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1.
“We really got two? You're not fucking with me?”
They've been standing there hugging a while, although there's no way of telling what the fuck time's doing when it's just them two.
“Never about this, Syd.”
And she reacts like she's just heard the news for the first time, letting out a squeal and throwing her arms around him again. The sheer force of it almost knocks himself over, but he doesn't care. He can't bring himself to care about anything with her in his arms like this, with her finally as happy as he's wanted to make her this whole time.
“I'm glad this is happening with you,” a small voice confesses, muffled by his shirt. Whether this refers to her finding out about the star or her actually earning the star is unclear, but the pang of affection he's struck with isn't. It's almost as harsh and beautiful as the lighting that shines on them from above.
In response, he leans back to kiss her forehead, lips resting there long enough for Syd to inhale and exhale. How else is she meant to respond to one of the most tender acts of care she's ever been shown? Her eyes basically have no choice but to well up again.
Instinctually, Sydney finds it easy to downplay her accomplishments. It's always about the next thing, and the next. How can she go bigger? How can she do better? Besides the initial shock, the first thing she thought when Carmen told her about the stars was ‘Thank God we can stay open, now we can get through service with a little less anxiety’.
It wasn't until she turned on the stove that she remembered just how many times she'd done so before, in that exact spot, hoping one day she'd know her efforts weren't in vain. It's a big fucking deal to have the confirmation, she told herself, and it wouldn't hurt to revel in it for once.
Good thing the person she wanted to share this with was in the next room.
Speaking of said person, his hands are back on her face as she lets a fresh set of tears run their course, no longer fighting them like she always has in the presence of others. His fingers sweep delicately over the apples of her cheeks.
It's nice to be held, Syd thinks.
“So, um,” her voice cracks a little as she pulls away, hands settling over his shoulders. “Service?”
“Service.”
-
It's a shame Carmy's leaving, because they really are so good together. In the kitchen, of course. She's the water when his fire gets a little too reckless. He's the anchor for her ship when things feel a little tumultuous.
They're prepping side-by-side, her favourite part of the day, when she asks, “Carm?”
“Yep?”
“Could you get the butter that came in earlier? Wanted to start on the orange-ginger to go with the shit ton of scallop we just got.”
“Yeah, I'll go have a look.”
It's nice to feel useful in her kitchen, he's thinking as he walks over to where all the deliveries are dropped off. He lifts the box from where the delivery guy dropped it earlier, and it feels suspiciously light. Dropping it on the counter doesn't even make a sound.
Inside the box is not nearly enough butter to get them through service, never mind the week.
“That can't be it… have you read the invoice?”
He pulls it out of the box, and there it is in plain writing. They weren't fucked over by the company, that's just the amount they can afford right now.
Sure, they no longer use $11,000 Orwellian butter, but it's not something they can just go out and buy from the store. “How fucked are we that we can't do the dish that's specifically made to save on ingredients?”
“Not for long,” he tries to reassure.
But Syd's usually more diligent than this. Two Michelin stars and she's still fucking up. “I–I should've looked in the box hours ago. I can't believe I didn't—”
Her spoon is erratically tapping against her palm, eyes scrunched shut. She's steered this place through so much, he can't let this be the thing that shakes her.
“Hey, Syd, take a deep breath for me, okay?” Her eyes remain shut but she can hear him inhaling slowly, so she does too. On the exhale, he continues, “We can make a new dish. What do we have?”
“A ton of citrus, for some reason.” All the oranges and grapefruits remind her of his reaction to her telling him about New York yesterday. “You know if your Empire dish was never on the menu…”
“I mean if we're talking about the same dish, it wasn't.”
“Okay, I know I've been coy by saying scallop but the hamachi was definitely on the menu.”
Hamachi, she admits it. He'd had the suspicion that it could've been the dish he was thinking of — he'd never served a grapefruit scallop — but it hadn't been the time to question it. Syd doesn't even know how crazy this whole thing is yet and it's all he's been thinking of. “Not in the way you had it.”
“Sorry?”
Here goes nothing. “Syd, I've only served the version with blood orange once. It was never on the menu.”
“What? Why? How?”
In her eyes, a dish that good should've always been on the menu— wait, what the fuck does he mean by once?
He lets out a chuckle at her increasingly incredulous tone. “I had worked on the hamachi dish for a while before I showed anyone. I was so excited about it, I would finish service and go sketch it on my cousin's couch. Blood orange was the whole point, so it felt like a slap in the face to be told to do a fucking fennel dish instead.” In that moment, it's not lost on him that that's the kind of boss he became. “I'm sorry. That I've ever made you feel that way.”
“No, it's… I know you are,” she rushes out, shaking her head. She knows Carmy had a lot of cycles to break, and he's been trying to take them all on. She knows he's sorry. The way she sees it, there's nothing else she can say or do without change, and his change is leaving her. Whatever. “So fennel was the version on the menu?”
“Yeah. But I was having the worst fucking day, and for once, I didn't care about what Fields wanted from me. He wasn't there to watch me, and if he was, and he fired me, I would've been glad to get the fuck out. So I sent out my dish. Once.” The Mikey component felt a little heavy for right now. but he planned on keeping Sydney in his life a long time, so he was sure he'd have plenty opportunity to tell her.
“To me.”
“To you,” he nods.
It flips a switch in Syd's brain, Carmy's place in her life only just now starting to click. Fate brought him to her. It was always going to be them here doing this.
(It makes her want to ask why he wants to go against what the universe has done for them. Something cosmic brought them together and now he wants to pull them apart.)
It also flips a switch in her brain with regards to how they're going to fix their scallop-butter issue. She lays a hand on his bicep, not revelling in the feeling of his muscles at all. “Carm. You trust me?”
“More than anything.”
-
She's in a better mood than she has been in months, everyone can see it. Regardless of what Sydney's ever felt, she's always been lovely to her team, encouraging and motivating. The biggest determinant is how she's treating Carm, so smiley and open.
Syd made family with him, which they've never done together before. “If you make family, you eat it with us,” she told him, so they sat at the head of the table together with their shoulders brushing, laughing together with everyone over food they made. It's the most she's seen him eat.
Syd tries not to mourn it while it's still happening.
“Alright, chefs. We have a couple changes, which honestly is to be expected by now. Okay, so no more lamb. We ran out. You guys remember, you were there, I don't know why I'm saying that. Sub scallop with blood orange today! Which is extra exciting, because it's a Chef Carmen original.” She gives him a few up and down looks, and if he didn't know better, he'd think she was flirting with her in front of her whole team of employees.
You see, he can't even register everybody's supportive cheers because they're subbing her second best bite with her first best, both dishes made by him apparently. She's been touching him all day, hand always on his shoulder or back or something. Even as she's giving this briefing, a hand is loosely wrapped around his upper bicep, exposed by his white shirt. It's like the little touch barrier she's built for him has been torn down.
So there's no way she's flirting with him on top of all that.
“And the cola-braised short ribs are staying!” Carmy adds, which gets another round of applause out of everybody.
(Pete comes in not too long after the briefing with Sophie on his hip, stopping by the office to see Nat before they head home.
“Syd's being all smiley and touchy with Carm today,” Nat tells him with a teasing lilt in her voice.
“Probably because they got through yesterday together, right? I mean, I've been smiley all day too!”
“This is really the hill that you're dying on, Peter?”)
Service goes well, too. Carm is a killer tournant. And Marcus is a killer pastry chef, and Tina a killer CDC and yeah, you get the point.
Everything is just nice. And they haven't even mentioned the stars yet.
“Before everybody goes, we have some news.” Syd announces mere seconds after the last customer has left. All day, she's been trying to hold it in.
She looks at Carm who replies, “Your news to share, chef.”
“Ours.” Her hand takes a hold on his but he keeps looking at her anyway. Stubborn. “Fine. Somebody from The Guide called this morning.”
“Already?”
“Star Man wasn't here last night. And that's my fault, I should've been answering my calls—”
“Carmen, stop trying to fucking apologise, This is not the time.”
“Syd, what is he talking about?” Tina asks.
“Somebody from The Guide was trying to get a hold of him yesterday. To tell him about our restaurant.”
“Yeah, we're getting that bit!” Richie sounds exasperated by their antics, which shouldn't be funny. “To tell him what?”
“We're getting to that, Richard!” Carmy snaps back.
“They called to tell us…” And she could go on about what Carmy told her, throw all the compliments at them, and she will. But they know it about themselves already. Now they just need to hear proof. “That we got two Michelin stars.”
The place erupts obviously. Tina's crying and hugging everyone; Natalie looks like she's about to faint, even more so when Tina lifts her. Richie's shouting off 20 celebratory Italian phrases in a row. Sweeps and Angel and Manny dap each other up before breaking into dance. The Faks do whatever the fuck they do.
There's clapping and yelling and so much hugging, the only type of chaos she ever wants to see in this place. She lowers her head to Carmy's shoulder — with everyone else in the room, she chooses to share this with him again — which only lasts for a second before the two of them get brought into the madness.
After a while of disbelief being expressed in at least four different languages, and everybody hugging everybody, and she thinks the Faks have almost knocked everybody over, it's her turn to be lifted by Tina. She puts her on her shoulders for some reason despite her squeals to put down, the strong ass bitch, and Richie's yelling, “Everybody say, ‘Thank you, Chef Sydney!’”
