When Luca left four years ago, he took your heart with him and left you with a decision that changed your entire life. When he finally returns, rebuilding what you had is a little harder when you have a daughter he doesn't know about. A daughter who belongs to him.
▸ PAIRING: Chef Luca x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: Mature rating mostly due to making out (no explicit sex scenes), hurt/comfort, reader is a big scaredy cat, some angst, amelia's personality inspired by morgan stark (marvel) but race is neutral/ambiguous <3
▸ WORD COUNT: 9.7K
▸ A/N: told myself i wanted to write something small in honor of the bear s4 and luca's sexy return (esp him holding that baby!!) but i clearly have zero self-control. second part which is slightly longer than this one coming in a week :)
↤ main masterlist | part two ↦
You always knew your past would come back to haunt you. All the secrets and vague responses. Deflecting questions like it’s your full-time job. The first year was the roughest. You practically wrote the book on how to avoid FaceTime calls with your best friend.
With Luca, you can imagine how difficult that would be. The man was too kind, too thoughtful, always making time for you despite the timezone difference and the fact that he was being ground down to the bone across the Atlantic.
Now you’re staring at the consequences of your actions.
Luca: Heading to Chicago in two weeks. Do you have time to catch up?
Every expletive you could think of leaves your lips. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s been four years since you saw him last. Four years since he left Chicago and never looked back. Maybe he’s only here for a few days. What’s a few days of hiding the biggest secret of your life from a very observant man who cares way too much about you?
“Shit,” you groan as you stare at the blinking line where your reply should be.
“Shit.”
The echo has you jerking up. Amelia stands in the doorway, grinning cheekily up at you.
“You can’t say that word. It’s a bad word.”
“But you said it.”
“Yes, but I’m an adult.”
“So just because you’re older, you can say it but I can’t? That’s not fair. Kids can do anything adults can too.” Her r’s aren’t even fully formed yet so her challenge just sounds endearing. You have a smart kid. Too smart.
Sighing, you scoop her up, which earns you giggles. She knows she’s won the battle. “Maybe when kids start paying taxes, we’ll talk. Ask me again in a few years. I don’t want you getting in trouble with Miss Glinda.”
Amelia grins down at you with those big green eyes. An exact replica of her father’s. She also picked up a lot of his kindness and patience, his tenacity. Thank goodness, because if she picked up any of those from you, you don’t think she would have made any friends. God knows your stubbornness has gotten you into more messes than your parents would like.
Said father is the man whose text you still haven’t responded to. Whose text led you to curse in front of your daughter. Your daughter who said father has zero awareness of.
This is going to be fantastic.
When you tuck Amelia back into bed, she peers up at you curiously. Sometimes, it’s like staring right at Luca. Her inquisitive eyes. The ones that could see right through you.
“Why were you saying a bad word, Mommy?”
You tug the blanket up to her chin as she sinks back into the mattress. “Sometimes, when I feel really strongly about something, I say a bad word. It’s not really a bad thing, but it might not be a good thing either. It’s just when I feel so emotional that I have to use a word that you’re not supposed to use.”
Amelia quietly considers this. You can see the gears turning in her head. “So was it a good thing or a bad thing that made you say it?”
Honestly, you’re still not sure. While you’re more than thrilled at the idea of reconnecting with a good friend and a former co-worker, his arrival in Chicago means that your current situation – in other words, you having a daughter – complicates things. For the duration of time that he is here in the city, you have to figure out how to ensure he never finds out about Amelia. It would be difficult to explain. Even harder now that she’s four.
Plus, it’s not like you have to. He has a life of his own in Copenhagen now, working for the best of the best. He hasn’t been back in Chicago since he left and he likely will leave again to never return. He doesn’t need to know about her. You’ve been just fine on your own.
“A little bit of both,” you smile. “Now, sleep. This is the second time I’m putting you to bed. If I reach a third time, the ogre underneath your bed is going to wake up and eat you.”
She frowns, “There’s no ogre under my bed. You told me this last year.”
Curse your good parenting. “It’s the ogre’s other friend.”
Amelia offers you a sympathetic smile. It’s a sad day when your daughter begins to pity you and your weak attempt to be stern. “Okay. Goodnight.”
“Sleep tight.”
God knows you won’t be doing that tonight.
–
Perhaps the situation merits some context. For starters, Amelia is your four-year-old. She’s bright and optimistic, but she’s also quick and snappy. She’s the type to challenge teachers at school as evidenced by the number of times she – and you – have been summoned to the principal’s office due to a teacher’s bruised ego. However, she’s a good student and she makes friends. She’s never been too much of a handful.
Raising her has been relatively easy, particularly with the help of your parents and Rebecca, your other and current best friend, who adore her.
When you had gotten pregnant, your parents were unsurprisingly upset. They weren’t happy that their only child was knocked up without the father around. No matter how many times they asked who it was, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them. You dodged the question multiple times, claiming that the father had nothing to do with the baby because it was your call.
It wasn’t Luca’s responsibility. He didn’t know.
Still, Amelia has been winning hearts left and right since the day she was born. With her bright green eyes and mischievous nature, she quickly captured your parents’ love.
With regards to Luca, she does ask about it from time to time. The father she never knew.
It isn’t as if you and Luca ended on bad terms; you clearly didn’t given that you still consider him one of your closest friends. Close friends with a massive secret between you.
It was just – there was nothing between you to begin with.
A drunken one-night stand. That’s all it was. The two of you were tight at Ever, the entire staff knew that. He had been the one to pull you out of your cold shell, introduce you to the rest, and ensured you fit in with the group. Ever wouldn’t have been the same without him.
So after a particularly tough day and a particularly long night of downing two bottles of wine, it happened. The next morning is something your wine-addled brain had really thought about.
“Last night…” he starts.
“I know,” you clear your throat, covering your naked chest with your duvet. The last thing you want is to lose your friendship with him. No matter how much you love this man. “We don’t have to— I mean, I get it. We had both been drinking.”
Luca nods slowly. “Yeah, of course.” He’s still shirtless from waist up as far as you could see. His broad shoulders even more prominent in the daylight. Golden skin through and through. You can see why your brain thought it was a good idea last night.
You’re not blind. You’ve always known your best friend is attractive. You’ve seen the looks some of the servers give him, and even the customers when he takes the occasional step out of the kitchen and into the limelight.
But you can’t lose him. Not to this.
You look up at him. “We’re good right?”
“We’re good.”
And the two of you never spoke of it again. A couple of weeks later, Luca hears that he received the opportunity to stage at Noma. No chef would pass that up. So within a week, he packs his bag and, with tearful goodbyes to the rest of the Ever crew, he is on a flight to Denmark. What was supposed to be a two-month stint turned into four then a full-time gig. Before long, he was bouncing around every fine dining establishment in Copenhagen and making a name for himself as a pastry chef. He eventually returned to Noma to take over pastry work there.
