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There's a soft click as the door to the walk-in opens, warm light flooding in. Carmy startles in the doorway, looking down at Sydney kneeling on the floor, just staring at her hands.
"Shit," he starts, his voice instantly filled with worry. "Were you fucking stuck in here? Did the lock break again? Sydney? Sydney."
Her name from his mouth breaks her out of her reverie; she blinks rapidly, breath coming back into her body as she says, "no, no, no, no, it's fine. It's, uh. The door is fine, really." She stands up, looking at him, and with half-baked conviction, she says, "I'm fine." He wants to call her out on the very obvious lie but she places a closed fist over her heart, gently moving it in circles. I'm sorry I scared you. We'll talk later. "I went space cadet for a second, that's all." She smiles then, grabs something from the shelf closest to her, and gently moves past him.
She won't want to talk later, not about this. Or about the other moments over the past couple weeks where Carmy's caught the tail-end of something wrong, always in places that act like hiding spots. The corner by the garbage cans out the back, their shared office during quick breaks, the spot where they keep their first-aid kit. Emotional hide-and-seek, with Sydney brushing it off, pushing him away just slightly.
It's not like their relationship is bad. Frankly, it's pretty fucking great, considering the months Carmy unintentionally sort-of abandoned her during The Bear's renovations. When he used Claire as a distraction so he wouldn't have to think about how he was gutting his brother's restaurant, watching it quite literally implode. Walls rotted, dead raccoons plural, mold, so much fucking dust. For you are dust, and to dust you shall return. So, Claire. Distraction. He fucked up, he knows.
(If he's being honest, really, really honest with himself—Claire was also a distraction from Sydney. From her smart mouth and her sarcasm, how well she understood him and how much she still didn't know, her terrifying hopefulness, the way she makes him want to be competitive. Not with her, beside her. The most excellent CDC of the most excellent restaurant in the entire United States of America. You are an excellent chef. You are also a piece of shit. )
Even with that, with the Claire thing, with his shitty behaviour, they're in sync, like, 90% of the time, the way they'd been before. Months after The Bear's ludicrously chaotic opening, they're finishing each other's sentences when they're not saying the exact thing at the same time, easily anticipating each other's needs. Setting the pace for the kitchen like twin conductors.
Carmy knows Syd. Syd knows Carmy. They're two little peas in a fucking pod.
He knows something's wrong, but he'll let this one go, this one last time.
Carmy doesn't let it go, actually.
After service wraps and everyone goes home, after Tina hugs Syd on the way out in their new T-and-S nightly ritual, Carmy pulls up to Syd's locker, blocking the path, and stares her down when she approaches. Arms crossed.
"Carm."
"Syd."
"Could you like, scoot maybe?" she asks, eyebrow quirked. Carmy moves backward, hitting the lockers with a rattle of metal; there's not a whole lot of space. "Dude, you know you're in the way. Like, you're very obviously in the way. What's up?"
"What's up with you?"
"Come on, Carmy. I'm tired and I want to go home."
"What happened today, in the fridge?"
"I spaced out. I'm—"
"Don't say fine."
"I am."
"You're not. Not today, or fucking like, two days ago, when you puked after family."
"I had like a stomach thing, I dunno, and—wait, wait a minute. You saw that?" she frowns.
"Yeah, I saw that," he nods, arms dropping to his sides. He watches as she moves her hand to the back of her neck, holding her head up. Trying not to cry. "What's going on with you?"
Syd's quiet for a moment, before she takes a deep breath, exhales, goes, "I'm caring about everything, more than anything. Turns out it fucking sucks." She drops her head, noticing his concerned confusion. "It's what you said I needed to do to get a star. I wrote it down, it's my new affirmation."
"That's not an affirmation, Sydney. That's like, the opposite of an affirmation."
"Yeah, well, I don't actually have time for like, real therapy and I don't have a partner or something that could act as my therapist or whatever, so I'm kinda just going off of Instagram posts I've saved."
(Carmy ignores the dig; he knows he used Claire as a therapist, months ago, went real damaged white boy on her, which she didn't deserve. That Sydney still thinks about it, apparently, makes his stomach flip a bit. I don't want to be shitty. So don't be.)
"Instagram?"
"Don't knock it, okay? The manifestation girlies are very helpful. I even bought a crystal the other day. I keep it in my pocket now."
"No, you don't," Carmy snorts. He watches as a smile unfurls across her face, like something blooming.
"No, I don't," she laughs, "I lost it somewhere in my room, I have no idea where it is." She drops onto the bench between the lockers, knees knocking into his in the cramped space. "It's stress, Carm. So much of it, and like, it's kind of good because it's keeping me going, right, I have all of this energy, but it's also so, so big at the same time, and just—I guess, I just need to deal with the shitty process of getting a shitty little star because I want it so bad."
"It's not shitty," he shakes his head. "I mean, the process, yeah, but the star—I'll, we'll get you that star. I promise. I'll make this less shitty for you. But we have to fucking talk to each other. Please. Please," he repeats, eyes scanning her face. She nods. "Everything, anything. Okay?"
"Okay."
"And for fuck's sake," Carmy says as he finally moves out of her way, "get a new affirmation."
"Yo," Marcus says into his phone, smiling immediately as Luca's face pops into the screen. This motherfucker and his goddamn eyebrows.
"Yo. Monthly check-in, man, how you feeling, mate?" Luca asks, propping his phone on a side-table, grinning. Marcus is disarming—staging led to a natural friendship over messages, a group-chat that Marcus's roommate Chester somehow invaded and has filled with obnoxious-but-hilarious chatter, and FaceTime calls, when the time zone cooperates. "How's The Bear?"