Like an elementary school class, they all repeat back in higher pitched voices, “Thank you, Chef Sydneyyy!”
It was all of their joint efforts that made this possible, but she'll admit. It feels pretty good.
2.
After Stevie walks him out the interview and assures him he'll have done better than he thinks — “all interviews feel a bit like that, trust me” — the only thing Carmy finds himself wanting to do is tell Sydney about it. Does she feel that way about interviews? Does she have the belief in him that he can do well in future ones, even if he didn't this time?
The thing about Sydney is that they've spent most of their waking hours together for the last year and a half; she's deeply embedded in his family, more so than lifelong family friends. He'd trust her with his life, and do anything to protect hers. Still, he feels like he knows nothing about her.
He tries to make out what he can. Especially now she’s getting a little more open with him. Last week, she told him about her cousin and her daughter, which he really enjoyed. Her cousin's daughter, not Sydney's daughter. She's an enigma, but he doesn't think she has a secret child waiting at home.
Although, now his mind wanders. He knows she has a somewhat large family like his, does she want one of her own? Judging by the way she tenses up in the presence of Sophie, maybe not. But he's seen her with Eva, so maybe yes?
He doesn't even realise all this is really happening in his brain until his mouth opens subconsciously, asking Stevie to drop him off at the restaurant.
“Are you sure, Carm? You don't have to do that anymore.”
“Yeah, I just. Want to check in on some stuff.” Someone.
“Stockholm syndrome strikes in mysterious ways,” Stevie tuts.
Joke's on him, Syd could hold him captive anytime.
Considering it's still quite early in the morning, he knows she'll be the only one inside, which makes his heart beat faster. He can't pretend he doesn't know why, he's known since the mention of ‘grapefruit scallop’, and felt it since long before that.
-
As for Syd, she's starting to settle into a Carmy-less routine at the restaurant. It's not so bad having to get her own Coke now, it's right in the walk-in. Menu development with Tina is fun, her excitement and determination is fucking infectious.
But sue her, she misses him.
She misses his insistent body warmth next to her. She misses his voice, so soft when he wills it to be, and it always is when he's talking to her these days. She thinks it's their morning prep time she's been missing the most. Usually about now, he'd show up completely straight-faced, then say or do something that makes her laugh in the first half hour.
Her focus is on chopping carrots when the door creaks, and it scares the shit out of her. Nobody should be in for another couple hours. She tries not to panic. Her team works very hard. Marcus comes in on days off sometimes, and Tina's stayed until very late hours.
Her head ducks under the counter anyway.
Footsteps from the mystery person are getting louder, and so is her heartbeat. Is it too late to grab a knife?
“Syd?”
Oh. Never mind, it’s just Carmy's voice. Why the fuck is she hearing Carmy's voice?
Slowly, her head rises above the counter again, and she hates that his face goes from his usual straight-faced to so fond. Knowing she's the cause of that is a dangerous thing. Once she's fully standing, she gets to appreciate this navy suit he has on — it looks entirely too good on him. Especially the pop of colour with the red polka dot tie. She'd totally wear it.
“Don't mind me becoming acquainted with the floor. Not a regular occurrence.”
“Oh, I'd just assumed things had changed in the week I'd been gone. Prep under the counter now.” He's doing the smirk-smile hybrid he does when he thinks he's bantering with her successfully. Stupidly, she finds it a little endearing.
“Yeah, I changed all the policies. Joining under-the-counter-prep, we have negotiables and brunch.”
He chuckles his way through a half-hearted, “Fuck off!”
“Hey. You look nice, what's the occasion?”
“i just had an interview for an internship at an architectural firm.” He looks just as surprised saying it as she is to hear it.
“Woah. How was it?”
“Yeah, I'll tell you all about it, let me just…”
What she witnesses next is honestly an assault on her vision: he starts shrugging his blazer off and reaching for some of her carrots at the same time, but also loosening his gorgeous tie. It looks like a muddled up strip show.
“What are you doing?”
“The vegetables, I… I'm gonna prep so I can tell you about my interview.”
“You don't even work here, you just— Carm, you just interviewed for another job.”
“Yeah, I know but. That doesn't mean I wanna stop this.” His hand moves back and forth, gesturing between the two of them.
“You wanna fight with me over today's menu? We can do that, we're still kinda broke so—”
“No, no, Syd, I want… I want to spend time with you. Real, unhurried time. That's just about us.”
That stops her in her tracks. He wants to spend time with her? Since when? Every time she's tried to have them do just that, he hadn't even showed. She'd deduced why he didn't go to her Ever party — and fair enough, she wouldn't wanna party after dealing with his abusive boss either — but Kasama?
If she did a deduction on the reason behind that, she doesn't think she'd understand as much.
Still, she's curious about what they're like outside all this. Things with Carmen have felt warm and fuzzy for a while now, and that's in a place that brings up so much trauma for him.
“You know, I'll let you in on a secret here, I actually exist outside the restaurant. And in terms of versions of me that are suited to… that—”
“Right. Right. No, that's… I should've thought of that.”
“It's thought of.”
For a second, he just stares at her. Yeah, his eyes are intense, it's been established, but what's worse is she never knows what they're saying. She always feels like they're screaming gibberish at her. “Sorry, can I try this again?” He starts putting his blazer back on, taking a deep breath. “Syd, are you busy after work? I have a lot I wanna talk to you about and a lot I wanna hear from you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course.” Another second passes. “Like this Tribune article that's apparently dropping soon…”
“Now I have to tell you to fuck off!” They burst into laughter together, a harmonious sound. “Okay. After work. A restaurant?”
“No, no, not tonight. Come to my apartment.”
“Dude. Baby steps.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“No, it's… how about we take a walk?”
-
“So architecture?”
They're walking side by side through a small park, her hands fiddling with the tie he let her wear. She was serious about liking it, and it goes with her red bow. He's walking just a little too close to her, but she doesn't seem to mind yet.
“Yeah, I went to the Frank Lloyd Wright house a few months back and for the first time in so long, I felt inspired.”
That place and that storm-surrounded service sparked different fires in him. One a cozy campfire, enticing with its promise to warm his heart and mind in a way he's never known before; one a familiar bonfire, where he was so susceptible to its destructive tendencies he forgot about the excitement that comes with it.
He thinks about those two days a lot. Surely, that doesn't mean anything.
“That's beautiful, Carm.” It truly is, she thinks. While she's still grappling with the fact he's leaving, and the fact that he wasn't inspired in the kitchen with her, she really does want him to be happy. “Do you have any experience with that kind of thing?”
“We both know I don't have any fucking experience.”
“I don't know, man, I thought you were going to say you shadowed somebody at age 15 or something.”
His face shifts ever so slightly, pensive. “That probably would've helped, wouldn't it?”
“Not really… nothing you do before 18 counts anyway.”
“I don't know if this counts, but um… I made a floor plan for the restaurant like years ago. I loved design so much, I designed clothes instead of focusing in class, it's how I got into denim and shit. I guess one of my favourite things about food is that, to me, it looks like really elaborate designs sometimes. I loved to play with shape and colour and size, even when I had head chefs who wanted me to cut that shit out.”
They're both thinking of the dish that connected them, grateful for his allegiance to shape and colour and size.
“That's… wow. Did you tell your interviewer all that? I'm sure they would've eaten that up.”
“Well, I started talking about the kitchen…”
“Yeah, okay, that makes sense. You spent a lot of time there. Did you talk about your Sistine Chapel drawings? Link it back to how you'd use your skills at the firm?”
Shit, she's good. “I did talk about my drawings, and the kitchen, but then I kind of kept talking about the kitchen. About that service, particularly. About how you lead it better than I ever would have. And how because of you, and everyone else, it was the most fun I've ever had, regardless of the circumstances.”
“Dude.” Syd doesn't know what to say. It meant a lot to her, she didn't know it meant the same to him. “I'm flattered, like for real, but you're fucked.”
“Forwards, sideways, from behind—”
“Missionary, cowgirl, reverse that cowgirl—”
“Prone bone, jellyfish—”
“Yo, what the fuck is jellyfish? Is that a Sicilian frat special?” She's cackling before she can get the joke out. They laugh for ages after that. Eventually, her hand lands on his shoulder closest to her to stabilise herself and she kind of keeps it there.
His hand tentatively finds her waist in return.
“I know I might not be a good fit for it right now. It might take time to figure out what I am a good fit for.” His steps start to slow as his eyes seek hers out. “Is that embarrassing? To be at this point and not be sure about what you're a good fit for?”
“Nah, it's like classic Saturn Returns shit.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your Saturn Returns is like an astrological thing. When your planet returns to the same place it was when you were born. It takes like twenty nine and a half years, and you have like grand reckonings about yourself or whatever.”
Twenty nine and a half. Alright. He's not too far off that. Which one is the one where you fuck your life up at a certain age? “Is there a Jupiter Returns?”
“Just Saturn, I think.”
“What about the other planets?”
“Carmen.” He starts smiling and chuckling to himself, face as rosy as a perfectly harvested apple. “What's so funny? You think Saturn's laughing right now listening to your disrespect?”
“You're one of the only people that calls me that.”
“Carmen? A ton of people call you that, what… Articles call you that. Strangers call you that.”
“Not like you do. I like it.”
