Work Text:
"Are you making that barbecue sauce for the burgers this time?" Marcus asked, turning away from his chocolate cake for a split second to look at you.
Mikey had hired you a week before he died to help balance the books at The Beef. After he was gone Richie stuck you on the counter, waiting on customers like you didn't have an MBA, and telling you not to go back in the office. Now that Carmy was around, and attempting to make The Beef float, you were back where you belonged, in the office away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.
You were no chef...you'd hesitate to even really call yourself a proper cook...but you knew what you liked and you knew how to make it taste good. "I don't know...last time Angel complained."
"That's because Angel puts ketchup on everything like a five year old," Tina called from her station, the distinct chop of onions echoing after her comment.
"What are you making?" Syd asked, adding a quick "behind" as she passed Tina to grab a pot.
"It's Sunday night dinner," Marcus replied, ignoring the headshake Tina gave him. No real offense to Sydney but you knew she'd tell Carmy and whether or not he actually would come, you kind of didn't want the pressure oof thinking he might show up. Even with your job at The Beef you were far from understanding the "food world" but you'd tried Carmy's cooking a few times and it was leagues better than anything you attempted on a good day. There was no way you wanted him even thinking that you set foot in a kitchen, let alone trying something you made.
"Sunday night dinner?" Syd echoed.
And then the cursed, "what's Sunday night dinner?" Carmy's voice.
He'd come in from a smoke break and you took three large steps back to the office, as if you hadn't set foot in the kitchen to begin with. Marcus looked at his boss and then at you (wide eyed and trying not to visibly shake your head at him) and then back to Carmy.
"It's uh,"
"Nothing," Tina cut in, "It's nothing. Get back to work eh, Jeff?"
"Yeah," Carmy looked like he wanted to say something else but instead just nodded, blue eyes a little glazed, "yeah."
In the comfort of the office, you get back to work soon payroll for the week, slipping your AirPods in to drown out the sounds of the kitchen. Just over the softer lull of Evermore you could hear Carmy yell at Richie, his brother's best friend shouting right back. It wasn't always (or ever) the best environment for working but you liked it. You liked it when Mike was working there and you somehow managed to like it a little more now that Carmy was running the show, though that could just be that you liked Carmy. Outside of work, you didn't have too many conversations but he was pretty to look at and you liked the brief interactions the two of you had, even if it was just asking about accounts and other boring stuff he didn't have the patience for on his own.
The whole incident (that might be an exaggeration of the event though you'd honestly be tempted to call it a debacle and it probably wasn't that either) had been mostly forgotten by the time the dinner rush was rolling around and you were clocking out. More than thrilled to both be home before dark and to continue your mostly Carmy-free shift. He was so busy in thee kitchen and fighting with Richie that you hadn't seen him. Though by now you were positive he had forgotten the mention of Sunday night dinner.
You waved to Syd, promised to text Marcus, and slipped out the back door into the alley. If you went out the front Richie would stop you and then you'd be listening to his bullshit for another hour (at least).
"Sneaking out?" Carmy's tone was teasing and you spun around to find him sitting on a milk crate, smoking what was probably his sixth or seventh cigarette of the day.
"Didn't wanna hear about Richie's date," you shrugged, the strap of your backpack digging at your collar momentarily when your shoulder went up and then dropped back into place.
"It was a bust."
You nodded, "kinda feel bad for him," you mused. You didn't hate Richie, in fact you found him kinda funny. Even when he'd kicked you out of the office and relegated you to the counter you'd liked him too much to complain.
"You wanna date him?" Carmy asked, raising a brow as if he was issuing some kind of challenge.
"Oh, I don't feel that bad." You laughed.
Carmy smiled and you were ready to say goodnight when he opened his mouth again. Maybe you should have gone the front way. "So, what's this Sunday night dinner?"
You shook your head as if the whole ordeal wasn't that major to begin with. Maybe if it sounded lame, if you sounded like you weren't that bothered with it, Carmy wouldn't want to go. Not that you thought he wanted to spend his time off the clock hanging out with you. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm just...making dinner for like, Marcus and Tina and everybody."
He frowned. An actual, eyebrows scrunched, hooded eyes drooped, frown. "You cook?"
"Not, no, not like...I mean...it's probably cardboard compared to you," you laughed nervously, "not that I'm, ya know...comparing myself to you or anything." You replied, stumbling through your explanation.
"Must be pretty good...everybody's going."
"Well, anyone's invited...I mean, if you wanted to come you could. I think Marcus is bringing some dessert and Tina and Ebra usually bring something too." You shrugged again, an impulsive movement as you tried to make yourself sound cool and collected. It was just Carmy...the guy looked like he was homeless, he shouldn't be as intimidating as he was.
"What are you making?"
"It's just burgers," you replied, downplaying the fact that you'd specifically overpaid for waygu beef because Marcus claimed it tasted better. Who were you to know?
"I'll bring something." The offer sounded more like a sure statement. Not only would he be there, he would bring something.
"Okay..." You trailed off, "well, see you tomorrow."