"It's good. Feels real, feels like what we all want it to be. And it's getting busier every day," Marcus grins. "You gotta come visit before we really blow up, dude. Syd and Carmy have this seasonal chaos menu, and it's so fucking fire, kind of indescribable. Their minds are mental."
"Carmy always has been, the little shit," Luca says with fondness. "Too good for his own good, you know?"
"Yeah. Sydney's the same. She's like, beautifully out of her mind," Marcus says, laughing. "She's super focused and intense but also very supportive. Wouldn't have gone to Hart Bageri without her."
"Ah, so she's the reason you're successful, got it. And me, obviously."
"Dumb," Marcus laughs through his nose. "It's all me. And Google."
"Googling how to make gelee is how you get awards."
"We all start somewhere."
"Fair. You basically started with Google and went to Hart like a year later."
"I'm an overachiever," Marcus smirks.
"Alright, overachiever," Luca laughs. "How's your mom doing, by the way?"
"She's in and out, still. Can't ask for much more, honestly. She got to try Sydney's Donut, finally," Marcus adds, brightly. "Really loved it."
Snorting, Luca says, "sounds like a euphemism, maybe call it something else."
"Pull up then, 33," Marcus challenges. "Try it and give me a new name for it."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"See you in Chicago, motherfucker."
Richie knows that face in the middle booth, lit up by the soft lighting of The Bear—Luca Ramsdale.
Marcus had warned him that he'd be visiting from Copenhagen soon, would likely stop by on a quieter night without making a fuss about it. Granted, there haven't really been quiet nights since The Bear popped up on some random listicle on TimeOut Chicago, but fuck if Marcus wasn't right.
Luca's sitting alone without having dropped any mentions of him or Carmy, not asking for special treatment. Early reservation, opening time on the dot, service just getting started.
"Mr Ramsdale, welcome to The Bear. I hear this is your first time in Chicago, that right?"
Luca's face shifts from expressionless to instantly amused, "Marcus told you."
Richie doesn't agree or disagree, just says, "it's my job to know things. I'm Richie, lovely to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, Richie who knows things. Funnily enough, that's how Marcus describes you."
"No, it's not."
"It's not," Luca responds, laughing through his nose.
Richie hands him a menu with a gentle flourish, "the point is, I do know you're visiting, and Carmy doesn't, so I'll keep it quiet. We figured you'd want to surprise him, with the added bonus of enjoying your meal without that little mosquito buzzing around."
"Thanks, mate."
"Of course. I'll let you look over the menu at your leisure but just to let you know, our Chef de Cuisine Sydney is especially fond of the lamb ragu."
"Ah, the infamous Chef Sydney," Luca smiles down at his menu. "Marcus and Chester talk about her a lot. She's a genius, as far as they're concerned."
"She is," he says, a smile in his voice.
"That means a lot coming from you, Richie who knows things."
Richie nods, "I'll give you some time."
"Thank you."
Luca orders a little bit of everything, eyes too big for his stomach. Sydney's favourite lamb ragu, made with fresh pasta. A beautiful sardine peri peri dish with sauteed artichokes, artfully arranged and resembling a flower in bloom. A braised short rib risotto that affirms the existence of the divine, whatever form it may take. A Chicago-brewed beer followed by a warming cocktail made with a hint of the city's maligned liquor, Malört, and hilariously named Chai Town.
It's all, unsurprisingly and annoyingly, fucking delicious. Food he's going to think about again and again. He wants to keep eating, ordering more: there's a hamachi crudo on the menu with a side of cauliflower ceviche that sounds unreal, another dish with Concord grapes and steaming beef consommé and smoked bone marrow. Still, he has to pace himself. There's dessert to be had—he sat in a cramped airline seat for nine hours for it, after all. Sydney's Donut.
After ordering, Richie gently places it in front of him, grinning as he says compliments of the chef, enjoy. It's a soft, sumptuous dough topped with freeze-dried, powdered berries, the inside filled with a combination of cherry jam and champagne-infused cream. A take on a Victoria sponge, in a donut.
Luca swears under his breath. It's beautiful, decadent but light at the same time, stunning from first bite to last. He's polishing it off when Marcus sidles up to his table, smiling, looking at the clean dessert plate in front of Luca.
"Hope you liked Sydney's Donut, 33."
"You really have to call it something else."
"We'll workshop it," Marcus laughs. "Come back near close, we'll surprise Carmy and I'll introduce you to everyone."
Hours later, Luca finds himself being pulled into the gravity of The Bear's kitchen, Marcus and Richie leading him in. There's the palpable energy of an intense service quieting down all around him, the clinking of knives being put away, people taking the time to simply sigh. Carmy's talking to someone in chef's whites, turning as the door opens, his face cycling through several different expressions in seconds.
"You fucking fuck," he says, grinning before walking over to give Luca a bracing hug and a sharp slap on the back. "How are you?"
"Stuffed, mate, I've been eating all day. My compliments to the chefs, of course."
"No shit, you just have dinner?"
"I came by at opening, then went to the beach to try to walk it off," he laughs, "Marcus's suggestion. Really, though, Carmy. Everything is phenomenal."
"Thanks, man. Couldn't do it with all of these bozos," Carmy says, pushing his sleeves up his arms. Raises his eyebrows, smiles as he says, "definitely couldn't do it without Syd."
"You couldn't do what without me? Oh. Hey."
The infamous Chef Sydney, in the flesh and right next to Carmy.
Luca tries his best not to stare, but he fails spectacularly. Even after hours of service, undoubtedly filled with endless stress, she looks effervescent. Wearing Thom Browne chef's whites that look crisp, contrasting and complimenting the tone of her skin. Blushing cheeks from the heat of the kitchen, eyelashes impossibly curled, eyes bright and a beautiful, rich brown. She's capping a lip balm as she looks at him, her lips glistening with gloss.