What do you like?
I like this.
She isn't sure why he likes things when it's her, she doesn't have the headspace to figure it out. But if he likes to be Carmen, she has a moral obligation to call him that. It's, like, the law. The social law.
They let hours of the night pass, filled with more talking about everything and nothing. Sitting at their park bench, they've talked about style (Syd tries not to blush when he says hers “goes crazy” and he's “always noticed”), and upbringing and the menu she wants to be set at The Bear. Dumb shit as well. They had an argument over what the best fruit was at some point.
(“Apples are the easiest to work into dishes, so I guess apples? You also get two different tastes with red and green ones, that's nice.”
“I'm allergic to apples, so scratch that. Mangoes are the obvious choice here.”
See, this is what he means by Syd being an enigma, he hadn't known she was allergic to apples. What if he'd made her a meal with apples the first time he got to cook for her and poisoned her? “What— are you allergic to anything else?”
“Just apples. Was mad as hell when I had an allergic reaction to them when I was younger, because they weren't even all that.”
“But mangoes? With that big ass seed in the middle? Really?”
“A small price to pay! Without the big ass seed, it'd be too perfect. Like the world being made of cake levels of dystopian.”)
Syd gets caught up staring at him thinking about how easy this all is.
“Syd? Still with me?”
“Sorry, I was just… thinking.” Of course she's enjoying this, but something about it feels so fragile. Too fragile to let him hold. “When did you cut your hair?”
“Do you not like it?”
“I just don't think that's what I said.” Her hand reaches up to stroke the back of his neck, softly raking her fingertips through his curls.
The act stuns them both into silence. Her hand doesn't move.
“Syd?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm glad we're here. I–I know I've been in my head, and other places, but I've always wanted to hang out with you. Be real friends, you know?”
For so long, she's written it off as an option, so it was startling to hear him shout he thought they were friends. But she wants it too.
-
Syd's been out of the country once and Carm's been everywhere. Upon request, he's telling her about every single trip, the good, bad and ugly. His hand's landed on her knee at some point, and it taps when he gets enthusiastic about something he's rremembered. She thinks it's cute how often it does that when he talks about Copenhagen.
“Where do you wanna go? When you get the chance?” He asks her when he's done, wanting to speed past the abrupt ending to the New York section.
“Copenhagen sounds sick. And Paris. I could just name cities forever. Tokyo, actually, is a big one.”
“I’ve not been either, I hope Richie brings back enough stories for the both of us.”
“Now you know his ass will.”
“He will. He's kinda nervous for his flight, though. I feel bad.”
“Really? I don't blame him, flights are the worst.” Syd shrugs. “Still, it's nice he has Jess.”
“I mean, yeah, he has all of us. I tried to tell him that airports are the actual scary part, the flying's not so bad, you know?”
“Oh, agree to disagree on flying, but I meant more so that he has Jess.”
“Has Jess how?”
Her cute furrowed eyebrows make an appearance, so Carmy knows he's missing something. Not to mention the way her teeth poke out while she's stifling a laugh. “Are you ser— romantically!”
“You're fucking with me?” Syd's shaking her head, the hand in his hair loosening its grip to cover her mouth while she laughs. “Since when?”
“You're an absolute fool, Carmen. A fool. Walk me home?”
“Aye aye, captain.”
She just rolls her eyes.
3.
If you asked Sydney how she'd describe her relationship with Carmy, she'd probably hesitate for longer than is normal. She's never really known, but the restaurant thing gave her somewhere to start at least.
Going based off of Merriam-Webster definitions, they probably lean towards friends, right? They are attached by affection: he goes out of his way to try and see her as often as possible, which ends up being at least once a day; she’s trying to let him in a little more day by day, tell him things she doesn’t tell a lot of people. It just feels tinged with something else, something she can't name yet.
Even though they were already going to see each other at the birthday party, he asked her if she wanted to hang out before it anyway, so there she is in his apartment — not hers, never hers — with no real plan besides “whatever you wanna do, Syd”. When he said that, he hadn't expected for her to be sitting in bed with him, watching a guy tell them about the temperatures of the day.
“Syd, why are we watching the weather?”
Syd used to think of Carm as being similar to the weather. One day, he's the sun, the next, a raging forest fire. No matter what season you think it is, he surprises you for the best and the worst. She remembers thinking that she wished she had a way to tell. Her own meteorologist.
“You said during that ass backwards service that you didn't know who Tom Skilling is. You’re gonna get to knowing, ASAP.”
The guy — Tom Skilling, according to Syd — animatedly explains with his hands what was going on with the weather on this day last year. The girl in bed next to him looks engrossed.
“This is your shit, huh?” He asks to no immediate response.
A calloused hand gently lands on her thigh, not out of the normal for them now. Her own fingers trace light patterns on it, over his knuckles and around his tattoos.
“Should we watch one from today?”
“Carm, he retired earlier this year.”
“Oh.”
“My mom used to put these on for me in the morning,” she blurts out, maybe to change the topic from fucking retirement, maybe because she's come to like talking about her mother with him. “Apparently, I was always asking her about why the weather changes like it does. 4-year-old me very strongly believed it should just be sun all the time.”
She still wonders about things changing. From death to retirement, she resents bigger changes from the bottom of her heart. Why get used to a new normal only to have that taken away from you as well? Even if she's come to understand it, she still fears it.
“After experiencing Chicago storms, I might have to side with her.”
The thing about Carmen is that like the seasons, he's beautiful throughout. Every part of him is important for the ecosystem, and without them all, he's not fully Carmen. Sure, they could do with fewer storms and all the sudden change, but she still wants his sun and rain and wind year round. If she could go through every year for the rest of her life with his little seasonal changes, without worrying about any bigger ones… she'd quite like it, maybe.
“I'm not sure if I do.”
-
They’ve been setting up for a while now. Chaotically, as every Berzatto gathering is, but it's getting the job done. When Syd and Carm turned up together, it was just an empty looking front-of-house. Now, it's starting to look like a room for a kid's birthday party.
“Carm?” His head snaps up immediately. It makes her a little nervous. “Would you be a darling and help me put the candles on the cake?” She chooses to adopt a British accent for some reason, exaggerating her batting eyelashes.
“Yeah, of course. 50 candles is a lot.”
“They grow up so fast!” Syd coos jokingly, which gets Carm to shake his head with fondness.
“It feels like she was 7 only yesterday!” gets Syd cackling, which is what finally gets Carm to laugh too.
The sound grabs Claire’s attention — she’d never heard Carmy laugh like that, or seen how he’s basically wagging his tail to do whatever Sydney asks. True, they only talk intermittently nowadays, but they knew each other during the most formative years of one's life. Does that not count for something?
She's learning to try and distance herself from her feelings for Carmy, anyway. He's leaving the restaurant, which means he doesn't know what the hell he wants. With her starting an attending position in New York in the new year, she doesn't need that.
However, she finds herself walking up to him.
“Need help with this?”
“Oh, no, I'm alright, thank you,” he says swiftly, more dismissive of her than he's ever been, which makes it dawn on Claire that he might want to impress Sydney by doing what she tells him to.
“So,” she lingers anyway. “I heard you're leaving restaurants to… be an architect?”
That wasn't ever entirely true, but least of all now — he thinks he wants a career in some aspect of design — but it's easiest to say, “I did an interview, yeah.”
“Just to be clear… your math is fucked, you've never learnt anything outside a kitchen, you can't socialise for shit and you wanna be an architect? I swear I'm not trying to be an asshole, but wake up!”
There's no point being disheartened by information he already knows. He wants to get better at things: he heads to classes every week about the fundamentals of math that he missed growing up. If he keeps working at it, he'll get it. Syd and Nat tell him that. He believes them, so it helps the quip not sting. “I know, it's like, what's a pencil?”
“What's a pencil? I'm a writer!” She mocks in a higher-pitched voice. “Okay, new question. What's going on with you and Sydney?”
Jesus. Her topic switches never got less jarring. “I, uh—”
“I think Eva's coming soon!” Syd yells after getting a text on her phone, which makes everybody scramble. Thank God for her. “Carm? The candles?”
“Sorry,” he gets back to work. “Got distracted.”
Message received, Claire thinks.
-
“Cake! Cake! Cake!” Eva and her friends chant.
“Okay. Okay, great, guys! Do you wanna cut the first… slice? Do you want to?”
The birthday girl's head shakes furiously in response to Syd’s question. “No…”
“No?” Syd and Carm repeat in unison. “Great, respect,” Sydney adds, because cutting the first slice of birthday cake is lowkey a lot of pressure.
“Auntie Syd, can you do it?”
Oh. Never mind. “Of course, Eva! Okay, we're gonna cut this up for you guys… are you ready for your big flavour reveal?”
The kids all cheer. Syd makes a show of pushing the knife through the layers of sponge.
“What flavour is it?”
“It's vanilla…”
Eva's ecstatic. “My favourite!”
“Mine too!”
Watching the scene in front of him melts something in Carmy. He's had the realisation several times by now that Syd is part of his family, but every time it hits him still feels special.
She turns to him, and he feels like he just got caught. Staring isn't a crime, is it? “This is a shit ton of people to get cake to…”
“I don't know, what do you think?”
"I'll cut it and you just… plate it?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. I'm pretty good at that.”
