Chapter Text
“So… You wanna come to mine?” he’d asked, as easy as that.
And she was conflicted. Because she did, yes, but…
They’d sorted things out – properly too, a real apology, a real conversation. Syd felt a lot better about everything than she had when she had turned up to the crew working wads of cash out of tins of tomato sauce, an inexplicable but somehow unsurprising mess of a scene. They’d communicated, talked it through – he had said ‘heard chef’, and she believed that he meant it. He was listening to her, more and more, slowly but surely. And when he made the effort it could work, she knew that.
He could be a good listener, was the thing. When he put his mind to it anyway, and even better as they’d gotten closer. He knew how to listen, and more and more how to interpret what she said. He understood her, it seemed. Or was getting very good at understanding her.
She felt like maybe it was partly the gazing. Most of the time he had a thousand-yard stare, like his eyes were unfocussed all the better to not see the nightmares. But when he focussed, when he zeroed in – his gaze was heavy, electric, had a physical presence.
He would let all of his focus be on just her, just her, as if there was nothing else more worth paying attention to. His gaze was intense, and unending, and he didn’t look away and around like most people did, he would be in a conversation without casting his eyes about the room. Just looking at her. And it helped her feel emboldened to speak, because she knew he was listening, and he was focussing, and he was working to make sure he heard her, really heard her. So, when he said ‘heard, chef’, it really wasn’t empty.
It was also that the two of them were similar. The type to put everything into anything they tried to achieve. It’s how he decided he would work at the best restaurants in the world, and did. It’s how she put herself through culinary school, started her business - it hadn’t gone perfectly but she had gotten there. Tenacity was the word, she thought. Like a dog with a bone, constantly consistent at gnawing away at it, sucking as much from it as was there. Her and Carmy were both like that - intense.
A little too intense for most people probably. But it’s why they worked. And it’s why, she knew if he would just put the full force of that intensity into building a real, equal, balanced partnership with her, they could achieve… Fucking, anything.
They would be on fire. They were both fiery, was another way to describe it. ‘Twin flames’ her mind tried to supply before she forcibly diverted her train of thought.
But that was kind of the issue. They’d sorted things out in relation to that one terrible day, that one painful fall out, but the problem wasn’t just that. It was more in… how badly she wanted to sort things out. How desperately she wanted to build this partnership. How urgently she wanted to have him in her life.
She had always admired him. Best new chef, creator of the best meal she’d ever had in her life, handsome, earnest, passionate, pretty. Talented as hell. She’d admired him from afar, and never really thought much of it because she never expected to meet him, really. There was a lot of chefs in the world, a lot of restaurants, a lot of food - what were the chances?
And then she’d met him. And he was so, so different, compared to the image she’d built in her mind. He was better and he was worse. He was richer, and deeper, and more intense than she could’ve imagined. He was passionate. He could be silent. He didn’t always bother carrying a conversation. He could be awkward. He was emotionally unavailable, and only seemed able to be straightforward when it was about work, or food, logistics, facts. He had sharp edges, boiling points. He could be selfish. Annoying. Frustrating. Sometimes he didn’t bother to listen. And with all this, she felt like – he was overwhelming. A wave of the ocean that crested suddenly, taller than her, crashing over her in the blink of an eye. He took up so much space he had a gravitational pull, and she couldn’t help but desperately orbit around him.
The admiration of a vague idea of an idol crumbled into just liking and respecting a man she saw day in and day out. A guy she knew, and knew well. She watched him struggle to earn respect, work to show authority and capability. She watched him win over the team, his team, one by one. Watched him be patient with Richie, as annoying as he was. Watched him be encouraging to Marcus, even when he messed up. She watched him be vulnerable with Tina, even when she was sharp with his softness.
He was so forgiving sometimes, so patient. Neither were traits she felt she had in abundance, she was willing to admit - and she admired it so, so much.
And God he was impressive. She watched him chop vegetables and herbs at record pace, flawless and even. She saw his meticulous dedication to constant improvement. She learnt from his ability to pair flavours, develop them, layer them, enrich them. Create and elevate meals that just wouldn’t have been as good done by anyone else. He was an amazing chef. The best she knew, she thought. He’d made the best meal she’d ever eaten after all – not that she ever planned to tell him that.
So, the admiration didn’t go away - it got focused. Specific and real and tangible, and way more intense than just a crush on a celebrity. Her feelings for him crumbled from something simple and shallow and fragile, and reformed and grew into something bigger. And scarier.
And so, with all that playing on her mind all the time, she was worried. They had a shot at making something amazing, something incredible. The honour it would be, to begin a brand-new journey, open a restaurant that could really do what she wanted to do - make people happy. To help him execute the dream he had shared with his brother, his best friend. They had a chance to do something that beautiful, ,that wonderful.