She's a fucking sight.
"Hi, I'm Luca," he extends his hand out and she takes it gingerly, before her face settles into recognition and her grip tightens a bit.
"Oh, Marcus's Luca!" she exclaims. "Well, not Marcus's, but like, he talks about you a lot, and Hart, and–yeah, hey, nice to meet you."
"Just Luca," he smiles.
"Got it, just Luca," she smiles back. "I'm Sydney. This is Tina! She's our sous, she's fantastic, and she's rushing to leave because her son has an open mic thing tonight."
"Nice to meet you, Luca," Tina says quickly, before turning to Syd and motioning to another part of the kitchen. "Mami, give me a hand real quick, yeah?" Sydney nods, throwing Luca another smile before following the shorter woman to the back of the kitchen.
"You still smoke?" Carmy asks, looking at Luca.
"Quitting is for quitters. Be right back, Marcus."
Carmy takes Luca through the kitchen and out the back, to a dimly lit alley, sparsely occupied with a few things that act as chairs. Inside, The Bear is organised, contained. This is obviously the overflow. Still surprisingly neat, for the back alley of a restaurant.
"Did you just fly in?" Carmy asks, handing Luca a cigarette before pulling one out for himself, quickly lighting both of them.
"Yeah, got in this morning. I've been awake for hours, trying to beat jet lag. You know how it is."
"Not so much anymore," Carm shrugs. "You gonna be here long?"
"Sort of," Luca flicks some ash off the end of his cig. "I took some leave time, thought it might be worth having a little eat, pray, love moment, hit up a few different spots in the US. I'm starting in Chicago, then heading down South for a few days. Don't know where else to go from there, I decided to avoid making super set plans. Go with the flow."
"A food tour of the US and you started in Chicago," Carmy nods. "Interesting."
"I didn't want to go to the obvious places."
"Heard. Would've been too easy."
"Exactly. Plus, Marcus keeps sending me links to all these spots in the city, the ones that have survived COVID, and I figured, why not start here, why not start at The Bear," Luca looks off, observing the buildings around them. It's in a cosy spot, The Bear. "I think that's where I fucked up."
"Oh yeah? How so?"
"I don't know if anything else here is going to compare. Sure, Terry is here too, but The Bear has that pernil lasagna, with the side of plantains? Fuck. I'm going to be thinking about that for months. Years, even."
Carmy grins, looking absurdly proud, "that was all Sydney. She added that to the menu to celebrate Tina's 50th birthday."
"Carm, she's good. Might even be better than you."
"Oh, she is. Definitely," Carm's voice goes soft and wistful.
Luca takes a final drag of his cigarette, the ash of it reaching the filter. "Hey, crazy thought. Wild thought, even." Carmy nods. "What if I come and stage for a week?"
"Uh," Carmy exhales, runs a hand through his hair. Thinks of Cicero and their debt to pay back, rising food costs, labour. Winces. "Not really in our budget at the moment, bro."
"I'll do it for free."
"You just want to invade our kitchen, then?"
"I've been listening to Marcus talk about you and Sydney for months at this point," Luca says, "and now, you're telling me Sydney's better than you? Kinda sounds like I need to learn from her."
"Eat, pray, love my ass, you came because you're trying to poach my CDC," Carmy laughs, "fucker. You had one meal."
"And it was fantastic, Berzatto, so I need to see her in action. Really confirm your story," Luca shrugs, "and then, we'll see what I do." His smile is sly, sneaky.
Carmy thinks about it, knowing he'll have to talk it over with Syd, get the greenlight to add someone else to the delicate balance of their kitchen. "We can put you with Marcus, but you've seen our space, it's tight. That okay?"
Luca shrugs, "I've been in worse places."
"Let me talk to Syd, I'll let you know," Carmy stamps out his cigarette on the garbage can, turning to look Luca in the eye. "You're not actually planning on poaching her, are you? You work at fucking Hart." I fucking need her.
"No, obviously not, Carm, this is yours and hers," Luca motions to The Bear. They make their way inside in silence, and unable to resist, Luca adds, "might poach Marcus, though. Sydney's Donut is fire, chef."
"We really have to change that name."
"Let me get this straight," Sydney says, "Man comes all the way from Copenhagen to vacation and rather than, I dunno, enjoy the foods and sights of this huge ass country, he wants to stay in Chicago for an extra week to stage? For free?"
It's ridiculous, as a concept. And intriguing, because if she and Carmy decide to do it, let it rip, bring Luca in for a week to work and add to the energy of the kitchen, then she can learn, too. Watch him, this man who worked alongside a version of Carmy she's never met—the competitive one, smoking people left and right, the best. Most excellent CDC Carmy. She prefers her Carmy, this Carmy but still, intriguing.
Plus, Luca's nice to look at. Like, objectively. Not that it matters, not that it means anything, but it's the first time since opening The Bear that Syd's had a passing thought about anything other than getting a star. About something, someone from the world outside of the restaurant she shares with Carmy.
(Carmy is also nice to look at. Objectively. Got that whole Grecian statue thing going for him, big blue eyes that make for intense looks, wild dirty blond curls that he can't seem to tame most of the time. He kind of looks out of place in the 21st century, like he shouldn't know what an iPhone is. Which makes sense because sometimes he genuinely does forget he has one.)
"Luca wants to learn from you," Carmy says.
"He works at Hart Bageri, and he worked with you and Terry before, and at fucking Noma, too. What's he gonna learn from me that he doesn't already know?"
"A lot, chef," he says with furrowed brows. "You're fucking good, Syd."
