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Octavia never would have considered catering if it hadn’t been for Clarke.
“How do you politely tell someone they’re too rich for their own good?” Clarke groans, flopping down on their sofa. For all her parents must have tried to instill during her upbringing, Clarke tends to act like she never learned any manners. She drops into furniture like it’s impervious to her weight; she rarely sits like an adult, preferring to be cross-legged or to sprawl completely unladylike across the furniture; and worst of all, to Octavia’s horror, she almost never uses a coaster.
“I think people trying to get that point across don’t usually care about doing it politely,” Octavia says, nudging Clarke’s feet until she kicks her shoes off in exasperation. “What did your mom do this time?”
“She’s throwing some fancy dinner party to celebrate the opening of the Jaha wing at the hospital.” Octavia begins to understand a little bit more.
“You said Wells always hated those things.”
“It’s more for Thelonious to feel better,” Clarke shrugs. “But she wants me to come. She said she’d invite all of you guys if that’s what it took to get me there.”
“Wow, I’m flattered,” Octavia says, trying to keep her voice light. Abby has definitely done more difficult things than make Clarke attend a snooty party. “How can I pass up an invitation like that?”
“Actually, she specifically wanted me to ask you.”
“Me?” Octavia snorts. Bellamy, as Clarke’s boyfriend, is supposed to take the brunt of the mother-daughter Griffin interactions. Even Raven would have been a more likely choice, seeing as she and Abby bear a passing resemblance to friends. “That doesn’t sound like something that really happened.”
“She wanted to know if you would cater. I told her that’s not your usual thing, but that I’d ask. I figure if she’s going to throw her money at anyone, she might as well throw it at someone I like.” Clarke pauses, smirking. “Or, you know, the next closest thing.”
“Get over yourself, Griffin,” Octavia laughs, pretending to push her friend off the couch. “And give me Abby’s number. I’ll need some details before I take the job.”
Bellamy really hadn’t liked it when Octavia decided to go to culinary school. Mostly because it meant she wasn’t going to college, but also because it meant she would be moving into the city to live with their grandmother. She wasn’t their least favorite family member, but she’d never helped Aurora or Bellamy much, and Octavia knew her brother was bitter about it.
Octavia had inherited the rent-controlled apartment when their grandmother died, which took a little bit of the edge off of Bellamy’s grudge and a lot of worry off of Octavia’s mind. At that point in her life she’d been working part-time as a hostess and part-time cooking greasy food at a fifties-themed diner, and cost of living in New York was going up every year.
When Grounders had opened up just downstairs from her grandmother’s apartment, now hers, she’d seen her opportunity. She’d marched in with a tray full of muffins and banana bread and basically force-fed them to Lincoln until he hired her full-time.
At the time, he’d been just another perk of the job: close to home, freedom to experiment with her own menu, eye candy boss. Now, she’s realized he’s one of the best guys she could ever hope to meet, and she’s been trying to figure out how to make a move.
She thinks Clarke’s mom’s fancy party might be the perfect opportunity.
“I have a proposal for you,” She announces one morning as they’re getting ready to open. Her lemon poppyseed muffins are in the oven, the coffee is brewing, and they’re pulling the chairs down from the tables while they have a small lapse in their schedules. The calm before the storm. It’s her favorite time of day, not least of all because she gets to chat with Lincoln first thing in the morning.
“Uh-oh.”
“Why do you say uh-oh every time I have an idea?”
“Have you forgotten the mini doughnut incident of 2014?”
“Are you ever going to let me live that down? I thought we agreed that the chili brownies made up for that...error.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hands up in defeat. He’s wearing a highlighter yellow t-shirt today, which would look ridiculous on anybody else. Octavia kind of loves his crazy shirt collection, which is, more than anything, what made her notice that she was wildly in love with him. “What’s your proposal?”