A week after his departure, you land with your face in your toilet to hurl your guts out. Then came the nausea and the odd food cravings. Working at Ever became unbearable with the mix of smells and your constant fatigue. When all the symptoms finally sink in, you decide to take a pregnancy test.
Lo and behold, two pink lines.
The shock electrocutes you. You’re slumped against your bathroom dresser when Rebecca finds you the first time, panicking since you weren’t exactly moving. Or breathing. It took a lot of crying and ginger ale (no more wine for you) on the floor before she managed to help you move to the bed where you proceeded to repeat the cycle.
Telling your parents was the easy part. Getting through the pregnancy was rough. Late nights of being sore all over, the constant trips to the bathroom, fielding concerned calls from your parents.
Some of the worst parts were Luca reaching out. Between calling you at times most convenient for you (he would be up until dawn trying to call you) and sending you check-in texts, you were consumed with guilt. You constantly skipped his calls, claiming you were too busy even as you stared at his name lighting up your phone in the quiet of your room. You told people at Ever that you were leaving to pursue another career path. When your body started to change, you took video calls with him with only the top half of your face visible.
You never told him. You knew what he would’ve done. He would’ve given up his dream and, knowing him, he wouldn’t have even resented you for it. He would have taken responsibility. But that’s not what you wanted for him. Luca was – is – meant to do great things.
His career so far is proof of it.
So you sucked it up. You had the chance to get rid of this unborn, nameless, faceless baby, but it didn’t feel right. You could feel her growing inside you and, once you had that first ultrasound with your mom by your side, it was decided. You were keeping her.
Amelia came in wailing, kicking, and screaming at three in the morning.
The greatest gift you could ever imagine.
She’s been the lighthouse of your life ever since. She is the reason you get up in the morning.
That’s the gist of it. Now, here you are at the age of thirty, staring at your phone dreading typing a mere response.
You look down at yourself. Despite the frumpy clothes being all you find comfortable these days outside of work, you don’t look that much different than you did before, so you could definitely pass as a woman who has never gone through pregnancy. You can do this. One meeting. Then he’ll be back on a plane and gone again for good. No big.
You: Coffee? I could do weekdays afternoon
Luca: Sounds good. I’ll lock in a time with you closer to the date. Looking forward to seeing you again :)
The urge to bang your head against a wall grows stronger by the moment.
Two weeks to prepare for his visit. Two weeks to come up with a believable story for how your life has been going for the past four years as if you never had your beautiful, smart, amazing daughter. You could do that.
Your only concern is whether you’re able to lie to Luca. He’s always been good at making an honest woman out of you. Keeping the truth from him when he’s thousands of miles from you is easy. But when you’re looking into those earnest green eyes, your integrity and skills will be tested.
This will be fun.
The café is busy particularly this time of day. You’ve got office workers making their late afternoon coffee runs, tourists popping in for a midday snack, and regulars trying to shoulder past people to get through to the exit. You manage to put in your order – and his, hoping it’s still the same – and snag a seat in the back corner of the shop. Work is relatively slow today so you called in a half day, which your manager only waves off unconcerned. It also works out because you can pick up Amelia right after this.
You can’t help the way your fingers wring together fearfully. It’s a nervous tic. Your espresso sits steaming across from Luca’s mocha latte. You could use the extra dose of caffeine to get through this conversation.
Hey, how’s it going? What’s new with you? Me? Nothing much, just raising the daughter I’ve been keeping from you and I’m working in a boring office now. How’s the life of your dreams?
A groan escapes your lips. You need to stop throwing this pathetic pity party for yourself. Now that Amelia is four, there’s really no excuse. You could go back to the kitchen and chase that lifelong dream again. There’s nothing stopping you. Your parents are fully retired and would be more than happy to take her off your hands on long days.
But you’re not entirely sure you’re ready. You’re much older than when you left. The stamina of these new and rising chefs is stronger than yours. Then again, you’ve been through hell and back with Amelia’s toddler years – god knows you barely got any sleep and became an expert on multi-tasking.
With Amelia, you also don’t know if being a chef is even your dream anymore. You still cook at home, it gives you a chance to experiment and be creative. There’s no one breathing down your neck on how to properly prepare a plate – aside from your mom who makes sure Amelia gets her main food groups every day.
It’s not as if you spite him for it. It’s not his fault. You just need to hold yourself accountable for your decisions. That includes having your wonderful daughter and keeping her a secret from her father.
The sound of your name rolling off his tongue is all too familiar. It’s almost like a caress. A ghost of a touch. You resist the shiver that snakes up your spine and look up to see him.
Fuck.
All those video calls did not do him justice. It’s been a couple of days since he landed in Chicago and clearly vacation suits him. There is a slight dusting of stubble along his jaw and his hair is a little unruly, far from the poised and elegant styling he usually has in the kitchen. He looks older. Better. You didn’t think it was possible for Luca to grow more into himself but he proves you wrong.
“Luca.” You stand, bumping into the table slightly. Curse your lack of cool.
The smile that spreads across his face is blinding. Familiar. Warm. “God, it’s so good to see you,” he says first, voice dripping with honey. He wraps you in a tight hug. It’s been a while since you’ve been this close to him, since you’ve been able to smell his cologne mixed with that unceasing scent of pastries. “You look… wow. You look amazing.”
“Now you’re just being mean,” you laugh. “Look at you. All grown up. You weren’t scrawny the last time I saw you, but I didn’t think you’d be so… big?”
Something flickers across his eyes, but it’s gone the moment you blink. “Well, all that dough kneading had to go somewhere. Thankfully, that means I don’t really have to hit the gym as much.”
“Life isn’t fair,” you tease. “What are you doing back in Chicago? I thought someone would have to drag you here kicking and screaming.”
While Chicago had been home for Luca for a while, you knew it wasn’t entirely easy. There is a lot of history in the city that he wants to let go, people he chooses to eschew if he can.
Luca looks a little confused by your question. “Ever is closing. Funeral dinner is tomorrow.”
It’s been years since you’ve been involved in the restaurant scene in the city. Admittedly, it’s too painful to be reminded of the past that had once been your dream. So you nod slowly. “Right, of course.”
“Are you not going?”
You hadn’t been invited, which also isn’t surprising. You weren’t a star like Luca or Carmy. You had been a line cook at the time and blended into the other chefs doing menial work in the kitchen. “No, I don’t really talk to anyone there anymore.”
“Oh, where are you working now? You’ve never told me that actually.”