They've got a little system going on there, debates about who gets the corner pieces aside. They're about halfway throughout handing out cake slices when she notices they aren't being plated anymore.
“Where's Carm?”
“Syd, Syd!” He gestures with his thumb that he's leaving to do something in the presents corner.
“I'm— okay, nobody's helping me! I'm cutting this by myself!”
“I'll help you,” Eva pipes up.
“I don't know, this knife is sharp… your Uncle Carmy should be helping, but… yeah.” For a second, her mind flashes to a version of this that isn't about cake and presents. She shakes it off.
“Did you guys get me something?”
“You'll just have to wait and see, birthday girl… yo, Richie, you should be helping me! This is your job!”
-
“Macarena in ten!” Richie’s voice carries across the room. Sydney used to hate that she could never be in a room and not realise he was there; it's one of her favourite things about him now.
Carm was sitting on a bench when she brought him some cake, and they both expressed their hatred for the frosting. She'd put her head on his shoulder, and they'd been enjoying their time together peacefully until now.
Now, she feels the heat of Carm's hand hovering above her own, so she grabs it before he can consider putting it back. What she wasn’t expecting was for him to use their joined hands to pull her up to a standing position, then into the kitchen.
“Syd, I need to confess something.”
This is it, she finds herself thinking. He's asking for space from her again; he's leaving her again. She's invited him too far into her life, it's been too much. Her being so touchy today was his final straw.
“Carm, I understand.”
“What? You do?” He's a little surprised, he was looking forward to her playful ribbing about where he's been for the last ten years.
“I do, it's okay. If you think you need more time for yourself and less with me, especially while you’re on your self-discovery journey, that's okay—”
“No, no, I don't even—?”
“You think we've gotten too close too fast. You think we do everything together. You want distance. I get it, you know, distance is healthy, you're trying to be healthy. I'm not healthy, like, at all—”
“Syd, fuck distance! I wanna be with you all the time, I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Okay,” she exhales, feeling a wave of calm wash back over her, the thrashes of fear incomparable next to his reassurance. Her anchor's still here, he's not leaving her. “That's good. What the fuck are you on about then?”
“The dance!”
“Carm. You've never done the macarena?”
“i don't think so?”
“Oh my God, you're hopeless,” she cackles, throwing her whole head back. “But it's not hard at all, like it's legit the same shit over and over. I can help.”
“So you're going to put your hand out like this…” Her right arm is outstretched, palm facing the ground, ready to teach him like nothing's transpired just now. They do a couple run-throughs of it, and he picks it up fine, surprisingly — it really is the same shit over and over.
A beautiful string instrumental begins to play through the speaker, a choice Sydney's really gonna need justification on if they're doing the macarena right after.
“Syd, do you mind teaching me another?”
The tension in the room feels like a violin string, stretched over fine wood. If they pluck at it, maybe they'll hear the music. Maybe it'll be beautiful. “Another dance? Like what?”
“Like a waltz?”
“Oh, you overestimate me, Carm. But I can give you the closest I've got?”
“Yes, please,” he whispers while nodding his head, and holy shit, this is not the time or place for the kind of situations she's imagining.
“Okay, I know that we start with framework. I'm gonna put a hand here,” a palm lands tentatively on his unreasonably broad shoulder. His hand meets her there, rubbing back and forth over the ridges and curves of her fingers. “Carm,” she whispers. She doesn't know why.
“What's next, Syd?”
“I— um, so, you're going to, um.” It’s hard to think in the midst of endless caresses. “Hands, right. You need to put a hand on my, um. My waist.”
He removes his hand from hers to do just that, bypassing her unbuttoned grey button up to hold on over her shirt.
“Done.”
“For a slowdance slowdance, we can mirror this for our other hands, but you want a waltz, so.” Instead of telling him what to do this time, she takes his hand herself again, interlacing their fingers. It's quickly becoming one of her favourite things to do. “Now we dance.”
She tries to break the thick ass tension by sticking their joined hands out dramatically, and then here he goes with, “Just tell me how. I need you to tell me what to do.”
Jesus. “F–footwork is a big one. But honestly, I don't know shit about it so maybe we just… make it up?”
“I'm down for that,” he laughs.
So it goes that she steps and he follows; her head tilts a certain direction and he's already turning his body that way. It's their own clumsy rhythm, and their footsteps create its own disjointed music.
Still beautiful.
On a whim, Carm uses his grip on her waist to pull her closer.
“Did I say you could do that?” She taunts in a whisper centimeters from his lips.
They're eye to eye now too, faces so closely aligned when they stand like this. Reminiscent of arguing about The Beef renovation, and even then, it felt cosmic how they could see each other so wholly. “Are you going to tell me not to?”
Why the fuck is he talking her into talking him into submission? Syd thinks. Is that a thing? Why is it sexy? “No.”
Her head falls to the shoulder her hand's not on — which is only natural when they're so close — and it makes his heart feel like a set of strings after they've been strummed, vibrating and humming to its content. He can’t believe she thought he wanted less of this.
“Did I do something to make you think I wanted less time with you?”
Their steps start to slow as she takes a second to think about it. “No, it's. It's me, sorry. We've talked about it, I know, but I think you leaving the restaurant is still playing mind games on me. I think I feel like it's only a matter of time until you do want that, because if you can leave me in the place we built, what stops you leaving me outside of it? There are a lot of reasons to, I guess, and my brain is trying not to be caught off-guard when one comes to fruition.”
“Syd, honey,” she hears his voice break on the term of endearment. He's never called her that before. She can't express how much she wants to hear it again, so her mind doesn't have to put this moment on replay for the rest of her life. All she can do is bury her head further into the crook of his neck and hope he gets the memo.
“It's not your fault, or anything like that. And I know I'm paranoid, and avoidant, and a bit irrational—”
“You're my favourite person, is what you are. I love everything about what you are, I'm never leaving.”
“—But you leave things. You get unsure about them, you change your mind.”
“Not you, Syd. I need you to hear me when I say I've never in my life been unsure about you.” Oh. “And we'll talk about this tonight? Like properly?”
“Okay. Tonight.”
He seals it with a kiss to her head. “One more thing. Take a ballroom dancing class with me?”
It sounds a little like he's asking her on a date. But they hang out all the time, and the way he's asking her now sounds no different to how he usually asks her to do things with him. “I'd love to.”
Suddenly, he spins her so her back is facing his chest. “Ooh, look at you!”
Both of his arms are around her waist this time as they sway mindlessly.
“Never done this before either.” Carmy murmurs earnestly, like Syd wasn't at Tiff's wedding.
“I'm pretty sure I watched you—”
“Not like this,” he insists. And she's fine thinking it's about their current position until he whispers right in her ear, “It should've always been like this.”
Before she can really think about what that means, Richie’s bellowing “Macarena time!” in his loud ass voice, and the shock to Sydney's system pushes her backwards, ass right onto Carmy's crotch.
“Oh my God, I'm sorry!” She turns around immediately, hands flying over her open mouth. “I didn't realise you weren't far behind me!” Of course she did, they were dancing as a unit this whole time. But it was all she could think of with her brain so scrambled.
She's never seen Carmy's face so red. “No! It's— it's fine. Let's um. Let's get back?”
-
The macarena's a lot of fun, Carmy concludes.
Sydney's slightly in front of him, and every time he successfully does the sequence, he looks for her eyes. They're always staring right back at him, crinkling with joy.
He tries to just look at her face, but she's wearing these really nice fitted jeans with a printed design, and the cute little hip swivel at the end is so clearly her favourite part. It's hard to be normal about that when her hips were on this, like, half a second ago. He might have gotten away with the quick glances down, but the rubbing of his smile-stretched lips was so consistent that even Fak notices.
“Yo, look at the way Carm's watching Chef Sydney.” Neil says to Ted conspiratorially from the back of the room.
“What? Why would he be looking at Chef Sydney when Clairebear’s here?”
“Just look!”
Ted's honest to God shocked by what he finds when he does. Carmy's sneaking glances! “He wants to tap that!”
“I know he said we were gonna be pimps forever but this is Sammy level of pimp, bro. She's our boss!”
“And he's trying to turn the macarena into a bear mating ritual with her. Right out in the open.”
“But you know, I think he really likes her,” Fak tilts his head, still dancing. “When he comes by the restaurant, he smiles at her first. Even before he smiles at me. That's major.”
-
(“Richie, why the fuck were violin instrumentals at a kid's birthday party?”
“You should've been here when I explained, Chef Sydney. Eva is going through a phase where she's grown particularly fond of classical music. Must be your boyfriend influencing her.”)
4.
They're stood on her cousin's doorstep when she introduces him. “Chantel, TJ, meet my friend, Carmy.”
TJ holds her hand up for a high five that Carmy goes for, but she removes it just quick enough. “You missed. Those are some shitty reflexes.”
“Oh wow, tell me how you really feel,” Carm laughed. Syd had told him her niece was a menace.
“Again with that word—”
“She's right. They are shitty reflexes,” Chantel shrugs before turning her body, “Carmy.”
He can't say he's not nervous when Syd's cousin addresses him directly. Apparently, she's hard to win over. “Yes, or Carmen, if you prefer that. Syd's told me quite a bit about you.”
