squash, if you please.”
He paused, looking at her earnestly. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
She couldn’t help but laugh at her own joke. “Kidding! Mushroom bisque.”
“Coming right up.”
Once the food was finished, Gale took off his apron, walking around to join Astarion and Jenn. “Alright, soup for the lady, and chicken fingers with sweet potato tots for the gentleman.”
“You’re leaving too?” Astarion asked, eyebrow cocked.
“Ah, yes, K is closing tonight. I’ve gotta get home and feed the ole’ cat.”
“Aww, you have a cat?” Jenn asked, delighted.
“I sure do. Her name is Tara. Here, I’ll show you a photo.”
Astarion sighed again and started leading the group out of the restaurant.
“Chef, she is so precious.”
“Isn’t she just?”
Eh, he felt left out. “Let me see,” Astarion said, scurrying over to Gale and getting close so he could look at the pictures too. “Hm. Cute.” They made it into the parking lot, Astarion and Jennevelle getting ready to clamber into the former’s Prius as they did most nights they worked together. “Gale, you usually park in the back, don’t you? Are you over here today?” He scanned the parking lot, but didn’t see the deep maroon-ish Chevy Malibu he had deduced a while ago belonged to the cook.
“Me? Oh, no, I’m walking home. The old girl’s in the shop. My car, that is.” The way he stumbled over himself when he spoke outside of work was charming, albeit in quite an awkward way. Gale the chef and Gale the regular guy were almost two different people. It was as if when he stepped out of the restaurant, his assertiveness got turned way down, and his wordiness got turned way up. Astarion hadn’t gotten to see much of this side of him before. It was sorta funny.
“Well that won’t do. We’ll take you home. Won’t we, Astarion?” Jennevelle offered, watching her friend expectantly.
“Oh? Oh. Uh, yeah.”
“You can take shotgun, chef.”
Gale laughed softly at the title. “Please, Jennevelle, you don’t have to call me that outside of work.”
“It doesn’t feel right to call you by your first name.” She slipped into the backseat.
Astarion turned the key in the ignition and the car hummed to life, the music coming through the radio only slightly muffled by static. “So, where does the famed Chef Gale live?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, just down this street, on the right. Past the school, but not quite all the way to the lakes.”
He scoffed. “And you were gonna walk? Christ. Shads doesn’t even live that far.”
“Who?”
“That would be me,” Jenn replied as the car pulled out of the lot. “Just a little nickname.”
Astarion was right — she didn’t live as far as Gale did. They were at her apartment complex within a couple minutes. “See you next week.”
“Thanks for the lift, as always. I’ll be seeing you. Night, Star. Goodnight, Chef Gale.”
“Hey, you said my name! Goodnight, Jenn.” He winked — not flirtatiously, by any means, just to be friendly. She smiled and waved.
The somewhat uncomfortable silence that tends to follow two people without much to talk about into a car started to trickle through the door the moment the girl was gone. Astarion was the first to dare to fracture it. “So, Gale…”
He stiffened slightly.
“…what happened to your car?”
“Hm? Oh, right, of course. There was something or other wrong with the engine, I think.”
“Hm.”
The next three minutes passed quietly.
“Ah, here, on the right, this one’s mine. The blue-“
Astarion slammed on his breaks.
“Heavens, what was that for?”
“I was stopping!” He squinted. “Where’s your driveway?”
“Um… in front of the house?”
“Which house?”
“The blue house. You would have heard me tell you that if you weren’t so busy giving us whiplash.”
“You’re being awful critical of the man who drove you home.”
“And you’re being awful brash to the man who cooks your dinner four nights a week.”
“Hm.”
“Hm?”
He shook his head. “Hm.” He pulled into the gravel driveway. Gale’s house was cute, painted blue, just as advertised. Astarion thought that suited him. The front door was a shade of dark green, adorned with a brass knocker, and the shudders were white. At least, they were clearly supposed to be.
He didn’t realize how long he had been sitting there looking at it until Gale patted his knees, announcing his imminent departure. “Well, thank you. I’m rather grateful. This wasn’t necessary, and I don’t expect it to be a repeat act of kindness by any means, I’m quite alright walking.”
“Well if it was that terrible, then-“
“No, no, that’s not what I meant! I don’t want to inconvenience you, is all.”
He waved his palms around in front of him, disgruntled, acting sort of bratty. “No, no, not an inconvenience. It’s on my way home, anyway.”
“Oh, is it?”
“I live just on the other side of the lakes. I rent the top floor of a house.”
“Ah, quite lovely.”
A few more seconds passed by, lack of noise thick and heavy.
“Well.”
“Right, I’m going to go home.”
“Surely. Goodnight, Astarion. Thank you again.”
“Hm.”
“Hm,” he echoed, getting out of the car.