You’re still not entirely sure how you managed to do it but, in the four years since he left, you did not tell him how you pivoted from cooking to an office job. It was more stable, better pay, and the hours were better. God bless company-sponsored healthcare. It was more conducive to raising a child.
“I work a finance role now. Boutique tech firm in the city.”
If anyone else knew Luca as well as you did, they would see the metaphorical jaw drop. “What? Since when?”
“Two, three years.” Four.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You mean since I left? What happened? Why did you switch?”
The lump in your throat refuses to go down. “I couldn’t handle the hours anymore. I wanted to get home at a good time, make more money.” It isn’t a lie per se. You just had bigger responsibilities that had you prioritizing reality over idealism.
Luca leans back, seeming to appraise you carefully. There are certainly more lines on your face now, weariness clinging to your skin. While life hasn’t been too tough on you, it hasn’t been particularly kind either.
“I didn’t know that,” he mutters, “why didn’t you tell me?”
Your lips quirk up in a small smile. “I didn’t want you to worry. Knowing you, you’d be on the first flight back here to drag me back into a kitchen.”
A charming snort escapes him. You didn’t know snorts could be charming until him. God, it’s stupid how fast your heart still races with him. “You’re not wrong. I just never thought this would happen. I heard that you left Ever but since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to touch on a sore subject.”
“Not too sore, I promise. It’s been good. I like it. It’s straightforward and nobody’s constantly yelling at me. There is functioning air conditioning instead of constantly sweating by grills,” you grin.
“That’s definitely appealing.”
“Enough about me. Tell me all about Copenhagen.”
And that gets Luca going. While you’ve heard bits and pieces on your short calls with him, it’s another thing entirely to have him narrate this live in front of you. His hands gesture wildly to describe the chaos of the kitchens he’s been in. He swipes through photographs of menu items he worked on recently. Each piece is more impressive than the next. You truly understand how much he’s grown then. How talented he is.
Somehow, his being here and all these stories reassure you in your decision not to tell him about your pregnancy. This is Luca’s dream. This is what he is meant to do.
“So when are you heading back? Seems like you have a lot in the works,” you ask as you take a sip of your now-cold coffee.
“I’m actually here for a few months.”
Your blood runs cold. If this were a movie, you would do a spit-take. “W-why are you here for a few months? What about Noma? Are you taking a sabbatical? Do they even let you take sabbaticals?”
“I left.”
He says it so simply. Like a thing he does so casually. Leaving Noma of all places – arguably the best restaurant in the world and every chef’s dream. His dream. “You’re going to have to elaborate here. What do you mean you left?”
Luca takes a deep breath and looks at you. Really looks at you. He looks contemplative, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve learned a lot there but I think I’m ready to move on.”
One doesn’t just move on. “So what’s your plan now? Are you starting your own place?”
“Someday. I still want to learn. There are a lot of great places here that I can bring my experience to. I’ve started asking around.”
Fuck. Here. “So you’re staying in Chicago?” Your voice comes out as a squeak.
“Yeah,” he smiles. “I’m excited. I mean, there’s a lot I have to do still. I have to find a place to live. And my sister…”
Luca’s relationship with his sister is rocky at best. With his parents divorced – not amicably at that, the two barely interacted. Even when the two were living in the same city, Luca buried himself in his pursuit of becoming a chef. You hear slices of her from him, but you know it’s a painful topic, so you don’t try to push.
“I’m trying to rebuild the relationship there. It’s going to take a while.”
“Right, yeah. I’m glad to hear. I’m sure it’s not easy so I’m proud of you for taking that step.”
“Right,” he clears his throat, eyes dropping to his hand on the table where he fiddles with his napkin. “And you’re here.”
His eyes flick back up to you. Sharp green. Your breath hitches in your throat.
Fuck.
You cannot do this. All that hope that you’ve quashed from your years knowing him, it’s coming back up. It’s engulfing you in this warm, tingly feeling that should definitely not be there. The you that he knows, she’s gone. She has changed so much that you can’t even see her in your reflection anymore.
So no, you can’t start this with Luca. Not when he doesn’t know you. Not anymore, at least. “So Ever funeral, are you excited to see everyone again?”
A brief look of disappointment blankets his features for a moment and you refuse to succumb to the urge to smooth out the creases on his face. “Yes, Carm’s going to be there too so I’m excited to see him. All the greats, of course. Chef Terry is still a legend.”
You hadn’t even thought about Carmy Berzatto in years. The man terrified you back at Ever, and he still terrifies you today. Last you heard, he started his own place. He’s always been intense, so you can imagine that he runs that place with an iron fist.
“Have you been to his new spot, The Bear?”
“No, I haven’t.” You haven’t been anywhere fancy in a while. It’s been a mix of Chuck E. Cheese’s, Cheesecake Factory, and anywhere that has mozzarella sticks. Amelia is a big fan of cheese, apparently.
“We should go,” Luca beams. “I’d love to take you there.”
On a date? You cannot even begin to hope that’s what he meant. Again, you deflect. “What kind of cuisine is it?”
Luca doesn’t miss that attempt, but smartly chooses not to address it. “Contemporary American, I suppose, but you can imagine the Italian and French influences just given where Carmy has been.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“Yeah, shall we go maybe next week? I’m seeing Carm and his CDC Sydney tomorrow, I can ask them for a reservation spot. I heard it’s tough to get. What time works for you?”
Luca is moving incredibly fast for someone who just arrived, and who plans to be there for a long time.
“We don’t have to rush it,” you laugh awkwardly, “you’re going to be here for a while right?”
“Yes, but I have a feeling you’ll try and get out of this dinner with me if I didn’t get you to agree today,” he says, his voice tinged with humor, but the arrow still sticks painfully in you.
He isn’t wrong. You probably would use work as an excuse, despite talking about the better hours. But you have other responsibilities like picking up Amelia from school, feeding her dinner, and making sure she does her homework:
None of which he knows about.
“Weekdays can be a bit tricky with my schedule.”
“The weekend perhaps? How about Saturday?”
Amelia has French lessons in the morning (her request, not yours) and then Rebecca is coming over so the three of you can do a quick painting session. Rebecca is insistent on nurturing her artistic skills from an early age.
The Bear is only open for dinner service which you can’t escape without Amelia asking questions; the girl is too smart for her own good and you haven’t been out with plans that she doesn’t know about. Ever.
The dating scene changes a little for single moms. You haven’t been on a date in a very long time. It’s tough to get into a committed relationship with a child when you've just completed your twenties.
“Let me think about it?”
He studies you for a moment. “Are you seeing anyone?”
You make the mistake of taking a swig of your coffee when you cough, sputtering embarrassingly. Luca flails before offering you a napkin.