“She better have!” Her intimidating front softens for a second as she looks at Syd, only to harden as soon as her focus goes back to Carmy. He thinks he's being inspected, based on the way her eyes look up and down, from hair to toes, followed by her face creased all over in thought. “Okay. Noted.”
There's a moment of nobody saying anything, broken by his sweet Syd's, “Carm, go warm up the car? We'll be out in a sec.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you need.”
Today, they’re trying out something super adventurous: morning bowling. Between Sydney's two-star restaurant, Chantel's business, and TJ's admittedly not so bad school, finding time for them to all hang out should be an Olympic sport. She wants to make room for the people she loves, so she suggested doing something at 6AM before they all had somewhere to be.
Bowling was settled on, and they both told her to bring her semi-boyfriend. Whatever that means.
“Bitch, that's it?” Syd exclaims once Carm is gone. “I thought you were gonna interrogate him to his death!”
“I am interrogating him! It's an ongoing process. And a very elaborate one too, thank you.”
“Whatever you need,” TJ imitates in a fake deep voice, wiggling her eyebrows and doing her best attempt at a smolder. “He's the stinky house brother, isn't he?”
“Not stinky! And he's not actually my brother—”
“Oh okay, ‘cause that's exactly what I was confused on. You look so alike.”
“Shut up! He's more of a… I don't know.”
“A crush. I don’t know why you're making me spell it out, but when I said big brother, I meant crush. Big brothers at sleepovers are for crushing on.”
And if Sydney's honest, she's done trying to fight it. There's no business partnership in jeopardy, or kitchen partnership that sets the tone for everyone else. Just an actual, beautiful, loving friendship. One years in the making, for just them to indulge in.
No way to ruin that, surely.
“Yeah, smartass, fine! I have a crush! Fucking sue me!”
“Oh my God, mom,” TJ flashes her best puppy dog eyes to Chantel, “My sensitive child ears.”
“Syd, you better watch that language in front of my daughter!”
“Wh–what? But you just–and she just—?”
-
Sydney's never been bowling, actually. There was a 9th grade end of year trip that she missed because she was sick, and apparently they met half the Chicago Cubs and got free pizza. No, she's not still holding a grudge — she's a respectable 28 year old, thank you.
Anyway, she's glad her first is with her ridiculous ass cousin and her smartass daughter. She promised herself she'd spend more time with them now the restaurant was out of the red: go to all the stupid family reunions, help cross off TJ's bucket list together.
She's also glad to be there with Carmy, who might be worse at this than she is. It's not made any better than Chantel asking him questions every time he goes up to bowl.
“How old are you?”
“Turning 30 next July.”
On the next one: “Do you know what sign you are?”
This puts him to the test, trying to remember all the astrological shit Syd tells him. “Early July, so… Cancer?”
Somewhere along the line, the questions get more targeted. “What makes a good partner?” made him drop the ball, like physically.
He tries not to stutter when he replies, “Syd and I aren't business partners anymore.” Believe it or not, it still stings a little for him too.
“Oh, I know. Answer the question though.”
Syd's head is buried in her hands; TJ and Chantel's faces don matching smirks. She's never doing this shit again.
“Consideration for the other person, always. Even when sh— things hit the fan.”
Whatever you need, you tell me. I'm here.
“Communication.”
And the micromanaging…
I know, look. I'm sorry that I micromanage. That is not cool and I will stop it, okay?
“And… devotion. Or commitment, whichever. Choosing each other over and over.”
His gaze finds Syd’s and they both nod. A silent vow.
“That's nice and all, but surely this is a world record for least pins knocked down,” TJ quips from the bowling bench.
“Just a waste of muscle,” Chantel sighs. That hurts Syd, personally, actually. She's loving watching his muscles contract and relax (it makes her want to use his bicep as a pillow, or do something a lot more perverted.)
“Chantel, you're not even doing that much better!”
“Girl, what happened to sisterhood? Can't wait for TJ to beat your ass at this.”
She's going to beat them all, surprisingly. They initially offered her the bumpers and then she came out with eight pins knocked on her first try.
Menace.
The rest of the game is filled with highs (TJ) and lows (the rest of them), but Syd notably does get one spare after not being able to knock down more than four pins per round all game.
“Syd, what the fuck?!” Chantel is the first to scream.
She starts celebrating like a soccer player, running with her arms outstretched and puffing her chest out. She doesn't even have to imagine the crowd going wild — her people are right there doing just that. While they're extending their applause for her, Sydney runs into Carmy's arms. They could never be a waste of muscle when they hold her this well, lifting her and spinning her around until she screams.
She's wearing this cropped blouse with low rise tracksuit pants, and when she puts her arms up in celebration on her way over to Chantel, he can see more of her stomach, and— absolutely not. He's not going down that line of thinking again.
She leans down for a hand clap handshake with TJ that the younger girl likes to pretend she's too old to be enthusiastic about.
“Looks like you're next, TJ. It's okay if you can't compete…”
“I didn't wanna have to do this, Auntie Sydney…” TJ sighs as she walks closer to the aisle. The bowling ramp is heard before it's seen, squeaking as it's being dragged into view.
“What? No! Hey, we can talk about this!”
-
That was some of the most fun she's had in months. Just a couple hours later, she's back at The Bear, admiring her new set menu that Carm drew out for her and making sure she doesn't want to tweak any of the plating.
(She knows she doesn't. They've been over it so many times. Carm told her it was perfect when she described it to him, she thought it was perfect when he drew it. But it's not like she's trying to avoid thinking about a specific something. No, she's just… ruminating for so long her eyes feel like they're gonna pop out her head. She's fine.)
“Syd, honey?” Her favourite voice calls her name, bringing her back down to Earth.
“Hi, Carm,” she exhales. He's still in the navy shirt he went bowling in, which is a problem because his eyes have never looked brighter. “What brings you here today?”
“I think you left your necklace at the bowling alley. Must've been all that jumping around.” It's a silver chain with a star on it that her dad got for her in high school. She's been wearing it a little more recently for obvious reasons, and she loves it, but it's not taking her mind off of what she wants to ask Carm.
“I mean, it was impressive, dude. Not to brag but, like, if TJ hadn't pulled out the bowling ramp, I would've won the whole thing.”
“I believe you,” he replies with the amusement of someone who does not fucking believe her. She'll remember that. “Turn around so I can put it back on?”
She does turn around, and as soon as she does, she blurts, “The guide is hosting an event for all its new recipients.” Very smooth of her. “It's in a few weeks, and you can bring a plus one.”
“Wow. It's only been six months since The Bear opened, you know?”
“Six months since freezergate?”
He chuckles a little with her while he fiddles with the clasp, but doesn't take the distraction bait. This is about her. “Six months since you proved you could steer this ship. I'm so proud of how far you've come, Syd, and how much you have ahead of you. Not everybody can do this shit.”
There's a part of her that wants to tell him to shut up. Tell him to stop being a sap and get out of here. To deflect with another joke. There's a bigger part of her that wants him here, even if it's for a little longer. “Carm, I want you to come with me.”
“What? No.” His hands fall from her neck to her waist once the necklace is secured so he can spin her around. They find it easiest to be vulnerable without looking at each other — her especially, he knows — but he needs to be sure of what she's asking.
“Yes. Please. I didn't do this alone.”
“If this is about not taking too many people from The Bear for a night, I'll cover their prep, I can go in for a night—”
“It's not about that! It's about me choosing you!”
Devotion. Or commitment, whichever. He thinks he gets what this is about, but he can't fathom why she would celebrate the partnership they almost had. The consideration that went unspoken, or the communication they almost achieved. She has better partnerships now. She had them even then.
“Syd. I was in the way, I— I almost ruined everything. If anything, you got this despite my bullshit.”
“No, it was the night with the snow, and you were mostly done bullshitting by then—”
He doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. He knows he set them back. “Nothing the star man said about the hospitality or the creativity came from me, Syd, I haven't done anything to contribute to this! You could take anyone else—”
Syd splutters, because it's so far from the truth. He made her want to cook, all the way back then, and he made her want to cook now, whether she admits it or not. “The others are my friends, and I love them, but right here? Carm, we built this together.”
He tries not to focus on the implication that they're something other than friends. “We built this with everyone.”
He doesn't get that it was different with him. How couldn't he feel that they were different? “Listen, man, what about those other stars?”
“The ones I retained?”
“Retaining is impressive!”
She's fighting it so hard, and it's only then that it occurs to Carmy that this could be about another type of partnership entirely. “Syd, level with me.” He pulls her a little closer by the waist while his hands are still there, hoping the eye contact breaks her if nothing else. “Why do you really want me to come with you?”
“You don't wanna awkwardly network with me?” She jokes, a little low and breathy because she doesn't know what to do with herself when she gets this close. She wants his hands to caress and grope her everywhere, yes everywhere, as crude as it sounds. She wants them to set her on fire, and when she gets a flicker of that warmth, she just… melts. Regardless, her efforts are in vain, she doesn’t even get a response.
She's working on her vulnerability, she tells herself over and over. She can get these words out.
“Every time I pictured getting this star, or I guess, stars plural, it was always with you. And I'm still working on accepting you're leaving, but. I don't know about accepting that this wasn't ours, because it was. You were here with me, and yeah you were… doing whatever for a couple months, but. You were here. And I learned from you, and you learned from me, and that's the exchange, right?”
“Making each other better at this.”