You were pretty sure you'd never left The Beef so quickly in your entire life. Sunday was supposed to be a relaxing day off and an attempt to actually be somewhat sociable because god knows quarantine was rough, even with a steady job.
Now Sunday was just anxiety bubbling in your stomach while you made the blueberry barbecue glaze that Marcus liked so much. You'd imagined nothing more than calling up your mom to complain about how often you put your foot in your mouth but as you reached for the telephone you realized the only one around to listen to you talk about this weird crush you had on Carmy was your cat. The monster in question was a long haired black cat that the lady on the top floor had adopted before covid. She'd named him Rigoletto after the Italian opera and then decided she didn't want him anymore.
"The place down the street is hiring. Although I'm not so sure I wanna work at an H&R Block," you mused, scratching under Rigoletto's chin before leaving him on the arm of the couch to finish the barbecue glaze. "And I do really like The Beef...but what if Carmy hates this? And he fires me or something? Is that crazy?"
The cat didn't have the chance to answer because the buzzer by your door went off. It was too early for anybody who usually showed up to arrive though you suspected it could be Syd (she'd been invited now too, along with Richie who had to decline because it was his Sunday with Eva).
You hit the button to unlock the front door without confirming who was there. Not a great habit but you were technically expecting someone and you tended to get a little lax with security every now and then. You propped the door to your apartment so that whoever you'd buzzed (Syd, surely, maybe Ebra) would be able to just come right up.
But as luck would have it, it wasn't Syd that came through the door to your apartment. It was Carmen, holding two foil trays cause he promised he'd bring something (and okay, sure, maybe he over did himself for just a hang out in your apartment but so sue him if he wasn't trying to impress him).
"Hey uh...your cat looks like it's gonna climb me." He half greeted, half warned, staring down at the cat that had jumped off the couch and come over to greet him. Yellow eyes stared up at his blue ones, back hunched like it was ready to pounce and Carmy briefly imagined the cat jumping right into the trays in his hands.
Before any worst case scenarios could happen you scooped the cat up in your arms, apologizing and telling Carmy he could lay the trays on the small island in your kitchen. "He's super friendly," you promised, though you left him in your room and closed the door, "he's a big fan of Chester."
"Marcus' roommate?" Carmy almost laughed.
"Yeah he uh...what are you doing?" You speed walked the short distance back to the kitchen when you realized that Carmy had moved over to inspect the glaze you were making, spooning a tiny bit out and taking a bite.
"It's good, needs a little something to sweeten it up," he offered, as if this was The Beef's test kitchen. Without waiting for your okay, he went to the fridge, opening it and pulling out a bottle of maple syrup. You wondered briefly if he had some sort of psychic sense that let him know you had maple syrup on hand or if Carmy just expected all the ingredients he needed to be right where he needed them at all times. "What's this?"
"It's salad dressing," you supplied, shifting awkwardly as he shook the bottle of salad dressing he'd plucked off the shelf.
You watched him pop the lid and stick a clean butter knife into the jar, pulling it out and taste testing the dressing. This was objectively worse than you imagined inviting Carmy to your house would be.
"Shit, that's fire."
You could feel your face heat up at the compliment, though that was immediately out of your mind as Carmy continued his inspection of your fridge. When he started eyeing a tupperware of soup from last night, you reached over and closed the door on him, "okay, let's be finished going through my fridge?"
"Sorry," he held his hands up in surrender, the bottle of dressing still in one hand, "I didn't know you cooked." It was the same thing he'd said to you earlier though it didn't hold the same genuine surprise as it had earlier. Instead, he looked almost contemplative, as if finding something out about you that he hadn't known before meant something you weren't aware of.
"Nothing serious," you promised, going back to check on the burgers and looking back at Carmy, "would you...check these. I it sounds dumb but, cooking meat gives me anxiety."
"It gives you anxiety?" He said it like he was trying not to laugh, a smile threatening his features as he set the dressing back in the fridge and came over to stand a little too close to you.
"If you don't cook it enough you could kill someone and if you cook it too much it's gross," you replied, glancing half over your shoulder at him as he leaned in to check the state of the burgers.
"Alright...if you let me try the soup."
You caved, "fine." Passing the wooden spatula and stepping to the side, "if Marcus asks, I totally cooked them myself."
Carmy nodded, grinning, "yeah, alright."
Cooking with him, without the imminent pressure of a working kitchen, was more fun than you imagined it would be. When you'd wandered into the kitchen area of The Beef back when Mike was still around, he was always joking and talking shit with Richie. Carmy didn't necessarily run a tighter ship but he was more serious about food and cooking and there was less time for bullshitting. You assumed the quiet intensity was how he always was but you realized that was an unfair judgement. He was relaxed in a way you hadn't seen him be, that confidence in his food coming through with quiet remarks about this meal or that, shitty food he'd eaten while he was working in New York and stories about the CIA.