“Sorry, shite, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no, it’s okay,” you wheeze, “it just caught me off guard.”
“Sorry,” he repeats awkwardly, “is that a bad question to ask?”
You shake your head, urging your skyrocketing heart rate to let up. “No, um, it’s fine. I’m not— I’m not seeing anyone.”
“Right, cool.”
The faint pink painted on his cheeks is noticeable but it’s better not to comment.
“I’m not either,” he adds, “seeing anyone, that is.”
You fight the amused smile on your lips. He’s already scratching his cheek, a nervous habit that he hasn’t lost. “Cool.”
“Cool,” Luca echoes in a chuckle.
For a minute, the two of you sit there in silence. All those years apart seem to evaporate, vanishing into the crowd. The comfort that you’ve always felt around him sinks into your bones.
“I should get back to work, can’t have my boss thinking I’ve disappeared on her.”
“Right, of course. No rest for the weary.” Luca smiles. When the two of you are outside, Luca turns to you and immediately pulls you in for another embrace. “It was really good seeing you.”
It’s too easy to burrow your face into his broad chest. That nostalgic ache persists inside your heart. You don’t feel like you’re thirty. You’re twenty-two again in that kitchen, standing next to Luca. Both of you are young and carefree. The aroma of freshly baked goods that clings onto his skin and the sweat that dots his brows.
But when a car honks in the distance, reality settles back into your gut.
“You too,” is all you can muster. “See you around.”
By the look on Rebecca’s face, you can’t exactly pinpoint what emotion she’s feeling. It started off with surprise and then confusion and more surprise. “So he’s just back now?”
“Uh-huh,” you say from your spot in the kitchen as you’re preparing dinner. Mushroom risotto, one of Amelia’s favorites. This one is a labor of love but it’s always rewarding when you see the look on her face when it’s plated in front of her.
Thankfully, she had fallen asleep right after she and Rebecca spent the afternoon playing a game of water tag in the backyard so now it’s just you and Rebecca in the kitchen as you recount The Meeting with Luca.
Rebecca pops another olive into her mouth. “So are you going to hook up with him again?”
“Bec!” You gasp. “Absolutely not.”
“Clearly he was good enough the first time to give you a child.”
An exasperated sigh of disbelief leaves your lips, which only amuses her more than anything. “I will not be hooking up with him again. It was one time. We’re friends now.”
“Honey, friends don’t fuck.”
“Friends can fuck once.”
“If you finish twice in one night, does that count as once still?”
You wave a hand in front of her. “I’m not debating the technicality of this. Point is, I’ve seen him once and I will not be seeing him again.”
“Why not? He’s clearly interested. He asked you if you were single.”
“So?”
“And then he tells you – unprompted – that he’s single too.”
“I get it, maybe he’s interested. But I’m not.”
Even your words sound unconvincing in your ears.
“I’m—” fuck. “—not. I’m not. Anyways, I didn’t make plans and I hope he doesn’t follow up—”
As if on cue, your phone begins vibrating on the table. Both your eyes drop to it as Luca’s face and name pop up on screen. Rebecca’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Superpowers. Good in bed and reading minds.”
“I’m not going to deal with that.”
“You have to.”
“I won’t.”
“Are you five? Why are you avoiding him? You claim he’s your best friend – which I take full offense to by the way – but you can’t even talk to him.”
Groaning, you stare at the device still circling the surface of your counter. “I don’t want to risk him meeting Amelia, especially if he’s going to be here a while.”
“He’s definitely going to meet her eventually. It’s a matter of when. Are you never going to invite him over?”
“What possible reason would I have to invite him over?” Rebecca opens her mouth and you quickly interject, “Don’t answer that.”
Her gaze falls back to the device, then flicks up to you, then back to the device. Before you can stop her, she’s swiping to pick up the call and putting it on speaker. You want to slap the proud grin off her face.
“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Luca’s gravelly voice carries over the speakers.
“No, no. Just making dinner,” you respond, ignoring the way Rebecca keeps mouthing at you about his British accent.
“What’s on the menu?”
“Mushroom risotto,” you say as you look over the boiling pan again.
“I remember that one. One of my favorites of yours.” You can practically hear his smile. Your heart skips a little too fast at the thought. “If you’re willing, I’d love to have that again sometime.”
Rebecca mutes it quickly just to say, “Fucking Jesus, he wants in your pants again.” Then unmutes.
With a glare her way, you direct your attention back to Luca. “Yes, maybe.” Noncommittal. Safe.
“Listen, I was with Carm and Syd at Ever and they invited us to come for dinner at The Bear. Wondering what your schedule looks like next week and if you’d be interested.”
“Oh, I don’t know, it’s a little— oh fuck.”
“You okay?”
You shoot Rebecca a dirty look after she launched a fucking olive at your head. “Yeah, fine, sorry.”
“Go,” she whispers.
“Um, I’m not sure about my schedule next week.”
“I can be flexible. I know you said weekdays are a little tough but what about after work? Thursday night?”
Fuck. If Luca is one thing, he’s persistent. And he knows how your bad tendency to avoid things you’re scared of – which in this case is dinner with him, so he’s not letting this one go. “It’s a school night so I’m not sure.”
He chuckles. The sound reverberates straight through your core. “And you can’t go out on school nights, can you?”
Crap. His voice is like a siren’s, luring you in to confess your secrets. The way he says it too – Jesus, the delivery of that question has sparks blowing up inside you. More importantly, you almost let it slip that school nights are usually a no-go because you need to get Amelia ready for the next day. “Still have to work the next day,” you laugh awkwardly.
“Friday then?”
“Friday is better…”
There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment. You know he’s still there but he’s in deep thought. This happens sometimes. You’ve grown attuned to notice these moments even without seeing his face on the call.
“I just want to say there’s no pressure. If you’re not interested, please feel free to say no. I don’t want to force you to spend time with me if you don’t want to. You’ve got your own life, I completely understand. I apologize, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries.”
Fuck. Of course, he would be a complete gentleman in this situation. It’s not that you don’t want to. Everything is just complicated. Pushing aside those worrying thoughts, you say, “No, I’d love to. Sorry. I just have a lot on my plate right now so I don’t want to make plans I can’t commit to.”
“Do it,” Rebecca mouths. For someone who’s supposed to be a fly on the wall, she is oddly intrusive. “I’ll take Amelia.” You hesitate for a second and she gives you another look before she mutes the call again. “Honey, do it. You deserve to do something nice for yourself okay. And if it’s a nice dinner with a hot British chef, then so be it.”
Sighing, you unmute the call and talk to Luca again. “Friday works. I’ll be coming from work.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No, you don’t have to—”
“I insist. Text me the address. I’ll book for 7:30 to be safe.”