Syd groans, long and loud, "I should've never told you about that affirmation. The whole process of affirmations is corny as fuck as it is, but that one especially."
"It's true, though. You're fucking good," he repeats, grinning as she rolls her eyes.
"You know," Syd props her hand on her hip, "I think I like it better when you're not always complimenting me. Like, tone it down, dude, please." Gets my hopes up. Makes me feel weird.
"This is why you need therapy, Syd. Everyone likes compliments."
"Carmen Berzatto. Be fucking for real," she looks at him in disbelief. "You panic whenever anyone says anything remotely nice to you."
"Yeah, that's why I also need therapy."
She whistles, "what a pair we are, Carmy."
"Yeah," he agrees, placing his hand over his heart, open-palmed. "Fuck, for a second, I thought you were gonna go full government name on me. Carmen Anthony Berzatto, be fucking for real. Freaked me out."
"A, I don't sound like that so take that back, and B, your initials spell CAB? CAB. Beep beep, Cab. Calling a cab! Hey, Cabbie!"
Carmy shoves her playfully, "oh wow, I've never heard that before in my whole life."
She winks, "I'm very clever."
"Yeah, and fucking good."
"Oh my god. Let it go. " If Syd hears it one more time from him, it'll go straight to her heart, settle there and never go away.
"I won't," he responds. "Sydney Ayesha Adamu, you are fucking good."
Full name. Her heart stutters.
"Yes, you are," Marcus agrees, startling the pair of them as he joins them in the kitchen. "So, chefs. Y'all gonna let Luca stage, or what?"
Syd glances back at Carmy, his gaze intense and saying a million different things. Ancient art, that face. He waits for her nod, slight and almost imperceptible, before saying, "yes, chef."
With all of the build-up, the hype, the throwaway comments in conversations with Marcus, Luca initially thinks Sydney is another Carmy. Same person, different font. Relentless, consumed, her entire universe only the miniscule world of the kitchen, where every knife slip is an earthquake, every second an excruciating lifetime. That's all he sees, at first glance, on the first day of staging. Which he's aware is crazy, but, you know. Go with the flow.
Sydney's sharp, fast, demanding, pace, pace, pace. Every second counts, chefs. But then. But then. She smiles—easily given, often, and generous every single time. She has a synchronicity with Tina that feels distinctive; they share a language, Tina sometimes throwing out Spanish, Sydney firing back, vamos, corazón, we got this. And with Carmy, she barely needs to talk; they know what the other is thinking, somehow reading each other's minds if Luca had to guess. (Terrifying, frankly.) She's simply Sydney.
She's intimidating, though, like Carmy—more, maybe, and definitely more than Luca wants to let on. She knows she's talented but Luca thinks she doesn't know just how talented she truly is. He feels the intimidation like a frisson of energy in his body, quick and clean, whenever she looks his way, analysing him, his movements, observing. It's exciting. It's sensual. He doesn't know what to do with it, about it, not yet.
Go with the flow.
"Morning," Sydney says, surveying his space with a calculating eye. "Why are you here so early? You don't have to be."
"You're here," Luca shoots. She looks mildly intrigued, so he adds, "I'm taking advantage of my time here, chef. Plus," he lowers his voice, leans down so his face is closer to hers, "Chester is much, much better in smaller doses. Adore the guy but strange energy."
She nods in amusement, "yeah, for sure. You staying with him and Marcus, then?"
"Whilst I stage, yeah. Seemed convenient," he responds, kneading the dough for the still un-renamed Sydney's Donut. "This is for you, by the way. For your donut."
Syd snorts, "it's a very good donut, but it's not mine."
"What, you don't like donuts?"
"I do, I mean, they're fine," she laughs, "like, yeah, dough and sugar and shit for the win, for sure. But I like—I prefer to cook, that's all."
"So no patisserie for you." It's not a question, simply a fact.
"No, no. It's too," Sydney starts, reminded of tweezers, hours spent adding the most delicate herbs on top of dishes as a flourish, "precise."
"Ah," Luca says with a knowing smile. "Fiddly."
"Yeah," Syd agrees, "and no." Luca arches a brow, and because she's her, because she has to explain, she rambles, "I mean precise in that you can't experiment, you know? I can throw a meal together with like four ingredients and plate it in front of you in minutes. No sweat." He shrugs in agreement (as if: yeah, easy), a twinkle in his eye. Still smiling . "Couldn't make you a cake the same way at all, couldn't remix it in the process without fucking it up. It'd have like, loose crumb structure or not enough—I dunno, something. Butter, flour, or whatever." She pauses, thinks. "I can make a mean focaccia though."
"Are you offering?"
She breathes out a laugh, "maybe. I'll think about it."
He nods and glances down at her wrists, to the Syd stitched onto the sleeve of her sweater in bright thread. Pointing at it, he asks, "were you afraid you were going to misplace your jumper?"
Sydney traces the simple blocky letters with quick fingers, "I'm afraid it'll get jacked." Her face is suddenly serious, concerned. "There's like, a hot market for black sweaters with eccentric details. Resale value is huge, you should check StockX, for real. Anyway, if that happens, I'd be able to find it and buy it back."
"Smart thinking."
Syd taps her temple, "all me, baby." Her face breaks into a grin, and Luca swears it's like the sun.
"Yo, Syd, come here for a sec, please," Carm calls out from another corner of the kitchen. "Gotta run something by you."
Not exactly a mind-reader, then.
"Duty calls."
"Always does."
"Hey Jeff," Tina says before service, voice low and immediately conspiratorial.
"Yo, T."
"Desserts over there keeps making ojitos at Syd," she purses her lips to point at Luca, whose eyes follow Sydney as she pauses by desserts for a second to say something, then keeps walking. "You think he's gonna do something about it?"
