Chapter Text
Sundays at Bite! were usually slow, especially for Mike who was used to the constant orders flooding his kitchen and his guests giving each other their seats and taking turns just to try his latest creations. This was part of what made the dull days flew by faster through the week… except on Sundays.
On Sundays not even a fly would take flight outside and the silence could be cut by a knife in the early hours of the day. Everyone just made a beeline to the cakes he’d baked the night before and their journey immediately continued after the goods exchanged hands for money. Maybe they also brought a few buns, crescent rolls or one of the chocolate-filled croissants. Aside from that the day was usually uneventful, especially around noon where the number of orders seemed to hit the bottom of the barrel with no costumer to serve and allowing Mike’s thoughts to roam freely until the hands of the clock finally met.
In the distance, he could hear the bell of the church ring loudly, its sound traveling across the small mountain town and life slowly returned once the townsfolk started leaving the church.
Come to think of it, maybe this was one of the reasons why Ann could profit from her shop so well with the name Prayer, although unlike Mike, she had kept herself to religious traditions and the doors of the restaurant remained closed for the day there was really no reason to sit around all day and wait for guests.
However, for Mike the peak of the day was not when he had the open sign swinging gently on the glass window of his restaurant, but when he grabbed the small white board that he used for lunch breaks and promptly hanged it instead of his regular sign before going back to his small kitchen. Focusing his attention on the stove and the oven that radiated with heat against the fabric of his trousers he opened it just enough to let some air in in order to cool the contents of the baking pan. Almost like it was part of his strange daily ritual of luring the beast out from his lair on the opposite side of the street, he went back to his counter, staring at the rag-tag store across the street.
Soon enough, from the corner of his eyes he could see the hardwood door open, as a man wearing a goofy hat with his notebook attached to its side looked his way, his lips pulling into a small smile when he slid out of his shop, locking the door before making his way through the abandoned setted street.
For a second, he stopped and with the cautiousness of a cat, the man looked around before entering, almost as if he made sure nobody saw him loitering around the restaurant when the owner was on a break.
Not like anyone would comment on it.
The town was small, with rumors and news traveling faster than migratory birds. After three weeks into this strange arrangement had started, it was a well-known fact that the two kept meeting at various times of the day, mainly so the chef could provide him with lunch that he had diligently paid for beforehand.
The catch to this strange arrangement that the man ended up as the sole taste-tester for the chef’s latest experiments and he was required to visit him on Sunday just when he turned the small sign around. This way one could get free food, while the other got some company.
Pushing his head through the barely opened door, he peeked into the restaurant with a stoic look on his face, his facial muscles almost pulling into a lopsided smile when he noticed Mike Morton wildly waving at him. Fortunately, he quickly managed to catch that rare glimpse of visible emotion and pushed it back to where it came from as he entered the restaurant like he was forced to attend without his consent.
Norton Campbell, the employee of the store owned by Servais le Roy the self-proclaimed grand magician, quietly walked to his usual seat at the window where a pair of plates were already waiting for him paired up with their respective utensils. He nodded towards the kitchen in silence, before taking seat, his facial muscles refusing to show an inkling of excitement. Over the year they had known each other, Mike had gotten better at reading his gestures.
If Norton looked at the street instead of following him with his eyes as he worked in the kitchen, it served as the first sign that the shopkeeper had a few imaginary clouds in the clear blue sky. If he tapped the ground with the heel of his shoes, it served as a warning for Mike to be careful with his words, a storm was sitting on Norton’s shoulder and he might get hit by a wandering thunder.
“Now now, not even a single smile for me today? I am honestly floored,” he gave Norton a smile as he put the plate in front of him, but the man just huffed, refusing to respond. “You can tell me what bothers you, I hope you know that. It’s not like we are strangers even though only food seems to connect us.”
Norton remained silent, slowly cutting the meat without ever showing any willingness to respond Mike’s question, only making the man’s frown become deeper.
“Norty, I hope you know it’s not a weakness to have problems,” he tried again, almost completely forgetting about his own food.
“I don’t have problems…”
“And I don’t have a restaurant,” Mike countered, huffing at Norton for being as stubborn as a mule. Just how annoying he had to be in order to get the slightest bit of information?! But if he was too pushy Norton would just stand up and leave just like he did in the beginning when he tried to call him out for not eating properly. Come to think of it, it was a wonder that he managed to walk to Bite! on his own, without the need of a telephone call.
“Why are you so insistent about helping me anyway?” he heard Norton mutter under his breath.
“A friend gotta do what a friend gotta do, that’s why! If you frown more you will get wrinkles before you reach thirty and I’ll be legally allowed to call you gramps when that happens. I am just looking out for you!” he argued as Norton ate his food in silence, refusing to look his way.
Suddenly a scary thought made a visit to his mind, making his heart stop for a second.
“You are not relocating the store… are you?”
“For the sake of… No, we are not relocating the store,” Norton sighed, but Mike’s statement finally got him annoyed enough that he was forced to make eye contact.
“Then what?! Did someone die but you can’t tell it to anyone because you helped to bury the body in the woods so now you count as an accomplice?”
“What? No!”
“Is it a problem of the heart? I am more than willing to listen,” Mike felt an awkward knot in his stomach as he brought up the topic. Despite being supportive of anything that the shopkeeper did, the one thing he did not want to happen to him was getting a significant other. The thought of Norton eventually stopping his visits just scared him and stole away his appetite.