“Alright, sounds good,” you reply weakly.
“See you then.”
When the line goes cold, you look up to find Rebecca with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I’m so proud of you,” she exhales dreamily. “It’s like seeing a teenage daughter grow up and plan her first date.”
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the stove. Your cheeks are flushed with warmth.
This is a date. Luca probably considers this a date. Right? It would be embarrassing if he didn’t and you did. Maybe he’s just being nice and taking out an old friend to a restaurant he has been meaning to try.
“I can hear you spiraling,” Rebecca singsongs.
“Why did you let me say yes?”
It is then that Rebecca physically gets up, rounds the counter, and grabs hold of both your arms. “I need to shake some sense into you. You are still a person. You are allowed to go out and have fun. There are people around you who can help you with Amelia. You’re not alone.”
“I know this,” you grumble under your breath.
“But I think sometimes you need a good reminder of it. You’ll have fun at dinner, I just know it. You spent so long pushing away that part of you because you think you’ll never have it again, but – you know what – I think you can. You’ve always loved food and cooking. I can see it in the meals you make for Amelia. Maybe it’s just time for you to go out and explore again.”
Smiling softly, you always knew that Rebecca was your better half. She took you under her wing in college, stood up for you, and gave you the confidence to pursue your dreams. You had graduated with a degree in finance but worried for your life when you had to tell your parents that you were going to be a chef instead. She stood by you through it all.
“Thanks, Bec.”
“Where would you be without me?”
With a laugh, you nudge her away as you turn off the fire. Right on time, Amelia wanders into the room, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Hungry.”
Classic. She truly is your daughter.
When seven rolls around, you’ve already spent the last thirty minutes fretting over your hair and the state of your makeup. The office has cleared out for the day, but you spent the last working hour playing catch-up. It’s been a busy week for Amelia at Pre-K – who knew they could have so much homework even before reaching kindergarten?
You smooth out the wrinkles on your pale blue dress – work appropriate with the blazer, and chic dinner fit without. Since Amelia, you’ve foregone wearing heels, opting instead for flats or sneakers since you’re constantly on your feet. But you pull out your white, open-toed pumps from your closet for this dinner.
Yes, you can readily admit that you are at least trying to look nice for this dinner non-date.
When you told Amelia earlier this week that you had plans on Friday night to go out for dinner and that she would be staying home with Rebecca, she didn’t blink twice. She only asked what Aunt Rebecca had planned. When she saw you this morning dressed up with a little more blush on your cheeks, she didn’t question it. Instead, she just smiled quietly and complimented you on your dress.
You can’t believe you’re at a stage where she is making space for you. You nearly get teary just thinking about how quickly she’s growing up.
A black sedan pulls up in front of you and Luca is immediately out the door. You’re so used to seeing him in t-shirts, aprons, and sweatshirts that you forgot how delectable he can look when he cleans up. His blonde hair is neatly coiffed and he’s shaved his face clean. You find yourself almost missing that rugged stubble on his face. His navy shirt is freshly pressed with sleeves rolled up close to his elbows to reveal all his tattoos.
God, he looks good. Too good. Tempting even.
“You look fantastic,” Luca beats you to the punch, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek. His eyes peruse you shamelessly, dragging from the tip of your toes to the top of your head.
It’s a European thing, you remind yourself. “You do too. Almost didn’t recognize you out of your stained tees.”
His mouth curls into a smirk. “Believe it or not, I do have clean laundry these days.” He swings open the door for you and offers a hand to help you slide inside.
Once the two of you are settled in, Luca pulls up the restaurant on the navigation system. He fills the silence with small talk, asking you how your day went and how work is going.
When you finally arrive at The Bear, Luca drops you off at the front and goes to park around the corner. Ever the gentleman. Stepping inside, you’re immediately impressed by how elegant the entire place is. It’s neat with that fine dining touch, but there’s a certain coziness in the air that makes it more welcoming. Luca joins you shortly after, stating his name for the reservation.
A tall man dressed sharply in a black suit comes up and greets Luca first. “Glad you could make it!”
“Thanks for having me,” Luca beams back. He introduces the two of you quickly and you learn that his name is Richie and he is Carmy’s cousin.
“Not real cousin but his brother was my best friend,” Richie corrects easily. “Let me take you to your table.”
The service is impeccable and the ambiance even more so. You’re marveling at how polished everything is. The window strip into the kitchen gives a sneak peek into the work behind the scenes, but your focus is on the main dining room. Beautiful booths against the wall, tables spaced just enough apart. You can’t imagine that this place had been a casual fast food joint just months ago. They’ve truly outdone themselves with the transformation.
“Impressive bunch,” Luca notes your expression. “Not to mention it’s most of their first time working in fine dining. While there have been some inconsistent reviews, the menu is generally delicious overall.”
“Yeah, I don’t recognize it anymore. I remember visiting this shop back then and it was holding on to its last hinges. Now look at this place.”
The tasting menu is even more stunning. The bread is crisp on the outside, fluffy and warm on the inside, paired perfectly well with the option of freshly made butter. Appetizers were light, perfect to get you warmed up for the series of main courses. Desserts – don’t even get you started on the desserts. You’re pretty sure you let out an inappropriate moan at some point.
Your diet these past few years has consisted of whatever is microwavable, preparable with hot water, or whichever dish Amelia is craving. So you’ve had your fair share of ramen, mac and cheese (Amelia’s three-year-old phase), and lunchables (ongoing, on-and-off phase).
It’s been a while since you’ve had a proper sit-down meal at a fancy restaurant. It’s hard to believe that you used to work in these kitchens. You used to be the person creating these meals. While your parents and Amelia let you take your own spin with the dishes you prepare for them, most of the time you’re too exhausted to do anything experimental and stick to what you know – and have in your cupboards.
It’s nice to enjoy this kind of meal again.
You and Luca discuss dinner throughout, talking about the flavor profiles and the potential inspirations, the influences of each dish. Each item was made meticulously with careful thought placed into the flavor. It didn’t feel extremely polished, but that just meant there’s still a lot of heart that went into it.
“That was just… wow.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Luca chuckles as he wipes with a napkin. “I was already expecting to be blown away but that was out of this world. As expected from Carmy. And Syd.”
Richie comes back around and the two of you gush over how wonderful everything is. “Great to hear it, team. Love the enthusiasm. Carmy and Syd have some time right now by the way, if you wanted to go say hi.”
“That would be perfect. Let me just close out and not walk out on my tab.”
“I can definitely get you that.”
When the bill arrives, Luca is quick to swipe it off the table. “Luc—”
Luca immediately shakes his head, dropping his card on top of the receipt and hands it back to the waiter. “My treat. For putting up with me all these years.”