"What?" Carmy's eyes follow Syd, too, her bun bouncing as she quickly strides into the walk-in and momentarily disappears. Panic sits in his heart for a second, then dissipates.
"He's been looking at her with puppy eyes since he got here!" Tina whispers, a little too loudly. She lowers her voice to add, "and like he's hungry, if you know what I'm saying." She quickly wipes some onion detritus off her work station.
"You think?" Carmy flushes, annoyed. Holding it in. "He's, uh, he's leaving in a few days anyway. Doesn't really matter."
"I'm not saying they should get married, Jeffrey. I'm just saying, my girl could stand to have a little fun."
"Fun." What provides amusement or enjoyment.
"She deserves that, don't you think?"
Carmy glances at the walk-in as the door miraculously opens. Syd looks over at him, the corners of her mouth lifting up in the smallest Sydney smile before she refocuses her attention elsewhere. "Yeah. Yeah, she does."
"How close were you, when you two worked together?" Tina asks, voice still low. "You and Luca."
"We were cool, yeah. Still are, or else he wouldn't be here. Why?"
"Maybe you convince him to do something, I dunno," Tina says, needlessly moving her kitchen towel over the surface of her station. "Be her wingman, get him to make a move before he leaves. She's cute, he's cute, and she needs to destress. Win, win."
"Tina."
"Yo nomas digo, Jeff."
Stupidly, luckily, Luca's final day staging lines up with one of The Bear's only holiday weekends, and fucking Marcus, sweet motherfucker that he is, suggests a kickback for the team, a moment for them to relax and breathe and dance and get fucked up.
There's a tiny part of Carmy that's glad he came to said kickback. There's loud music pulsing out of the DJ set-up Chester rigged up surprisingly well, a Mexican Coke in his hand, and Richie is off in the distance talking with his hands in a way that he can't anymore, not as front-of-house. Uninhibited, free.
That's how everyone looks, really. Ebra laughing with Manny and Angel, Sweeps talking to a small crowd of Marcus's friends (that motherfucker has lived a life. A storyteller, if Carmy's ever seen one). It's nice. Real nice. They've all needed a break from chasing stars.
Still, there's another part of Carmy that very much doesn't want to be here. Feels forced to be, all because Marcus said, "man, we can't be at The Bear all the time. We gotta live. Explore. Take time for ourselves."
"Marcus, your place is ten minutes from River North."
"Whatever, man, please just come. It's our one collective day off, and it's Luca's last night here. It'll be chill and you'll have fun, I promise."
Fun.
Fucking fun.
Carmy takes another sip of his Coke, eyes watching the crowd from the corner of the backyard. The man of the hour is talking to Tina, making her laugh as he sits on a flimsy folding chair. Tall ass asshole—sat down is the only way Luca can truly look T in the eye.
"Hey," comes a soft voice next to him. He's already smiling when he turns to look at Sydney. She's radiant, as always, eyebrows arched over her bright eyes. "Who put baby in the corner?" She bumps her shoulder against his lightly.
"No one. I'm just waiting for the life of the party," he responds.
"I know you know that's not me," Syd says, rolling her eyes.
"Wanna bet?"
"Fuck yeah. 20 bucks?"
He shocks her by whistling, loud and shrill, so the small crowd turns to look in their direction and is greeted with the sight of Syd. Tina brightens instantly, running towards her, Chester opening his arms in greeting at the DJ booth, Marcus nodding. Luca stands at full height, following Tina with a grin. Looks at Syd like he's hungry.
Fuck.
"Mamita!" Tina says as she reaches them, enveloping Syd into a hug. "You had me worried, I thought you wouldn't come."
"And miss all of this?" Syd asks, gesturing to the minimal decor, the red Solo cups dotting the plastic tables at the edges of the backyard. The grandness of it all in its simplicity.
"This is the most exclusive club in all of Chicago," Luca says, pulling Sydney into a hug, too. "Chester's words," he adds with a laugh.
"Oh yeah, it's real exclusive," she responds, looking over her shoulder to share a look with Carmy. All of a sudden, he can't imagine being anywhere else in the world. Wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world. "Carm—"
Sydney's cut short when a new track comes on, something Latin; Tina is yanking Syd's arm with a quickness Carmy's never seen before, pulling her onto the makeshift dance-floor that's really just the empty space in between a bunch of miscellaneous chairs. Tina's singing and swinging Sydney right along with the beat, Syd's slip dress looking impossibly silky and soft as it twirls around her legs every time Tina spins her.
When the chorus hits, Syd surprises him by singing along. (Always, always full of surprises.) And from the sidelines, Angel sings along too, before Tina beckons him over, so they're all going, "que tontos, que locos, somos tú y yo." Carmy's gotta ask Chester about this song, later. Find the lyrics, translate them because he never really paid attention during high school Spanish the way Syd clearly did.
She catches his eye during a turn, mouthing along to the chorus and grinning at him, and Carmy has just enough time to yell out, "you owe me 20 bucks!" before she spins and looks away, the dizzying heart of this backyard kickback. All eyes on her, looking so fucking happy and beautiful and relaxed and—
"What was that about, the 20 bucks?" Luca interrupts his train of thought. He looks just as enraptured by the scene.
"She's the life of the party," Carmy responds, not adding more.
"Yeah. And your kitchen," Luca adds. "Mate, Sydney's…she's fucking fantastic. Really fucking great."
"She's—" more than that. Great isn't enough, not to describe her. Bigger than great, better than fucking good. "Really, really great, yeah."
There's a beat of calm before the next song, Carmy catching Angel smiling and saying pinche Sydney, before Luca says, "she told me about you and your ex. Clara?"