And so, the logical, reasonable part of her brain told her - don’t ruin it. With something as frivolous as a crush. It might have been returned, and okay maybe acting on it would be burningly, furiously hot, and deeply, woefully, sexy, but. But. It was a risk. And she wasn’t a child anymore, to be risking it all, for a crush.
She felt juvenile just thinking it. Lying in her bed, back at her dad’s house, in her childhood bedroom, she felt so much like a child already. And to be a grown woman talking about having a crush? It was too much.
She had a vivid dream one night of being in a bath with Carmy, a massive bath, kneeling behind him, lathering his hair clean with shampoo. Scratching her nails across his scalp, slowly, softly. The way he leaned back against her, even as she laughed about needing space to access all his hair, like he couldn’t bear to leave space between them, crooning softly at her touch. At the feeling of her soft skin against his. In her dream, she washed the shampoo out of his hair, and then he turned around with a soap and washcloth and lathered her entire body. Slowly working from her fingers, up her arms, softly scrubbing at her back, her chest. Working extra slow when it came to her breasts. But still focussed on the task of washing her. She’d had a full sex dream about him the week before, graphic and drawn out, but the intimacy of that shared bath was what had her unable to meet his eyes for a solid week.
Because the thing was… She absolutely did have a crush on Carmy. His big, soft, gazing blue eyes. His arms, adorned liberally with tattoos. His eternally surprising biceps. His long soft curls, the way he would drag his hand over his face, through the strands. And it was starting to feel like she there was no way back from it.
X
There had been another night they had sat in his office, just the two of them after everyone else had left, brainstorming more recipes for a dinner menu. He was sat in his desk chair, and her perched on the edge of his desk. And in the soft orange light of the lamp, she pointed at each in turn and asked what they meant.
She remembered him rolling up his sleeves.
“Uh… 773 is just the area code, you know. From my first phone. It’s also… Funny, to me. Was funny to us – Because an old guy from round here would think, 312, classic code right? 773 only became the area code relatively recently - but it’s mine. And Mikey had 312. Older phone, older code. It was dumb but… We kind of uh… matched.” He finished by dragging a hand over his hair, a wry smile on his face as he looked into the middle distance. His eyes were soft. It was one of the few times she saw him look that tenderly happy talking about his brother. A good memory, a good time, plain and simple and he just let himself enjoy it. And she enjoyed watching him happy.
She smiled at him then, a light tease in her tone as she said, “Oh that’s real cute. You’re a couple of cuties for that!”
He huffed one of his quiet laughs then, eyes sliding back over to hers. Lids getting heavier, eyes regaining focus, smile getting less wry, a little smaller but still present. Gazing at her again, like he liked what he saw. “Yeah. Real cute.”
And she knew it was ridiculous, but her heart sped up a little. Her face got a little hot. It wasn’t like that but - staring into his eyes, his unblinking, infinitely intense gaze, it had that effect on her.
She lost her train of thought a little bit, and they were quiet for a moment. Just looking at each other. And then… she glanced down. Just a little bit. Her eyes landed on his lips for just a minute. Just long enough for her mind to start constructing images of what it might be like to get a little closer. What his lips might feel like.
Then he coughed, quietly, and her eyes widened. She dropped her gaze back to his arms, and prayed he didn’t notice the octave increase in her voice as she pointed at the snail and asked, “so what about this one?”
X
They’d kept talking that night, sharing, just a little. She felt like she could talk about her dreams and her fears, her failed business and her shapeless, still forming, soon to exist next dream to chase. She even let him know that The Bear might just be it. He told her about his brother, about Mikey. About being a lonely kid with a best friend that he missed like a limb. He talked about Sugar, and how, as much as things were strained, and he took her for granted, and she was angry at him, they loved each other. And they wouldn’t lose each other, in the way they lost Mikey. The conviction in his voice as he said, “I’m not losing her like that. I don’t want to… Let people go again. Let things just… Fade.” was very real.
She could tell that Carmy was putting a lot into it, his relationships. With her, with everyone. And she appreciated it, a lot. Their relationship had grown, had developed. He believed in her, respected her in a way that wasn’t the default, that was hard won and earnt and right. He had faith in her and her ideas – and that made her feel like she could do anything. And she could say anything, in any kind of way, and he would listen to her. It felt like, they could be partners, really and truly. In this together.
It felt like it was happening all at once but – not that night. There was a lot more to go. They had hardly come up with a new recipe. It got late, so late that they dropped everything when they saw the time, put on their shoes and coats to go home - only to end up outside of the restaurant, still talking, neither of them walking anywhere. Just facing each other, swaying towards each other a little, and talking. Sometimes the way he would lean in and toward her, she wondered if she had a gravitational pull on him too.
She wanted to.