A frown forms on your face as you watch his hands fold on top of the table. “What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll split. It’s an expensive dinner.”
“Let me do this one thing for you, love,” Luca says. “I wanted to try this place and I invited you so it’s only fair that I cover the bill.”
“Luca, that’s not— come on. I’ll send you the money. This isn’t a—” you bite your tongue, stopping yourself before you can say the word date.
He catches on anyway, lips tugging into a smile. “If I told you this is a date, would you let me pay for it then?”
Warmth creeps up your cheeks again as you wring your fingers on the napkin on your lap.
“Folks, are we ready to meet the chefs?” Richie returns, clapping his hands together.
“Yes, we are.” Luca answers. He’s giving you yet another out. Still the gentleman, he offers a hand to help you to your feet.
Richie leads you towards the kitchen door, drawing curious eyes from surrounding guests over this special treatment you’re getting. When you step in, your senses are immediately overwhelmed.
The kitchen is alive. Not just loud. Alive. A symphony of sizzles rises from the skillets as flames dance around the pans, blues and oranges glowing bright. Metal against metal as hot pans hit the stovetop, the scraping of spatulas against the surface. Another chef yells corner as they appear carrying trays of baked meringues. The chef at expo is reading out orders from her list, her voice slicing steady and clear across the cacophony of sounds.
The light overhead is cold and clinical, sharp fluorescents that bleach the space in blue. But the kitchen burns bright. The heat in this room is significantly higher than the carefully controlled temperature of the dining room.
It’s nostalgic. It reminds you of all those years working alongside Luca. Your fingers wrapped around a cool piping bag, swirling icing on top of tarts. The aroma of pastries baking — golden crusts, caramelized sugars, berries roasting – was consistent in the air. There is a quiet in the chaos. Controlled chaos.
A comfort that you’ve longed for. Your kitchen isn’t the same. The people aren’t the same, but there’s a beauty in the newness. In the challenge.
You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Richie yells, “Yo! Cousin! Chef Syd! Luca’s here.” The brunette woman at expo give him a warning look, which withers him only slightly.
There is a chorus of greetings when people spot Luca. Clearly he’s a fan favorite. When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking back at you. A gentleness to his gaze that catches you off guard.
Before you can attempt to decipher that look, two chefs make their way over to you. One you recognize as Carmy. His intensity is palpable, obvious. If there’s anyone who could put these chefs on edge, it would be him. The other woman is calmer. A friendly face but an equally controlled presence. The two make a terrifying pair.
Carmy’s eyeing you with interest, eyes flicking between you and Luca. “I’ve met you before,” he says simply.
You laugh and Luca rubs his face. “Mate, you guys worked together.”
“We did?” He asks the same time Syd asks, “You did?”
“Yeah, she was my second for pastry.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Syd laughs, crossing her arms over her chest. Carmy still looks completely befuddled, but also distracted by the stream of activity going on behind him. He mutters to give him a second as he deals with the searing steak. “I mean Luca’s great but forgive Carmy, he’s not best at… remembering anything. Or math. Or picking up the phone.”
“Alright, alright, I get it,” Carm calls out, hands still moving quickly and efficiently to turn the steak and then quickly plate it for service. You can’t help but marvel at how speedy he is. He’s always been good but he’s only gotten better. It’s terrifying knowledge. “Hands!” Then he’s back in front of the two of you.
“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t there for very long—”
Luca chuckles. “You were there for at least two years. You definitely overlapped for a while.”
“Shit, sorry, I’m just bad with – well, like Syd said – most things. But yeah, good to meet you again.”
“You too, the food was delicious. As expected,” you shrug with a smile. “Out of this world.” Luca smiles quietly at the echo of his words.
“Thanks, it took a while to get the menu to this place,” Syd nods.
Carmy’s still looking at the two of you. “This is a mess, though. Don’t let us ruin your date.” You see Syd elbow him, leaving him with another look of confusion.
Before you can correct him, Luca is already responding, “No, this is great, mate. I’ve missed the Chicago food scene a lot. Ever was clean, but this feels very lively.”
“Yeah, it’s been great. Budget’s fucking fucked but it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Luca looks at him in concern but the two chefs wave him off. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt too long. I’m just going to say hi to Marcus and head out.” A hand settles on the small of your back and suddenly you’re being directed towards the back corner of the kitchen where a man who is even taller than Luca stands (you note that there are many tall men in this establishment), his hands working away at these delicate little desserts.
“Luca, my man,” the man who you assume to be Marcus grins wide, dapping Luca. You’re more bewildered that Luca knows how to dap than anything. “Heard you were on this side of the pond.”
“Yeah, for a little bit actually.”
“Nice,” he nods slow then looks at you. “Marcus.”
You introduce yourself too and add, “Desserts were perfection by the way. Sundae was inspired, love the olive oil.”
“Thank you. I have to give this man right here his flowers. Learned a lot from my time there.”
Luca laughs, scratching his cheek. “No, it was all you, man. Echoing that desserts were superb.”
“Thanks, man. I actually wanted to run some ideas by you if you’ve got time.”
“Time is all I have.”
Marcus grins. “Perfect, I’ll text you.” He turns to you. “Good to meet you. Never thought Luca would have time for a girlfriend.”
This time, you do jump in. Perhaps a little too fast. “I’m not his girlfriend,” you blurt out, “I’m a… friend.”
Marcus’ gaze darts between Luca and you. Shame sinks quickly into you. The defensiveness in your voice was maybe unnecessary. You can’t see Luca’s face but you can feel his hand shift slightly away from your body. The lack of touch leaves you feeling a little cold in the warm kitchen. “Right, my bad. Anyway, good seeing you both.”
“You too, talk soon,” Luca says.
With a flurry of goodbyes, the two of you are finally out of the restaurant, standing in the slightly brisk evening air. A wind whips by, leaving you shivering slightly. “Are you cold?” Luca asks. “You can wait inside and I’ll pull the car around.”
“No, don’t worry. I’ll just grab an Uber from here.”
“Nonsense, I have a car. I’m happy to drop you off at home.”
“Luca, you’ve done more than enough. Dinner was wonderful. I can get myself home.”
Luca hesitates, gaze drifting into the street.
“There’s no meaning behind it. I really just don’t want to trouble you any more than I already have.”
“You could never trouble me,” he says. It’s almost a promise. You blame the heat on your cheeks on the touch of wind outside. “It’ll make me feel better knowing that you’re getting home safely.”
You don’t think he would drop this. Not to mention, it would save you the money on a long drive back home. Finally, you nod in agreement and he tells you to stay put as he grabs the car.
On the ride home, you quickly shoot a text to Rebecca.