"Claire," Carmy corrects instantly.
"Right, right! Claire. Yeah, sorry, man," Luca sighs, "kitchen life's a bitch."
"Absolutely," Carmy takes a swig of his Coke, wishing for the life of him that it was something stronger. "But, uh, what, why—fucking, how did that come up?"
"Syd was talking to me about wanting a star and we got to talking romance, you know, how sometimes shit just blows up the balance of things. She said there wasn't really any of that The Bear, just a lot of family love."
"Right, family love," he repeats mechanically, looking across the backyard as T dips Syd, nearly dropping her, watching as Sydney shakes her head, her braids floating around her shoulders. Watching as Luca doesn't add to the conversation and instead walks across the yard to meet the little crowd around Sydney, dancing along with her to some song that sounds like it has Drake in it.
Fucking Chester.
Fucking fun.
"I'm not used to moving this much, Tina, let me catch my breath," Sydney laughs, moving out of the way of Tina's hands as she holds them out for another dance. Tina points her thumb down as Syd steps away from the group with a grin.
"Where's the fun in that?" Tina calls out, watching Luca's reaction out of the corner of her eye. Gaze locked on Sydney as she makes a beeline for Carmy, practically bouncing.
Carmy's holding onto a Coke for dear life, talking to their garde manger Daniela. Syd catches the end of her ramble as she approaches the pair of them, how she's contemplating adopting a cat from PAWS Chicago, a senior cat so that her and her girlfriend and their dogs could give it the best last years, and—
"Hey, hey, sorry to interrupt," Sydney says, "just need to steal Carm for a bit, Dani, sorry." Syd flashes her a smile before grasping Carmy's arm and pulling him from the backyard and toward the peace and calm of the kitchen.
"Yo, what's up?" Carmy asks, chucking his empty Coke into a nearby bin.
"Nothing, you looked like you needed saving. You know, Dani's been talking about cats for fucking days now. Like, just do it, girl, adopt your cat," she rolls her eyes and smiles when Carm laughs. "I also needed a break from dancing."
"T has moves."
"T can fucking move!" Syd laughs. "I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow, I don't know how she does it. You know she sings, too?" Carmy's eyes go wide, impressed, "yeah, she's been trying to convince me to go with her to karaoke, but I'm always too tired to go out."
Carmy frowns, "no, you should go out more."
She should, she knows she should. She should have stories like Daniela, should talk about getting a cat or whatever, have something in her life outside of cooking and The Bear, going to work then home, day in day out. But she wants a star, and that's sacrifice, so whatever the something is, it has to be just—temporary. A trial.
"I mean it, Syd," Carmy continues, reaching out to lay a hand on her forearm. "I don't want you to be like me. You deserve better, something good."
She's about to say you deserve everything good, too when Luca walks into the kitchen, face immediately lighting up in a smile when he sees her.
"There's the life of the party," Luca says.
"That's really not me," Syd shakes her head, looking back at Carmy.
"It is," Carmy says, glancing at Luca before squeezing Syd's shoulder as he walks out the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.
"What's up?" Syd asks.
"Just trying to take advantage of the time I have left. Sit with me for a bit?"
"Yeah, sure," she says, picking up a can of LaCroix and following Luca to the living room. She feels light-headed, dizzy, suddenly. She wants to blame alcohol but she doesn't drink, hasn't even opened her can of sparkling to blame it for the rush of butterflies in her stomach. It's just—she hasn't been the recipient of this kind of attraction in a while. It's direct, it's obvious, it's immediate. She's felt Luca's eyes on her all week, kept fielding his questions like he was staging to study her, not The Bear. She's inexperienced, not oblivious.
You deserve something good.
They settle into the sofa, silence charged with expectation. Like this, she doesn't have to look up at him—she can look at his face straight-on, his eyes a gentle shade of blue-green. His freckles, the pink of his lips.
"You ready to go back home?"
"Sort of, not really," Luca sighs. "I mean, I've missed my bed. But I've had a good time here. Great time, really. Felt less like a holiday and more like a—a trial, you know? I could imagine myself here."
"Come back in the middle of winter, see if you feel the same then," she laughs.
"That an invitation?"
"Maybe."
"Winter's when some of the stars get announced," he says softly, nudging her knee with his. "I know you want one."
"And how do you know that?" Syd asks with a smile, sarcastically adding, "I've never, ever said that out loud before, ever."
"I just know."
"Wow, he just knows."
Luca laughs, "seriously, it's only a matter of time. The Bear is so good, you're so good. I mean, I've tasted your whole menu at this point. You'll get a star. Two, even. Fucking three."
"Okay, Mr Michelin, I didn't know you were a judge."
"God, I wish. I'd give you that star so fucking fast, darling, just based on that braised short rib alone," Luca watches as she rolls her eyes, smiling at him still. "I'm not joking, Syd. Where did that come from?"
"You're really talking shop with me?"
"I like learning about art," Luca shrugs, "and that meal, that was art. Best thing I've ever had."
"What is this, what are you doing?" she giggles, feeling giddy. "Sounds like a line."
"Maybe it is." Stupid grin, she thinks, dumber eyebrows. Luca makes her feel exposed, open, uneasy and excited all at once. A contrast to how familiar, how easy it is to be with Carmy. How comforting.
"Shut the fuck up," she responds, pushing him away playfully, grinning when he comes back into her space.
"I'm so serious, look at me," Luca tries to keep a straight face, crumbles into laughter just looking at her mirthful expression. "No, really! I had a dream about that short rib the other night. I would move to Chicago for that short rib, fuck Copenhagen."
"You are so full of shit, dude," Syd grins.