-
By the time everyone had finished eating and gone home, leaving you with a mess of plates and cutlery, you were a little tipsy but genuinely happy. It hadn't been as stressful as you were making it out to be in your mind and Carmy relaxed on a Sunday night was completely different from Carmy in the kitchen at work.
"You have a system or?" His voice broke your train of thought as you wiped the last crumbs off the table and realized that he was standing at your sink, kitchen towel over his shoulder.
"You don't have to help me clean up," you tossed the crumbs and came over to the sink, "I mean you fixed the burgers."
"I didn't 'fix' them," he almost looked like he was gonna laugh, "I just helped them along."
"Well either way, you shouldn't have to clean up too."
"I don't mind," he promised, "now, you got a system?"
"Not really," you shook your head, "but I don't have a dishwasher so everything's by hand."
"I got time," Carmy replied and you couldn't help feeling like your heart was going to thud out of your chest, "besides you promised me some of that soup."
"You just are like a whole meal Carm, you're not seriously gonna have soup at midnight are you?" You asked, though honestly you didn't think you would be surprised if the answer was that yes, he would have soup at midnight.
"Yeah, if it's good." He joked.
You shook your head, not answering and instead focusing your attention on drying dishes too large to fit in the rack beside your sink. The frying pan went back on the stove with the pot beside it. While Carmy finished the very last of the dishes you let Rigoletto out of your bedroom, the cat stretching languidly as he appraised the room.
"My mom had a cat once," he mentioned, eyeing Rigoletto as he approached the kitchen area, "ended up giving it to the neighbor cause it jumped on the counters all the time. Nothing like cat hair in your chicken picante."
"Rigoletto's too fat to make it to the counter by himself." You replied, "if he did I'd be too impressed to be upset with him."
"What are you doing?" Carmy watched you curiously as you got a bowl out of the cabinet and grabbed a bag of granola.
"Homemade granola," you shook the bag, "it's for the top of the soup." When he didn't say anything you added, "just trust me."
"It's your recipe."
"I feel like that wasn't as confident sounding as I wanted it to be," you laughed, passing the heated up bowl across the counter to him, granola sprinkled over the top, "it's apple and brie soup."
"Apple?"
"Okay, like you've made some weird fucking shit before Carm. Don't act like this is the craziest thing you've ever heard of."
He raised his hands in surrender again, spoon teetering between his fingers briefly before he was leaning forward to take a bite. "To be fair, I rarely see you near the kitchen at work."
"Well I'm not as good as anyone there, I just like trying different stuff on my own time."
"This is really good," he mentioned, taking another spoonful, "you have a recipe?"
"Yeah, I have a notebook somewhere," you weren't a hundred percent sure where you'd placed your notebook though you knew it was floating around somewhere in the apartment.
"Show me?" He asked, then, "not right now...just whenever." The request was vague and you knew that ultimately you could just take it to mean showing him the actual handwritten recipe that you used to make the soup that he was almost finished eating but it could also mean actually cooking with him. Something that, 24 hours ago, would have definitely scared the shit out of you. Cooking with someone like Carmy? That was out of the question.
"When do you ever have free time?" You kept the question light, a joke more than an observation of his life, "I was surprised you came tonight."
"I thought about not coming," he shrugged, "figured if you wanted me to you woulda asked yourself but..." The sentence teetered off and you took a few seconds silence to really weigh how your relationship with Carmen looked from his end.
"Sorry, it's not that you aren't invited or anything...just that you're kinda intimidating and if you were coming over than I'd wanna impress you and if I didn't at least make edible food I'd be embarrassed."
"It could use a little fine-tuning but it's not bad by any stretch."
"Okay," you almost laughed at the bluntness of his statement. Ask him anything else and he clammed up but ask him about food and he was direct.
"Sorry I-"
"Don't be sorry," you shook your head quickly, wanting him to understand that you weren't at all bothered by the comment. Maybe if you were in an actual professional kitchen...you'd heard him and Syd go at it before over a dish and you knew that Carmy could be mean when he was in 'kitchen-mode'. "I mean, aside from you, the only people who eat what I cooked are like...my parents. And what are they gonna say?"
Carmy didn't say anything, taking the empty bowl and placing it in the sink. He looked like he wanted to say more but instead he reached for his coat, "thanks for letting me invite myself."
"Hey, anytime you wanna come over..." You admitted. Tonight hadn't been as scary as you thought it was and, in all honesty, you kind of liked having Carmy here. Getting to see him more relaxed was nice and cooking with him was somehow better. "Besides, I promised to show you the soup."
"Yeah," he nodded. Trying to fix The Beef, pay off Jimmy, and generally just exist didn't leave a whole lot of free time but he didn't think he would mind making some just so he could stand around in your kitchen with you again. It felt almost the way he used to feel when Mike was still alive and everything still had a layer of candy-coating on it. That sort of simple, 'if I don't leave this moment nothing can go wrong' feeling that tightened his chest and made him feel warm.
"I'll see you tomorrow at work?" You phrased it like a question but it was a fact.
"Tomorrow." He agreed. The possibility of it already making him eager for the morning.