“Exactly. and even if this was all just because of me, I, um… one of the main reasons I stayed was because of you, so. There's that.”
“What?” His eyes widen.
“I know we've kind of talked about me eating at Empire. I never told you that it made me feel connected to you before I even knew you. That's why I sought you out. And then I started to know you, Carm. I got to know your dedication, your talent, your kindness, your weird ways of making me laugh. And I didn't want to ever stop. I don't want to, so please just come with me to this fucking thing?”
It’s her own take on a love confession, they both know. But he has to be the one to say the words.
“You really want to share this with me?” Obviously, it's not about the event, and even though it's about the stars, it's not really just about the stars.
“I mean, it's only fair—”
“Syd, fuck that. You want to?”
She feels her last chance at putting her walls up crumble. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I just wanted to make sure because… I want to share everything with you.”
“Jesus, Carm—”
“No, Syd, listen. I want to share everything with you because I love you, alright? Every meal, every thought, every laugh. I wanna come up with new meals just so you can have more options on what to eat at night. I want to think of more weird ways of making you laugh because it's my favourite sound. I wanna share my thoughts because the best part is when I get to hear all of yours, but like, three times as fast. It's so hard to stay away from this place knowing I can always find you here. You have to know that.”
For a second, she stands shellshocked. Tears a little glossy, lips a little downturned. It's the scariest one of his life, and believe him, he's had reasons to hold onto fear.
None of them compare to not being able to have this with Sydney.
“Okay. C–cool,” she eventually stammers out. “Yeah, thanks for sharing that with me.” Her nods become more frequent as she processes. “Hey, uh, quick question, do you mind if I try something?”
“No, ‘course not. Go ahead.”
Her hands come up to cradle both sides of his head right by his ears, before she decides she wants her hands settled on his chest instead.
There are a lot of factors to consider when kissing someone, and she's way out of practice. Hand placement's sorted, but that's only the start. What's too much too fast? He got them all slushies after bowling, surely, he'll taste that? What does she do if he doesn't kiss her back?
“Syd,” he whispers, soft and sweet.
Fuck it.
She leans in for a slow peck, then connects their lips again for something that lasts longer. It's these increasing lengths that sway her into a slow make out with him. No need to worry about speed or reciprocity: Carm's already slipping his tongue slipping into her mouth, hand resting on the top of her ass.
Still early on a Chicago winter morning, a lot of the light is coming from the fire on the stove. She's forgotten what she was cooking on there, but it sounds right blended into their background.
“Was that okay?”
A hot hand sneaks under her white shirt. “Syd. It was perfect.”
“Come home with me tonight.” It's the first time she's invited him over. He didn't want to push, but a part of him had been holding out hope every time he picked her up.
“Really?”
“I didn't want to do the restaurant thing without you, Carm. Even when I genuinely thought you were going to drive me to insanity, I really didn't want to do this without you.” Her fingertips trace his left forearm until they touch his, and she pushes them back gently so she has the room to intertwine their hands. “What I'm starting to realise is it's a little bit because I don't want to do this without you.”
It's that professional versus personal distinction, he hears it — the one he's been trying to make for so many months now.
“I told you, Syd, whatever you need, you tell me.” A kiss is placed on her hand that's joined with his. “That goes for everything.” He steps closer, and whispers, “And whatever you want, too.”
And what does Sydney want? She wants to maintain her stars, she wants to be doing this restaurant thing a long time. She wants Carmen, in so many ways. She wants him as her best friend, she wants him by her side when she goes home, she wants to feel him everywhere.
“I want…” The words crawl up her throat, but even in this moment of extreme vulnerability, she can't bring herself to say it. “What do you think I want, Carm?”
“I don't know, Syd,” he's half-teasing between pressing featherlight kisses on her neck. His hands are just as light on her hips. If she wants more, she can ask for it. “I remember you mentioned space before. You still want space?”
She releases only a beautiful breathy noise in reply, which is how he knows he's got her.
“Answer me, baby. You want space?” Maybe it's dressed up as a play of dominance, he's not sure how it comes across, but he's never been more desperate.
“No,” she whispers. When he hovers instead of resuming his kisses, she knows it's not enough. “I want this. I want you. Please.”
“You've got me.”
He finally initiates another kiss, still frustratingly soft, on her lips. Syd's hand lands in his hair to pull it, moving his whole head back. “Carm. More.”
From there, it grows in intensity very quickly. He slips his leg in between both of hers, and in no time, she's riding it. The friction from the layers of clothing and his flexed thigh is so good, she doesn't even know where she goes after that. She thinks she feels his hand squeeze her breast, she has no idea it has her moaning in his ear.
The sound suddenly reminds him of where they are. Syd's business that she owns and runs. He doesn't want to ruin it for her, so he puts his hands back on her hips to firmly to still her. “Syd. Syd, baby. Sydney.”
It takes her a second but she slows down, opening her eyes that had started to glisten. “Service, Syd.”
“Now you wanna remember fucking service?”
“I don't want to taint the restaurant!”
Too late for that. Natalie and Pete have them beat. “You want me to walk around sexually frustrated all day. You hate me and my business.”
“I'll pick you up after service, and that way, we can maybe—”
“You owe me an orgasm, Carm.”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
-
Carmy tries to distract himself from the thought of seeing Sydney tonight with the only thing he thinks about almost as much as her: his future.
He didn't get that architecture internship — he was never going to. He wasn't prepared enough, because he's not prepared for anything. To leave, to try something new, to confess his love for a woman at the centre of his world.
He's doing it all anyway.
When he needs a distraction, he always goes back to sketching. Something about getting lost in shape and colour and size has always called to him.
Today, it's food he thinks Syd would like to eat, clothes he thinks Syd would like to wear (of all of the things he admires about his Syd, her sense of style might be the coolest), Sydney herself.
It's not his fault. He said he loves her, and she kissed him in response. What could he do but think of her?
She’s always telling him he needs to change shit about his apartment, and he’s worked on her specific critiques (see: cookbook shelf, an actual bed frame, dresser for his jeans), but he has the feeling she’s going to be over a lot more now. It should be somewhere she’d be happy to call home.
Not that his apartment is her home or anything like that.
He tries to think of what she'd like best. For his cabinets to be sorted is the first thing. And maybe a marble table instead of his wooden one, she thinks the patterns are pretty. Wait, wouldn't it be more convenient for her if he moved the couch so she had a better angle when they were watching TV?
That's how he finds himself spending the rest of his day, drawing the spatial rearrangements of rooms in his house to account for Syd. He wants her opinion on everything so it's all rough work until he sees her place really, but he finds himself really engrossed in the design aspect.
Shapes and colours and sizes, now, he gets to consider materials too. The calm that washes over him makes him a little more level-headed.
He finishes a few hours before it's time to pick Syd up. Thinking of how to use the space to cater to her needs, redecorating and adding specific pops of colour he knows she'll love, it made something seem so obvious that wasn't before.
Interior design.
-
(“This place is sick!” He's admiring her decor. “Why didn't you invite me over earlier?”
“I was hoping the first time you were here would be… special.”
“Yeah? What did you have in mind?”
Completely unrelated, Syd gets her orgasm at the end of the day. And a lot more, too.)
5.
“How was your day, Captain EC?” is the first thing Carmy asks after he kisses her in greeting. It's the end of another service, and Syd's head is whirring. Her feet feel too heavy, her vision's a little blurry, and honestly, any sudden movement feels like it would be a health hazard.
Still, it's nice that she gets to do it all over again on Monday. And it's nice her boyfriend’s here too.
“A captain and executive are like the same thing!”
“It's for emphasis!”
“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, brown irises storing pools of affection, “My day was fine, thanks for asking. We had a late delivery, and tonight was tight with the ongoing reservations boom again but Richie's got this down by now.” It's crazy how much she missed that idiot.
Carmy knows she's being humble — her lack of ramble tonight means everything went off without a hitch, no doubt thanks to her leadership. “And so do you, Syd. You all do.”
He's not let up on the praise once since the stars, but it still feels new to her insides every time. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she tries not to sound too hard like she's melting when she replies, “Thanks, Carm. How was your day?”
“So you know how I've been trying to convince them to let me help with the interior design for The Beef franchises…”
“Your favourite discussion point of the last week, yes.”
Carmy's been thinking about his future a lot now he's finally given himself the time to. Asking himself questions like what really draws him to architecture, is there anything else that has those same qualities, how does he want to take his first steps in this new direction, etc. After several internet rabbit holes and spirals, it confirmed what he really wants to do is interior design.
Most people wouldn't know the difference between $5 and $55 plates but he can feel it. Hear it, even. He wished he'd let himself enjoy the renovation more, he might have come to this conclusion sooner.
When it clicked, it clicked, and now he's all in on knowing everything about it: he's learning how to use this design software called CAD and another one called InDesign, he's taking courses online about safety regulations, he's finding lectures to go to with people who want to know about this as much as he does.
He's happy.
“Well, Ebra made me give my pitch today.”
“Oh shit, for real?”
When he first raised the idea to Jimmy, expecting to be laughed at, all he was told was that he'd have to go through the real boss: Ebra. When he raised the idea to Ebra, all he was told then was “I prepared a pitch for you, now, prepare a pitch for me. If you convince me, I'll accept.”