"Nah, I'm full of charm. All charm," he says, shifting so he's that much closer to her. His eyes flick down to her mouth; she feels her face flush with sudden heat and fuck it, fuck it, she doesn't want to overthink this, she just wants it.
She closes the space between them, her lips touching his, soft and sweet.
"Hey, you're alive," Syd says brightly as she walks into the kitchen the next morning, watching Carmy's hands move swiftly across a chopping board. "I was worried."
"Worried, why worried?" His voice is laced with annoyance.
She furrows her brows, "I dunno, Carm, maybe because you told me you would text me when you got home last night?"
"You didn't text me when you got home," he snaps. He's glad she didn't, though. Doesn't want to think about how cosy her and Luca were at the kickback, how they'd stayed in the living room for a good long while, how Tina nudged him and whispered, bet she's having fun. Good for her.
"Whoa, okay, tone. What's up? You mad at me? Is this because of Luca? Because we just—"
"What? No, no, no. I just—I'm tired, I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well. Too many Cokes in a row, I think."
"Getting lit, Carmy style."
"Right," he laughs. "We're good, really, Syd."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Heard, Cabbie. Lemme make you some tea, you cranky baby."
"Don't call me that," Carm laughs, calling after her.
"What, Cabbie or cranky baby?"
"Either! Both!"
"Heard, chef!"
Luca
How cold is it in Chicago right now?
Syd
You've never heard of Google?
Luca
Lmao, I've heard of it, I wanted to hear from you
I've been thinking about visiting again, maybe
Really experience the cold myself
And see you again, obviously
Syd's heart sinks as she places her phone down on the expo, screen down. When she'd seen the notification from Luca, she'd expected something funny. A song, maybe, a screenshot of something off of Twitter. Not something that would send her heart racing with unexpected panic.
This thing with Luca, she knows, is still mostly a little crush. Something safe, quickly developed over a handful of days in person, maintained by long-distance texts and shared memes, the love language of the internet. Flirty and simple and easy because it can't be much more, not with her here, him in Copenhagen.
And yes, he knows her better now, knows more about her than some of the other chefs—more than Connor, at least. Definitely not more than Carmy, though.
Luca knows her favourite colour (blue), that she has two distinct favourite songs for Destiny's Child and Beyoncé ("they should never be the same, Luca. Anyone who has one answer for what are two separate questions is out of their minds."), knows that she writes affirmations in all of her million notebooks, adds affirmations on Post-Its to her bathroom mirror. Has seen them, even, after Marcus's party.
But maybe he doesn't know that she isn't actually serious about this vague thing between them, this temporary something that's been an entertaining distraction, more than anything else.
"Syd. Sydney," Carmy's voice is sharp and loud, bringing her back into her body. She takes a huge stuttering breath, barely able to look into his eyes which are so fucking blue. "What's up? You got a text and all of a sudden, you—" he glances at her phone, back at her, "fuck, is there an emergency? Is your dad okay?"
"He's fine, I just—I just need a moment," she mumbles, suddenly hauling ass to get to the back alley, to fucking breathe. Outside where it's cold but not winter cold, not yet. That won't happen for another few weeks, not until after the stars are announced in December.
Fucking stars.
Sydney clenches her fists, shakes her hands out. Thinks about how she can feel the cold beneath her chef's whites. She touches the embroidered S.A. on the wrist of her coat before taking a deep breath and marching back inside, shouting, "alright, lizards, we're going to have a great night."
They do.
And she promptly runs home right after she hugs T, after telling Carmy, we'll talk tomorrow, before anyone can ask her why it looks like she's going to cry.
Syd
I don't know that you actually want to feel Chicago cold
Like, it's not cute
Luca
You know it gets cold in Copenhagen too, lol
What's up, Syd?
Syd
This has been fun, right?
Luca
What, texting?
Syd
Yeah, texting. Talking in general. You and me after Marcus's party.
Luca
Yes
Lots of fun
I'm definitely getting the feeling there's something else
???
Syd
Just double-checking
Listen, gotta be honest with you, chief
This is it, end of service
Luca
Wym?
Syd
Call me
"I can't do this with you, it's not fair," she says, when she picks up Luca's FaceTime call.
"You're not gonna turn your camera on?"
"Nah, I don't want to make this a thing."
"Is the thing that you're kind of breaking up with me, even though we're not together?"
"Something like that?"
"You asking me or telling me?"
"Telling you," Syd responds, finally plucking up the courage to turn her phone camera on, and watching as Luca's furrowed brows relax, his face softening.
"There you are, heartbreaker."
"God, you're so cheesy," she shakes her head.
"Charming is the word you're looking for," he corrects, smiling. "I'd ask why this is all happening but I think I already know."
"You do?" Syd's heart skips.
"The Michelin Guide is dropping in like two weeks," he says gently. She blinks, her face crumpling.
"I don't expect to get a star yet, I mean, we just opened, but—"
"But you need me to stop being charming and blowing up your phone so you can focus."
"Yes," she breathes out. "Something like that."
"You'll get one, I know you will. And maybe I'll be around when it happens, if you want me to be."
"Ugh, you are so sweet, you know that? Like, it's annoying and I'm gonna get a toothache. Cavities," Syd says, pulling a face, "and I don't have dental insurance, so that's rude." He laughs, deep and short, and looks at her with such fondness that Sydney kind of wants to cry. This is dumb, feelings are stupid.
"Don't be a total stranger, okay? I mean, maybe give me some time to process my monumental heartbreak and listen to Frank Ocean on repeat for a month before you text me again, but please, do text me."
"I will."
"And if you really feel bad, you can always shoot over your recipe for that braised short rib."
"No way, fuck off," she says without bite.
"Thought so," Luca says gently, smiling. "Good night, chef."