You: Luca’s dropping me off. Can you make sure Amelia’s in bed? Thanks :)
“So you liked dinner?”
You snort, “That’s an understatement. I don’t think I’ve had a meal like that in a long time.”
“I’m surprised. You’ve always been the first to try new restaurants, especially ones by reputable chefs. As intense as Carmy is, he is a fantastic chef. So is Syd, she’s brilliant.”
A weak smile settles on your face as you turn to look out the window. The sparse traffic blurs before you in streaks of red. “Just haven’t had the time, I suppose.”
Luca clears his throat and your glance flies back to him. His grip is tight on the steering wheel, his neck flushed pink. “Well, if you’re interested in exploring more places, I have a lot of catching up to do. We could go together?”
You’ve never been able to tell him no. Not when you want it for yourself as well. “That sounds nice.”
When you get to your home, Luca pulls up along the curb. Just as you’re about to thank him again, he’s already stepping out to get your door. Fuck. “Thank you,” you whisper, slipping your hand into his for the nth time that night. You’re getting used to the feeling. “Thank you again for dinner. I had a great time.”
“Me too,” he smiles. “Hopefully the first of many.”
“I’ll get the bill next time.”
Luca shrugs. “We’ll see.”
When he makes no move to leave, you tilt your head. “Shouldn’t you get going? It’s late.”
“Let me walk you to your door.”
Your heart drops to the ground. You haven’t gotten a response yet from Rebecca which is hopefully a good thing. Maybe they’re both fast asleep, it wouldn’t be the first time. The energy-exerting activities work as well on Rebecca as it does on Amelia.
“You really don’t have to.”
“I insist. It’s the Brit side of me. I want to make sure you get in okay.”
All you can do is nod and walk up the pathway to your door. Your knees feel a little weak. If it’s the nerves or the proximity to Luca, especially since his hand has returned to your lower back, you’re not entirely sure.
When you reach for your keys, Luca shoves his hands into his pants pockets. His hair is a touch mussed up now, a strand falling attractively across his forehead. He’s looking at you with that calm gaze, one that has your body all too aware of his presence.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
“Pretty sure you already said I looked fantastic earlier, beautiful feels like a downgrade.”
Luca laughs, the sound low and familiar. Your chest warms as you look at him.
“Thanks again, I appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m just grateful you agreed to go with me.”
“We’re friends, Luca. We can hang out.”
He hums, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Something about the act has your heart rate picking up. “Didn’t seem like you really wanted to.”
“It’s just been a while since I’ve been… out.”
“Well, if you’re not opposed, then I’d be honored to take you out again.”
Oh boy. This is venturing into dangerous territory.
“I should head in,” you say, teeth catching your bottom lip before you can say something stupid like would you like to come in?
However, before Luca can respond, the front door swings open and you hear—
“Mommy!”
Shit.
Amelia stands in the doorway in her purple unicorn pajamas. She’s looking up at you with bright eyes but then her curious gaze wanders over to the blonde man in front of you.
Double shit.
Her hair isn’t an exact replica of Luca’s, but the eyes are unmistakable. All three of you seem to freeze in time.
Amelia is staring at Luca, Luca is staring at Amelia, and you’re trying to figure out how to dig yourself out of this hole. First things first, you crouch down to Amelia’s height. “Baby, why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Aunt Rebecca fell asleep but I wasn’t tired yet.”
You purse your lips. “Let’s get you inside, it’s chilly out.”
“Who’s that?” Amelia peeks around you to look at Luca again.
The thought of even looking at him right now is terrifying. “He is my friend.”
“You’re not going to introduce me?” Amelia asks, eyes widening. You know exactly what she’s doing. Manipulative. The guilt-trip, puppy-dog eyes.
So you grit your teeth and plaster on a smile as you straighten back up and turn to Luca. He’s still rooted to your porch, mouth pressed into a thin line and his brows puckered in confusion. “Luca, this is Amelia. Amelia, Luca.”
“Hi, Uncle Luca.”
Polite, you taught her well.
It is then that Luca seems to snap out of it, clearing his throat awkwardly as he crouches to her level. He sticks out a hand, which she immediately accepts. “Hi, Amelia. It’s very nice to meet you. Though, it seems like it’s way past your bedtime.”
Amelia disregards his comment and instead responds with “You have a cool accent. Where are you from?”
“I grew up in London but I’ve lived here in Chicago and also spent the last few years in Copenhagen. In Denmark.”
“That’s so cool, I’ve never been,” Amelia beams, eyes sparkling in delight.
“Well, if you ever decide to go, I could take you around.”
“Do you live there now?”
His eyes snap up to you briefly, the movement surprising you, before they return to the little girl before him. “No, I’m moving back here to Chicago.”
“Why?”
Luca is quiet as he pulls together his words. “Because there are a lot of people I care about here.”
“Is my mommy one of them?”
The lump in your throat has only grown. The word mommy usually warms your heart but you can feel it stuttering instead. Your mind is running awry, wondering if he’s connected the dots yet, what answers you should give him if he asks. He doesn’t need to know, you remind yourself. He’ll be here a few months and then he’ll be gone again – and you and Amelia can go back to the life you’ve always lived. Just the two of you.
“Yes, your mum is definitely one of them,” Luca softly says, “Speaking of, she’s very sleepy. Maybe it’s best that you tuck her in for the night.”
Amelia giggles, “That’s a great idea. She always tucks me in so it’s my turn.”
“Mhmm, then you can go to sleep knowing your mum’s tucked away safely in bed.” Luca reaches out to ruffle her hair, which pleases her as she preens to the touch. His eyes widen for a second before they melt again and he strokes her head. “Have a good night, Amelia.”
Amelia remains by the door when he finally turns to you. There’s a storm clouding his usually bright eyes as he looks at you. You’re not even sure what words are caught on the tip of your tongue, but they never come out.
“Have a good night, love,” Luca murmurs and leans forward to press a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes slide shut. God, you’ve missed this intimacy with someone. Nothing could compare to his touch. The loneliness that has ebbed and flowed over the years seeps back into your lungs.
But your heart is still rattled by what just happened. You can barely move, let alone respond.
Then he’s gone, the roar of his engine echoing down the quiet street as he drives away.
Your mind is numb as you prepare Amelia for bed. She’s chattering about how nice Luca seems to be and how she’s excited to see you making friends again. The only thing you can offer her is a weak smile as you press a kiss to her temple. She slides under the covers and is out cold in minutes. You leave her room quietly to drape a blanket over Rebecca, who’s sleeping on the couch.
Only then do you head to your own room, weary from a long day.