Norton could only look at him in disbelief, fork standing still above his meal.
“No.”
“W—Well… I’ll keep making wilder and wilder guesses if you don’t tell me, you know? I have a feeling you are actually enjoying this."
"Well, I don't," Norton argued, but Mike did not miss that gentle trembling on the corner of his lips. Probably part of him enjoyed the friendly banter or else he would have called him out on it already.
"Liar. So, are you going to tell me or am I supposed to trick you into revealing it by withholding the dessert from you?"
Making a face, Norton looked at the plate in front of him, before his eyes wandered to the view outside as if he realized the stakes of his silence. He seemed to forget that Mike, being his sole source for free food on Sunday, has the ability to change the menu the way he pleases.
“I am just not the biggest fan of March,” he managed in the end.
“One would think you hate January more because of the two week long of inventory checking,” Mike mused, resting his chin in his hands when he finally finished his meal.
“Inventory is at least interesting and important if I want to keep the shop running,” Norton shot back. “You should do that too so I don’t have to run through the entire town to get you cumin seeds when you are already in the middle of cooking.”
“Hey, that happened only once!”
“Yeah, with that spice. Then you played the same game with carrots, other spices and even cow tail. Who forgets the meat from his own soup?!”
“Me apparently,” Mike smiled back at him when he noticed the turn of the topic. Suddenly they ventured far away from why March was a sensitive month for Norton and soon arrived to the point of discussing his own forgetfulness. “Just as a reminder your dessert is still up in the air.”
“So? I told you already, I hate March,” Norton mumbled.
“Are you sure? You were perfectly fine up until this weekend.”
People either act like Norton when they are preparing for an exam or there is a date they want to avoid at all cost, that’s what Mike had learned since he opened shop in the small walking street. The fact that Norton would take up their behavior was strange, considering this man did not fear the rush at Christmas or any other red lettered holidays in their calendar.
“Alright, so, it is an anniversary of some sort?”
The knife stopped mid-cut, the golden skin of the seared chicken breast as Norton looked up at him, the red shade of shame slowly creeping up to his cheeks until his skin glowed against the blond locks framing his face.
“Bingo!” Mike exclaimed happily, twirling his fork in the air before making a wild guess. “You never mentioned anyone dying. You are not married either so… Birthday, is it?”
It should have been obvious at second glance, Mike thought to himself as he looked at Norton’s reactions with a smile on his lips. He hardly saw the man in the company of others and considering that he had mastered the art of withholding crucial information about himself he was probably not the soul and heart of birthday parties.
“So… when is it?”
“...Soon-ish.”
“Oh come on, Norty, how I am supposed to celebrate you all day if you are not even willing to give me a number that I can cross on my calendar,” he complained, but Norton remained silent, a frown appearing on his forehead as he stared at Mike.
“That’s easy. You don’t and I’d appreciate it if you gave up on that. I don’t deserve a celebration.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Mike beamed at him, only making the frown deeper. “I can’t let my favorite customer go around without anyone acknowledging his birthday!”
With this the conversation died. Norton did not try to argue anymore, while Mike knew it well that he had gotten the most out of their situation by judging Norton’s reactions.
Wood screeched against the stone floor as Mike pushed his chair back once he decided that he had enough of the silence and the tense atmosphere. Instead, he decided it was time to divert his attention with the floating island he had whipped together for the occasion.
However, as he walked back only the empty restaurant greeted him, the rays of the sun keeping their seats warm. Mike felt his stomach drop, feeling conflicted whether he should be dazzled by the scenery or feel devastated by the silent rejection.
“He did not even tell me his opinion on lunch,” he wondered to himself, taking a spoonful of his own dessert before leaning against the edge of the table with his hips. Through the window he could see the item keeper quickly turn the lock on the front door, cursing as he accidentally dropped the small pocket book he was carrying in his hand while closing up shop. It was one of the paperbacks they have started releasing only recently, costing less than half the price of a traditional publication so people with lower wages could afford to own them. They were a godsend…
Except they were not durable.
Picking his copy up, Mike could see the irritation on Norton’s face gradually shift until his shoulders dropped and a sigh escaped through his lips. There was an urge in him to burst through the door and rush to him to reassure the man that his book was not completely ruined. Even if it was only just a damaged book he knew how Norton took care of everything he owned and Mike knew it well that his own property being damaged irritated him to the point he often caused more damage in his desperation to repair what he had ruined…
Yet he remained in his place, enjoying the warm sun against his back as he was left speechless by his own cooking.
Cutting the meringue floating in the sea of vanilla with his spoon, he nodded to himself about finding the right balance between the sweetness of vanilla and the simple taste of the white, hardened foam.
If only Norton remained on his seat maybe he would not have a broken and bent book cover in his hand. In a way, Mike found it to be a timely punishment and an equal trade for the heartbreak he was forced to endure. For a year now, he tried to get closer to the shopkeeper, but their relationship seemingly came to a halt when they fell into this routine.
Mike felt both blessed to have some time alone with the man, but he also felt the curse of having him so close yet so far at the same time. Almost like he had reached the castle made of stone, even had a conversation with its owner except he refused to drop him the key.
The birthday would have been his big chance to finally sweep the man off his feet and once again he had the door slammed in his face.
Taking another spoonful of his vanilla flavored desert he could only huff in annoyance.
“After I went through the trouble of cooking for him…”
If Norton thought he could get away so easily from someone who works across the street, then he underestimated the chef and his stubbornness.