"Good morning, chef," Syd says, before hanging up. She throws her phone onto her nightstand, surprised when it doesn't fall off the edge. Suddenly, she feels exhausted—months and months of endless days of service catching up to her—and so she curls into a ball on her tiny twin bed, and promptly falls asleep.
Sydney walks into the kitchen the next day with heartbreak written all over her face and before he even says hello, Carmy stops what he's doing, grasps her hand, and pulls her into their shared office.
"We said we would talk to each other. Everything, anything," his voice is soft, gentle. "Do you want to talk about last night? Do you need time off? What's up?" She's about to respond when he cuts her off, "and do not say you're fine because I know you. I know you're not."
"No, I'm not," she agrees, voice small. She puts a closed fist over her heart, moves it in slow circles. "But let's get through tonight first, please. Please. And I promise we'll talk after."
Carmy places a fist over his heart too. "Okay."
"Okay," she sighs, smiles at him. "Let's do this, Cabbie."
"Don't call me Cabbie."
"Ugh, fine, come on."
She feels Carmy's eyes on her throughout service. Checks in every hour, even drops a blue Post-It note on her expo that says, You are fucking good, his handwriting thick with Sharpie. She keeps it there all night, finally lifting it gently when service winds down, folding it before tucking it into her tiny notebook to add it to the collection of affirmations on her mirror.
They go through the rituals of closing—the end-of-night meeting, checking the fridges, the lowboys, the reservations for tomorrow. Carmy watches as everyone leaves, one by one; watches as Tina hugs Sydney goodnight, hears her ask, ¿estás bien, mamita? and catches Sydney glancing at him before she looks back at T, says, just tired.
Finally, it's just the two of them in the kitchen. He waits, a frisson of nervousness working its way through his body, before she motions to the back door.
"Talk outside?"
Silently he follows, watches as she plops herself down on a haphazard stack of boxes, looking up at the sky rather than at him. Carmy's hands are itching for a cigarette, something to hold onto so he can have another point of distraction beyond his worry for Sydney. Instead, he waits for her to talk, quiet and attentive.
"So Luca and I had like, a thing. A something. I just wanted that, a something, for a bit," she starts. "But, uhm. I knew it was temporary, so I had to end whatever the fuck it was, and it sucks, man, it really does, because it was fun and nice while it lasted. But it wasn't like, fully real, you know?"
Carmy nods, feels a flush spread across his cheeks, feels acid in his throat, feels his heart racing.
When he says nothing, Sydney continues, voice soft, "you know, back when I said I wasn't jealous of Claire, I wasn't being totally honest." Carm still says nothing, just feels like he wants to die, but also, vindicated. He fucking knew it. Could see it all over her face, months ago, streaks of jealousy, and it killed him and invigorated him all at once, because, because, because—"it seemed nice, Carm. What you had with her. Like, you had someone to talk to, someone to listen to you."
"Syd. You can talk to me, you can always talk to me." I am right fucking here, Sydney, right here.
"Yeah, I know," Syd says with a sigh. "I know, I do know that. It was different with him, that's all. Anyway, I'm sorry that I wasn't more understanding when it ended, the thing between you and Claire."
"It's alright," Carmy says, letting out an exhale and running his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry too, about Luca."
"Thanks," she shrugs. After a moment, all she says is, "damn."
"What?"
"It really do be like that sometimes."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Am I wrong?" she shouts with a smile, eyes wide.
"You're not wrong."
"Thank you!" Syd says, laughing finally and standing up to stretch.
Carmy thinks for a moment, wants to make her keep laughing, wants to give her shit, "I was serious when I said I didn't want you to be like me. And then you went ahead and did it anyway."
"Damn. You really throwing that in my face right now?"
"Fuck yeah."
"Feels like you're kicking me while I'm down, dude. Like, I literally just broke up with my friend that's a boy—"
"Fuck, I am never going to hear the end of that, huh."
"You were in that relationship with one foot out the door."
"So were you."
"I know," she blinks, thinking. "Fuck. Are we shitty?"
"Maybe."
"Seems like something we shouldn't be."
"So we won't be."
"New affirmation: don't be shitty."
"That's a good one, I'm gonna use that, too."
"Yeah, you fucking should," she says with a smirk, softening when she sees his expression. It's adoration, it's fondness, it's comfort. She'll think about what that means later, not right now. "I could use a cigarette right about now."
"Since when do you smoke?"
"I don't, I just feel like this is the moment for one. The vibe is right, we just unpacked all of that emotional stuff, feels appropriate." She flashes an overly-toothy smile, blinks like she's a cartoon character with heart-eyes. "Please?"
"I'm telling you to not be like me, but here you are, not learning your lesson. Fuck it."
He pulls out a cig for Sydney and one for himself, lighting hers first—hand cupped around the fragile flame of his lighter, blushing when he realises she's staring directly at him, her gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips. He doesn't have the courage to stay staring at her, not yet, even though he wants to.
Instead, he steps back, watching as she inhales gently, exhales a cloud of smoke. Tries to etch the visual into his memory, to maybe sketch her later. Capture the way her face relaxes with him, her shoulders drooping, the tension leaving her body for a moment.
There's a cosy silence between them, an intimacy Carmy's never had with anyone else, no one besides Syd. He'll think about what that means later. Not right now.
Right now, he just looks over at her, lips shiny with lip balm, scarf askew. He shuts up his stupid heart and its dumb ache for her. Breathes in tobacco, says, "you know, the list is going up soon."
"We won't get a star, Carm."
"Not yet. We will, though."
"Yeah, I know. Eventually," she looks at him, smiling, soft and sad, but still with all of that hope that terrifies the fuck out of him. "Eventually."