The pitch hinges on the ideas of taking considerably lower pay — he did the math on it — and ‘brand cohesion’ across franchises, because who knows the brand for The Beef better than family, right?
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Nice try. I am not fazed by your blue eyes’. I think he thought I was joking.”
Sydney's heart drops. “If it helps, I'm very fazed by your blue eyes,” she tries joking. Carm's been so excited by shadowing on this, she hadn't even entertained the possibility he wouldn't get it. He made a spreadsheet! And a powerpoint!
Something in her tone must have given her worry away. “And then he said yes. My first meeting with her is on Tuesday.”
“Ahhh!” she squeals near his ear, loud enough to hear in Michigan and Ohio and Texas. She throws her arms around his neck from behind. “I'm ridiculously proud, Carmen.”
“Thanks, baby. You wanna go?”
Sydney didn't know he had a car until they started dating, because he takes the El to and from work so religiously. He says he just got used to it. He also says that his executive chef girlfriend deserves to sit in a car after a long day.
Not this long day unfortunately, because his tyre popped that morning. He keeps apologising but honestly, Syd's happy to ride the El with him. She'd be happy anywhere with him.
(Still, he insists on carrying her to the station.
“Carmen, this is crazy. The streets of Chicago must think we're crazy!” Sydney squeals while being carried bridal style, because ‘it takes more effort’ for her to cling to his back, according to Carm. She's only allowing it because of the short distance between the restaurant and the station.
“Fuck the streets of Chicago!”)
They sit on the El train together, her head limp on his shoulder, his arms around her waist to support her body weight while she rests. It's sticky sweet, tangerine.
-
He can't even remember what his apartment looked like before Syd. After Syd saw his sketches for room rearrangements, she lit up so much that he started working on it the next day.
It's nice to look at the things he sketched come to fruition: a ton of new decor like plants and fluffy carpets on the floor; a new showerhead where she can change the angle of it, depending on if she's washing her hair or not; the restructuring of the living room to cater to the light coming from the window.
Then, there are the unexpected changes too.
Because she likes looking at it, his art covers one of the living room walls.
She got him on the concept of prescribed medications, instead of a shit ton of over-the-counter ones; they have a cabinet they share where their medication is sorted between the two.
He likes watching her settle down here.
“I wanna watch my favourite show,” Syd yawns as they both get under the covers.
“Is–is this a test? Baby, you have, like, twenty.”
“Favourite sitcom.” This hardly narrows it down. It does mean no reality TV, which is a start.
“Decade?”
“90s.” This makes sense. Syd hasn't watched a new show in years. When she gets the time, she wants to feel the comfort of something familiar.
“Living Single.”
“Shit, that is my favourite show. No.”
“The Nanny?”
“The singular season I've seen captured my heart but no.”
“Honey.”
“Okay, fine. It might involve a certain boy meeting a certain world.”
“Syd, that's absolutely not your favourite show! You only watch season 5 and beyond. You won't even watch the finale because Angela's not in it.”
“Good thing we're not watching the finale then!”
He loves her so much, is all he can think with her head on his chest, even if she's being ridiculous. Predictably, she falls asleep 20 minutes in.
Normally, he stays in bed with her, kissing her all over while he waits for sleep to take him too. But tonight, he has too many ideas about the floor plans for The Beef franchises.
Not wanting to wake her with the muttering he does when drawing, he relocates to the living room desk with his sketchpad and pencil.
He thinks two hours pass before he hears, “Carm.”
His pencil drops immediately at the sound of her raspy voice. “Hi, baby. You're back up?” She looks so cute in her oversized band shirt… and slightly annoyed?
“Mhm. I–uh. I didn't like waking up and not seeing you.”
They're still relatively new romantically, he's taken aback every time she expresses she wants him around. He honestly didn't think she'd mind. “I'm sorry, Syd. I'll be there next time.”
He stands up to meet her, arms offering a consolation embrace. Instead, the kiss she opts for is fierce, tongue wrapping and melting around his. It's obvious what she wants.
His hands rove over her, from her upper back all the way down to the backs of her thighs and back up, one hand squeezing her ass on the way.
“Was dreaming about you. Just now. Just like this.”
He breaks the kiss to get his shirt over his head. “Bedroom?” He asks breathlessly, to a vigorously nodding Sydney.
When they get there, she wastes no time telling him, “Lie back, Carmen.”
Happy to comply, he lets himself continue to be kissed while she straddles him.
“Need you to shuffle down a bit, ‘cause I’m gonna ride your face now. That okay?” They're finding their footing in this more sexual side of their relationship too, but so far, doing what he's told has worked out pretty well for him.
“Yes, please.”
She removes her shirt hurriedly, pretending she doesn't notice Carmy watching her. There were no pants under it when she went to bed, which makes what happens next really easy. The first time she feels his mouth on her… God, no dictionary or thesaurus could give her the words. Her eyes shut so hard it hurts for a second. It's nice to let Carmy do most of the work for now, him lapping and sucking and her slightly rocking along.
When she feels herself get close, she swings her leg off and gets back on his mouth the other way. Now her torso is facing the rest of his body, she prefers this angle because she can shift her weight onto her elbows on either side of him. Bouncing on his tongue properly, she chants “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” with every movement.
He loves to hear the music.
It's not long until she's finishing in his mouth, and he's savouring every drop. She lets herself fall into bed just in time for the part where her body feels boneless and her mind goes blank, and Carmy's right there, kissing her face and neck and making sure she's okay.
“Carmen, darling?” She asks once she's back on Earth. His head snaps up. Hearing the name in her soft voice that she reserves just for him, just for this… “Do you want to try the thing we've been talking about?”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
“I mean, you've been so good, I don't see why not,” she shrugs while unclasping her bra.
“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath.
(Syd has been teasing him all week, really, but he thought it was just that: a tease. It started with a low cut top she was trying out because a friend asked to go to the club.
“What do you think, Carm? Does the bra make it look weird?”
“You're… goddamn, Sydney.”
His eyes haven't moved from her chest once. “You're looking at my tits like you wanna fuck them or something.” She was trying to add some levity, but his lack of response feels very much like a response. “Really?”
“I'm–I'm not trying to be a pervert or anything, but. That would be…”
“Baby, I'm your girlfriend. If I don't make you feel, like, a little perverted, then honestly, I'd be questioning some things. I'll take it into consideration.”)
“How do you want it, Carm?”
“I want… I think it's your turn to lie down, Syd.”
“Ooooh!” She follows through immediately, she likes it when he tells her what to do too.
He straddles her, careful to leave a couple inches of space between him and her torso. “I do something like this, right?”
“Mhm. And then I think I…” She doesn't finish her sentence, she just wraps her hand around him and starts to stroke.
“Jesus, Syd.” Her hand adjusts for speed and range of movement to cater to him, so seamlessly you'd think she'd given more than 4 handjobs before they got together. She must've been positioning him closer to her chest at the same time, judging by how easy it is for her to slot him in between.
“It's all yours, Carmen. Use me however.” He's said something similar to her so many times, but hearing it back… wow. Carmy actually can't believe his life.
Gently, he pushes her breasts together and starts by rubbing circles on her nipples, so she gets a little pleasure too.
“That good?” He's still asking her, even though this is for him.
“Yeah. You wanna move?” His first thrusts are a little enthusiastic. He honest to God looks like he's just landed in heaven. “Start slow, Carm.”
She's still in charge, of course.
They get into the swing of it, once he's managed to pace himself, and looking at her, so focused on making sure he's enjoying it, turns him on more than he thinks he can be.
It doesn't take long before he's panting frenziedly. “Syd, I'm gonna… where should I…”
“Right here is fine. Come on, let go for me. I wanna watch.”
That's how Syd ends up with white smatterings all over her chest, one elbow propped up to talk to Carmy. He should probably get up to help her clean that, he knows, but he's trying to take a mental snapshot first.
“I mean I was just doing this for you but that was actually kinda hot. How are you feeling?”
“You didn't use a British accent? Wh—when you called me darling?”
She rolls her eyes fondly, “No, because I was trying to seduce you.” And she's looking up at him through his lashes, covered in him, whispering softly — is she still trying to seduce him? There's truly no need.
“You were always seducing me.”
“Are you serious?”
“My girlfriend doing one of her bits by calling me an affectionate name while she tells me what to do? Syd, that's sexy.”
“Oh. O–okay.”
-
(“Does this mean you'll let me ride your bicep next time?” She asks, all innocently sounding when he's literally inside her.
“Jesus, Syd.” )
+1.
Things seem like they're working out for Carmy for the first time.
He goes to therapy twice a week because as Syd told him: “Once isn't enough, dude! We both know that!”. He gardens sometimes and he draws all the time. It's imperative that he makes sure he has a meal ready for Syd when she gets back, experimenting with all types of shape and colour and size.
Shadowing on the interior design for The Beef really solidified things for him, career wise. The woman he worked with said he had a good eye for this type of thing. Now, his interior design program at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago also keeps him busy. It's 6 30 hour courses going towards one big certificate. He didn't even have to formally apply for the school, it's part of this ‘Adults Continuing Education’ thing they have going on.
He fucking loves it.
A lot of the courses are only for a few hours on one day of the week, which helps him not feel overwhelmed by all the learning he's doing. He's also taking math classes at a community college, which he technically doesn't need for his career, but they're more for him.