“Abby Griffin asked me to cater some event she’s having next month, and I was thinking I could maybe use the kitchen here? I’ll rent it out and everything, if you want. She’s paying me a ridiculous amount of money. I just don’t have the counter space or the fridge space I need in my grandma’s apartment–”
“I think that’s great,” he says, cutting her off mid-babble. “I don’t need you to pay me for the space; we can just close early the day before. Do you know what you’ll be making yet?”
“A variety of hors d’oeuvres. Mini quiches, canapes, fancy shit like that.”
“Do you need an extra hand in the kitchen?” He asks, setting out the bowls that hold sugar packets. They’re so tiny and he’s so huge, it always makes her giggle on the inside. “I’m not a legitimate chef like you are, but I’m pretty handy with a knife and I can follow directions.”
“I could use a sous chef,” she smiles.
Cooking with Lincoln is more fun than she thought it would be. She can be a little neurotic about things being done the way she wants them done, but he’s patient and capable. If she’s in a good mood, it’s just because she’s missed doing more than baking, okay?
He’s a huge help when it comes to loading and unloading the food for the party itself. Raven had found Octavia a cheap van and made sure it would run, and Clarke graciously painted over the naked woman with light-up nipples graffitied on the side. Octavia isn’t sure how they get all the food and tables and serving platters to fit in the van, but she knows she would have lost her mind if Lincoln hadn’t been there helping her out.
“You’re seriously a lifesaver,” she tells him, checking her watch. She should have enough time to get there, unload, and change before the party starts. “I’ll even let you pick the music on the way over.”
“Oh–” He says, his face falling and bringing her heart with it. “Sorry, Octavia. I didn’t know you were expecting me to come to the event with you. I have a meeting with our accountant, since we’re already closed today.”
“That’s fine,” she says, waving him away. She’s disappointed, but this was her own fault. At least she got to spend some time with him. “I’ll just get Bell to help me unload when I get there. Maybe even Murphy, if I can get Clarke to watch him and make sure he doesn’t eat any of the food.”
“Are you sure–”
“Of course. No big deal. See you tomorrow.”
It really isn’t a big deal, she knows, but a big part of her ‘making a move’ plan was for him to see her in her formal dress. She rocks a formal dress.
“Tell me I look hot,” Octavia sighs, leaning on Clarke’s shoulder. “I know this dress is working for me, but I want some validation.”
“You’re the hottest,” Clarke responds automatically. “Even hotter than your brother.”
“Gross.”
“I'm pretending I didn't hear that,” Bellamy calls, grunting as he lifts another box from the van. “How did Lincoln even get these in here?”
“He’s buff,” Octavia shrugs.
“I don’t want to hear that either,” Bellamy grumbles.
“You’re buff too,” Clarke says, patting him on the shoulder consolingly as he passes. To Octavia, she says, “Barring literal magic, I don’t know how either of you stay as hot as you are while working in such close proximity to your food as you do. It shouldn’t be possible.”
“Who’s ruling out magic?” Octavia jokes, straightening and adjusting her dress. It really is a great dress. She hates for it to go to waste, so she keeps it on while she’s cleaning up, keeps it on as she swings by Grounders to return all of the borrowed utensils. But Grounders is dark and Lincoln isn’t there. Even though she got more catering job offers and has a fat check in her hand, she can’t quite call the night a complete win.
Luckily, she gets another chance to put her same plan into action a few weeks later.
“My Aunt Indra called last night,” Lincoln tells her as he measures the grounds. He usually waits until they’re both in the front, setting the room up, before he starts conversation. Or before he lets Octavia start conversation.
“What did she say?” She asks, carrying in a tray of oatmeal cookies.
“Apparently she works at the hospital where your catering event was last month, and she was very impressed with your culinary skills. She asked if I knew whether you were free to cater my cousin’s wedding.”
“When is it?” She asks absently, starting to arrange the armchairs the way she knows Clarke and Raven like them.
“Two weeks,” he says, apologies already lacing his tone. “They had another caterer, but she went into early labor and can’t do the job anymore.”
Octavia considers the offer. She wants to say yes because it’s Lincoln, and it might be another opportunity to sweep him off his feet, yet– “It is kind of a lot to ask,” she says carefully.