Which took her back to the problem - she wanted him, and wanted something with him, and she wasn’t just talking about the restaurant. But it would be crazy to jeopardise that, something tangible and real and possible, that could be so good, to risk it all for the vague, cloudy idea of Carmen and Sydney being Syd&Carmy, and possibly going out in a sad fiery burning supernova like so many other chef couples did.
They fought enough for people who wanted to run a restaurant together. All the active effort on communication and working together wasn’t going to make that entirely cease and desist. And if they were… together? That probably wouldn’t help. Fights about flavours and menus and vendors and taxes could easily spiral into fights about laundry and chores and more taxes, and who after a full day of cooking was going to do yet more cooking for the both of them.
And yet… even thinking of that made her heart clench in her chest, a little. A lot, really. She wanted that.
It was embarrassing how much she wanted it.
X
All that to say… when Carmy invited her over to his apartment to commiserate and get roaringly drunk, she was the one to turn it into a group hang.
“Yeah, that sounds good – it’ll be like – we’re doing family at yours when someone asks, what’s for family, it’s just like, alcohol. I feel like Gary will love that and Marcus will hate that. We don’t usually do drinking at someone’s place, that’ll be interesting, have you ever had, everyone over, or? From here I mean I’m sure you’ve – had people. Over.” She cut off her ramble, way too late, arguably. She spent the entire she was time talking only flicking her eyes over to him in small doses, letting his face exist mostly in her peripheral. He was still looking at her intently as ever, she could feel his gaze like a physical weight. She couldn’t make out if his face reacted much to her spiel.
He was quiet for a moment. She saw him run his hand across his face, push his hair back, drag the hand back down to rub at his chin. “Yeah, no… might be a bad idea to let all of them into my house.”
“Yeah, it uh – it might be.”
“But… you’re in?” he asked, voice light. A little lighter than usual, like he didn’t want to make the question sound loaded.
It mostly ended up sounding like she was the only person she wanted to see there. Unless she was just projecting that. She smiled as she said, “I am so in.” There was no other option realistically – she would happily, unquestioningly, be anywhere he wanted her to be.
“Good, good. I need you there… for moral support.”
“Moral support yeah?“ she confirmed, raising a brow.
“Yeah.” He said, and smiled a little wider as he continued, “You can uh - fight Richie when he’s being annoying. So, I don’t have to.”
She threw her head back at that, laughed hard, barely getting out, “You want to use me as a sponge to minimise your Richie exposure?”
“Uh… pretty much, yeah. More like - uh, we can share it. The exposure. The fights. Partners and all.” His voice was extra soft by the end. Sincere again.
She couldn’t help but smile, feeling soft as well. “Partners yeah?”
“Partners, definitely.”
“Heard, chef.”
“Good, chef.”
“Come on then let’s go - we’ve still got to get through a dinner service. Partner.”
“You go, I still wanted to burn one real quick – partner.”
A little part of her warmed at the realisation that he hadn’t smoked while she was eating probably out of consideration for her. She stood up and dusted herself off, and let herself put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze as she walked by him. Warm underneath her hand. And bringing him so close that the full force of his gaze met hers and it was a miracle she managed to continue moving without stumbling the way her mind went blank for a minute. Nothing in there, no thoughts but Carmy’s eyes.
She got inside and took a deep breath. Thought about him, his sleepy heavy-lidded eyes, intense, intent gaze, his long-suffering lips, his greasy, too-long curls, his strong arms and his tiny smile. Realised she’d gotten so wrapped up in him that she had left her phone outside.
So yeah, she turned it into a group hang, and she would never know if that’s what he intended it to be or not. But she just…. couldn’t hang out with him alone. The direct exposure for even short periods of time made her brain stop working. Any more intimacy, any lengthier time alone, and she would probably be confessing her love or desperately throwing herself at him faster than anything.
She felt so off kilter, all the time, her whole axis slightly shifted, because this man had come into her life and thrown her off whatever path she’d been on before. She remembered seeing that sign in the window, and calling up, and hearing his soft voice on the phone. She didn’t really remember exactly how the conversation went. Just the butterflies in her chest at speaking to a chef she had spent so long admiring.
It was funny to think, that at the time all she had felt was excitement. No apprehension, no worry. She couldn’t help but think that if past Sydney knew just how hard this whole endeavour was going to rock her shit, change her course, divert her life – she would have been terrified. She wouldn’t have thrown herself into something this messy, this scary, not again. She had done bravery before, and she had crashed and burned and told herself, keep the stakes lower. Gamble with a rundown restaurant that’s fighting for its life, sure, but not with your heart, and your credit score, and your life, and your joy.
But here she was – risking it all regardless. She took a deep breathe, went back outside, went back to Carmy. Something she might be doing for a long while to come.