At his SAIC colour theory class, he ends up sat next to this actual interior designer, who already does what he wants to do.
“Carmen Berzatto, right?” The guy straight up asks him afterward. He's never going to be used to being full-named, but he thinks he's better with people than he used to be.
“Oh, hi. Yes, I'm Carmen, or Carmy. What's your name?”
“Sorry, I didn't mean to come across like a stalker or anything. I'm William. I just recognise you from headlines and stuff. You're a chef, right?”
“Yeah,” That sets off something in his heart he tries to ignore. He should say that he used to be, he knows. “I actually started these classes so I could help do the interior design for this sandwich shop I used to work at. It's being franchised, which is exciting.”
“Oh, The Beef, right?”
“Yes, that's the one. So that brings me here, what about you?”
“I work in interior design, actually. But I mostly work for my father's company, and I think I want my own, so. Just brushing up!”
“Wow, that's–that's really cool. Let me know if I can stop by sometime!” It's a joke, Syd says he's getting better at those, and William laughs, but then something in his face gets more serious.
“You know if you ever wanted, my dad's looking for an intern right now, I could put a good word in? He hasn't opened the position yet, and if I say something, the job's yours, man.”
Who is this, and why does he do life-changing favours for strangers? “Just like that? You don't want something back?”
“I've been sat next to you for weeks, you're really good! And actually,” the guy starts, because of course it couldn't be that fucking easy. “I really want to take my girlfriend out to The Bear for her birthday…”
That's it? A major leg up in his career, when he bombed his last opportunity, in exchange for a reservation?
“Oh, I don't work there anymore, but my girlfriend's the executive chef! I'm sure we can make that happen.” God, he loves bragging about her.
“Chef Sydney's your girlfriend? She got two Michelin stars recently, right?”
“She is, and yeah, she's the best. Absolutely unbelievable, I can't emphasise it enough.” Hopefully, he's not visibly blushing as much as he feels the heat in his cheeks. “I'll speak to her, but I'm sure she’d love to have you.”
“Oh my God, thank you. I have to warn you, you'd have to interview for the role, but it would be a formality more than anything.”
See, that's a real catch. He can't think of something he's worse at than interviewing. It's a weird sense of deja vu that washes over him, but even though this is almost the exact same situation he was in a couple months ago, this feels right.
For about 2 days. Then his head gets poisoned with a fuck ton of doubt.
An internship seems so concrete, he'd be doing this for real and not just entertaining the idea. That almost puts him off when considering it, but talking to Syd helps him make a decision.
“I'm not sure about the internship.” He whispers, early on a Sunday morning, as he spoons her from behind.
She's tracing patterns on his hands, he thinks it's her favourite way to show affection. “Yeah? Why not?”
“I talked myself out of the architecture one mid-interview when I thought I really wanted it. What if I don't feel this way about interior design come Tuesday? And I'm really enjoying my classes so should I just go back to school full-time before I jump into this? I–I don't know. I don't know anything.”
Suddenly, she turns in his arms. The sight of her face calms him a bit, and her hand coming up to his face more so. “You know I got a degree before going to the CIA?”
Carmy sat up a little in bed. “Really? It's not on your resumé.”
Of course he remembers her resumé.
“Yeah, a chemistry degree from UChicago. I loved it. But I had this realisation in my third year that it had no place in the life that I saw for myself. So I got my chem degree that summer, then moved to New York to start my culinary degree in the fall.”
“You're so fucking cool.”
“Thank you, but that's not my point. My point is, I loved school. Science was my favourite for as long as i could remember, and chemistry particularly made me never want to stop asking questions. Realising I wanted to be a chef almost stung a little because of how much I loved chemistry. But sometimes you have to jump into things to find your thing, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
Her lips land a couple kisses on his nose. “If you do the internship and you don't enjoy it, it just means that you learned something about yourself. And the knowledge you'll gain from it might stick with you in unexpected ways. Even though I don't use my chem degree that much, I would never consider it a waste of my time. How else would I know about the barkeeper's friends trick?”
Their voices go up to impersonate Tina's at the same time. “Science, baby!”
Nat helped too. “Doing an internship in one thing doesn't mean you have to stay there for the rest of your life, honey. If all the client calls or whatever are really a dealbreaker, having this on your resumé will help you find a job you like more. And school is always an option.”
-
The day the designs for The Beef franchises are approved, Syd bakes him a cake at her place.
Her apartment is everything he'd imagined it to be and more. It's always been lively, and now there are traces of his life too. There's a vase on the window sill with the flowers he gets her. He painted it at a workshop he did a couple months ago. Her bedroom has a desk with a chair and lampshade now, because she hates when he goes to the living room table to draw. She keeps short rib in her freezer, because he's annoying and asks for the cola-braised ribs at least twice a week.
These details probably don't drastically effect the vibe — her place would be spunky with nothing but french fries in her freezer — but it makes it infinitely cool to him. He couldn't improve it if he was paid to.
“I'm no Marcus, but I did try and whip up something…” The cake she's holding is a triple layered carrot cake, with a thin coating of buttercream. He didn't know he liked carrot cake until they went to a bakery together and he tried some of hers. “My boyfriend is an interior designer!”
He was about to tell her how grateful he is and how good the cake looks, but her statement distracts him. “Your boyfriend shadowed an actual interior designer.”
“We’re not doing the back-and-forth. You said yourself you knew way more than she thought you might. And that she said you had good ideas! You're the real deal, Carm.”
“That means a lot coming from a double degree haver and double Michelin star earner.”
“Shut up!” She digs at his side playfully. “Not gonna let you take this away from yourself, so don't even try.”
-
A few days a week, he drops Syd off, before going to his new internship.
Every time, he gets his goodbye kiss, and because his greed knows no bounds when it comes to her, he tries to lean in for more. “Enough! This is my place of employment!”
It ignores two key facts: one being that she is the employer, and two being that she's begged him for an orgasm in this very place.
Usually, it's accompanied with a gentle rib along the lines of “Don't you have your own place of employment?” and then a much sweeter message that she seals with another kiss: “Believe in yourself, alright? As much as you believe in me. That shit’s a gamechanger.”
He goes to work, and his suits no longer feel suffocating. When he comes back, he either has a class to go to, or he's working on his portfolio. Which is the end project on his course, yes, but more than that, it's his chance to showcase everything he's learned so far, through all his various opportunities. It's almost his favourite part of the day, bar his evening with Syd.
His days feel perfect, albeit a little too peaceful, so why would he ever change them?
How it happens is like this:
“Today's gonna be hell on earth,” Syd moans, her head in her hands over breakfast. “Three people have already called out because of the flu that's been going around.”
“I'm not working today. I’ll be there.” No classes either. If Syd's gonna get through a Saturday service, she needs all the help she can get.
And she always has him.
“Carm, I'm not telling you this so you can—”
“I know.” Confident. “But if you need it, I'm gonna be there.”
“It's not too much?”
“No, baby, not in your kitchen. And I like the idea of helping everybody out.”
“Okay,” she nods. “Be my tournant?”
That service reminds him of everything he's missed. He knew he craved Syd's leadership, but he didn't fully realise how much he'd missed the rush, if that makes sense. The buzzer beaters and quick turnarounds are some of his favourite parts. Seeing everybody's face when they've realised they've pulled off another night with all those turns… there's nothing like it.
He loves his job, he does, and he doesn't want to quit but it's not the same as this.
Something shifts after that night. Every morning, he asks Syd if she needs him over; every day at work, he thinks about what they're doing in the kitchen. The days she agrees to let him come in are better than the days she doesn't. He doesn't need the kitchen the way he used to, but God, he wants it.
For this decision, he talks to damn near everybody to make sure he's confident about it. Then, he tells Sydney, “My design internship is ending next week.”
“Yeah, baby, I know.” She's only slightly confused about the conversation starter. “It's marked in our Google calendar. We're going to Kasama to celebrate.”
“After it does… I want to be here.”
“You wanna come back here after Kasama?”
“I wanna stay here.”
“Carm…”
“No, Syd, I know. But I'm in therapy now, I'm doing the work. I have a better sense of who I am, and what my limits are. I have a support system. And I have you. Every time I'm in your kitchen, I fall in love with this all over again.”
“You love interior design, Carmen. You wake up in the morning and talk my fuckin’ ear off about whatever you're making on CAD. You love being a nerd about the materials. Your portfolio is like your child. You're even getting used to client calls!”
“I know.”
“You would hate giving it up.”
“I know. I don't— I don't think I will? It might be dumb but I want to try freelance work then come in for service. I'm gonna have to take more math classes for the business side of things, but. I think I could have everything I love this way. With everyone I love.”
In this moment, they don't know that Emmanuel will be his first freelance customer, or that he'll design the house they move into when they get married. They know they have each other, and a ton of faith.
That's taken them this far already.
“Okay.” Syd nods while holding back tears, because she loves him too. “What do you want to do?”
She'd open up almost any spot for him. (Except Tina as her CDC.)
“I want to start as your tournant…”
She's holding back a smirk while she wraps her arms around his neck. “And where do you wanna end up?”
His hands fall to her waist when he replies, “Maybe as your sous?”
She nods like she did all those months ago, when she was hired as his sous, and when she came back to him.
Of course he comes back to her. Because Sydney is The Bear, and the red string of fate that ties him to her can never stretch too far.