“I get it. I totally understand. Don’t worry–”
“But if you’re willing to help me out again, I think we can get it done.”
“Yeah?” His face splits into a grin. “I’m willing. I’d owe you for about a million years anyway. This completely wipes out the mini doughnut incident. And then some.”
It’s a bigger order, a bigger rush than Abby’s party, and Octavia spends a lot of her spare time in the next few days hunched over the menu with Lincoln to hammer out the details. He’ll have to be at the ceremony, so she’ll need Bellamy to help her unload the food again, but Lincoln has promised to help her out during the reception.
“I’d rather spend the evening with you than with my nosy relatives anyway,” he says, like Octavia won’t be obsessing over this statement later. “Lincoln, when are you getting married? Lincoln, when are you going to give up on the coffee shop and get a real job? Lincoln, how come you don’t come for dinner more often?”
“It’s nice that you have that, though.” Octavia can hear that her voice is too harsh, but gentle has never been her strong suit. “They care about you, even if they think they know better than you do what will make you happy. Bellamy is that way enough for ten times the amount of family we have, but I still miss it, sometimes.”
“You have other people who care about you,” he points out, covering one of her hands with his. It’s huge and warm and she wishes he was reaching for her in a more romantic context. “But you’re right. I take it for granted sometimes, and I shouldn’t.” He smiles, suddenly. “Just wait until you meet them, though. I don’t think you’ll envy me that much.”
He’s not wrong. Octavia likes his Aunt Indra a lot, and likes his cousin Nyko well enough, though he’s busy getting married and she doesn’t see him much. Half the rest of Lincoln’s family don’t seem to realize she’s not one of their many relatives, continually intercept her as she’s trying to see to the food, to ask her how she’s doing. The other half spend the evening pestering her with questions about Lincoln and Grounders.
“You weren’t kidding,” she says, collapsing against the counter after the buffet has been stocked with the last of the food. “Having family is exhausting.”
“I will never be able to thank you enough for doing this.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Octavia assures him for the hundredth time. He leans against the island opposite her and she takes the chance to study him: all crisp, clean lines of his suit covering the tattoos and muscles she knows lie beneath.
“I do, though. Most people wouldn’t do this at all for their co-worker, much less do it last-minute.”
“You’re not just a co-worker, Lincoln. You’re my friend,” she says, biting back a smile. She knows he worries about overstepping his boundaries as her boss and her colleague, and she doesn’t know how to tell him she appreciates how much he’s trying to respect her but also communicate that she wants to get in his pants and then cuddle after.
“I know that,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I was going to– When I RSVP'd I put myself down for a plus one.”
“I didn’t see that on the head count.”
“I changed it just after you took the catering job. I’d been planning to ask you to go with me, actually.”
“Me?” She asks, because if there’s one thing she’s learned to be suspicious of, it’s things that seem too good to be true.
“I was hoping if I brought my beautiful, kick-ass girlfriend and business partner that would make the evening in all ways better. And get my family off my case. I just didn’t work up the nerve to ask you soon enough.”
Her heart soars and she can feel herself flushing.
“It’s not too late to ask,” she says, biting her lip. “I think we still have time for a dance.”
His eyes light up and he drifts slowly toward her, extending a hand.
“Dance with me?”
His voice is soft and honey-sweet and it makes her grin.
“Love to.”
They’re late opening the next day, but Octavia doesn’t miss that morning one-on-one time because she gets to have it in her own kitchen, and she gets to kiss him whenever she feels like it. That turns out to be often.
“It’s about time,” Raven complains when they finally make it downstairs and unlock the door. “I was beginning to think you’d left Grounders for the world of fine dining. Which you’re never allowed to do. I don’t want to have to find a new coffee shop.”
“Don’t worry,” Octavia says cheerfully, handing Raven a box with leftover cake from the wedding. It’s not as good as her raspberry tarts, but it will do for today. “We can run Grounders and cater at the same time. Lincoln and I make a pretty good team.”