The last thing you see before sleep pulls you under is your phone lighting up.
synopsis: no grand gestures. no loud declarations. just quiet proof that he’s not going anywhere.
rating: 16+
warning: attachment insecurity · soft comfort · people pleaser oc · slow emotional build · no smut
word count: 1k
a/n: wanted to do something short, i still hope you like it. Thank you for reading. You’re not too much. You never were. 🤍
——————————————————————————
You try not to need too much.
That’s the rule you learned early — keep your voice light, your opinions easy. Don’t be a burden. Don’t make people tired of you.
You’ve always been the one who gives more. You don’t mind, most days. It feels safe, being the helper. The fixer. The one who says, “It’s okay, really.” Even when it’s not.
With Luca, you want so badly to be easy to love.
He doesn’t know that. Not fully.
But you think he sees pieces.
Like now — when you're sitting on the edge of his bed in the soft wash of afternoon light, your hands clenched in your lap because you just apologized for the third time in an hour.
He tilts his head. “You keep saying sorry. Why?”
You freeze. Shrug. “I don’t know.”
But you do.
Because the thought that you might be too much — too talkative, too emotional, too clingy — hums under your skin like an old wound.
He doesn’t push.
He just sits beside you, letting the silence stretch, safe and unjudging.
You were friends before this — before you started sleeping over, before he looked at you like he’d memorized the shape of your laugh.
You think it’s easier when you’re not this close. When it’s casual. Low stakes.
Because now he’s seen you nervous. He’s seen you overthink a text for ten minutes. He’s seen you flinch when plans change and you weren’t ready.
And still — he’s here.
You don’t know what to do with that.
You catch yourself one night, apologizing again.
He’s cooking, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in concentration as he plates something that smells like butter and thyme and warmth. You’re curled up on the couch, your socked feet tucked under you, and you ask — too softly — if you’re bothering him being here so much.
He looks over his shoulder, confused. “Why would you be bothering me?”
You give a small, noncommittal smile. “I don’t know. Just — I’m here a lot. I don’t want to take up your space.”
He pauses.
Then he puts down the spoon, walks over, and sits beside you. He doesn't say anything at first. Just rests his hand over yours.
“I want you here,” he says, quiet. “Not because I have to say that. But because I look forward to it.”
Your throat tightens.
He squeezes your hand gently. “You don’t need to earn it, you know?”
You nod. But you don’t quite believe him yet.
Not yet.
It gets worse after a bad day.
Your boss nitpicked everything. Your train ran late. You had to cancel dinner with a friend who hasn’t texted back since.
You come over anyway, hoping being near Luca will soothe the ache. But even then, your voice feels too loud. You laugh at the wrong time. You knock over a glass, and it shatters.
You’re on your knees cleaning it up, heart pounding, apologizing again and again.
Luca crouches beside you. “Hey,” he says softly. “Stop.”
You stop.
He gently takes the glass from your hands. His fingers graze yours — steady, warm.
“It’s just a glass.”
You stare at the floor. You’re blinking too fast. You don’t want to cry over this. You don’t want to be that person.
But your chest is tight, and the shame in your ribs won’t go down.
He senses it.
So he sits with you on the kitchen floor, silent for a beat. Then: “Did someone make you feel like you always had to say sorry?”
You don’t answer.
You just remembered your father always yelled.
Your shoulders shake a little.
And that’s enough.
He leans his shoulder against yours, grounding.
“It's okay, darling.” he murmurs.
You fall asleep on his chest later, tear-damp and quiet, your body finally relaxing. He doesn’t say anything when you cling to his shirt in your sleep. Doesn’t move when your arm ends up awkwardly across his stomach. He just holds you tighter.
You don’t know how long it’ll take for the fear to go away — the fear that if you say the wrong thing, need too much, he’ll leave like the others.
But you’re learning.
Because Luca stays.
Every time.
Without asking you to be easier, or smaller, or quieter.
all my fics, blurbs, and other thoughts! reader is written as a black woman, woc, or poc, but all are welcome to enjoy <3 | (18+/minors dni)
(SECOND MASTERLIST) (THIRD MASTERLIST)
𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘
CAPT. JOHN PRICE ⋆｡°✩
⋆ sleep tight, love – john helps you fall asleep. (+18)
SGT. KYLE GAZ GARRICK ⋆｡°✩
⋆ suck – kyle asks a favor. (+18)
⋆ eat out – kyle doesn't understand. (18+)
SGT./CAPT. JOHNNY SOAP MACTAVISH ⋆｡°✩
⋆ making out – you and soap make out on simon. (+18; feat. soap)
⋆ moping – you help soap feel better (18+; feat. tf 141)
⋆ snacks – soap misunderstands you. (+18)
⋆ first date – you kiss soap on your first date.
⋆ sudoku – soap plays dumb.
L.T. SIMON GHOST RILEY ⋆｡°✩
⋆ THE RILEY FAMILY (1) (2) (3) – they're creepy and they're moody. mysterious and spooky. they're all together ooky. the riley family! (the addams family inspired au)
⋆ pillow – simon catches you in the act. (+18)
⋆ making out – you and soap make out on simon. (+18; feat. soap)
⋆ movie star (1) (2) (3) – you're simon's personal movie star. (18+)
⋆ 69ing – you have a competition with simon. (18+)
⋆ the pharmacy (1) – simon embarrasses himself. (+18)
POLY!141/EXTRAS/ETC. ⋆｡°✩
⋆ THE ESCAPE – your small sleepy town has never been enough for you. maybe that’s what makes it so easy for inmate soap, his cellmate ghost, ad their friends on the outside to convince you to help sneak them out of prison. (CONTINUED ON AO3)
⋆ casual dominance – the boys try to figure out dinner. (roomates!au)
⋆ nails – you take the boys to get their nails done. (roomates!au)
⋆ undies – soap is reprimanded for stealing your underwear. (18+)
⋆ tears – how the 141 would comfort you when you're crying.
⋆ sailor tats – the 141 "rescue" you.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐑
CARMEN CARMY BERZATTO ⋆｡°✩
⋆ deep – carmen goes down on you. (+18)
⋆ v-lines – you show carmen a little appreciation. (+18)
⋆ dance – you and carmen try a some new things. (+18)
⋆ no work, all play – carmen distracts you from work. (+18)
⋆ roommate!carmen – life with carmen berzatto as your roommate. (+18)
⋆ after work – you help carmen after a hard day at the bear. (+18)
⋆ phone one in – carmen calls you with a throbbing dilemma. (+18)
⋆ frankenstein's bride – carmen loves your halloween costume. (+18)
THE BUNNY AND THE BEAR – the life of bunny and her boyfriend bear
⋆ hair - carmen helps bunny with her hair.
⋆ couch - carmen comes home to find bunny on his couch.
⋆ gentleman - carmen shows off his manners.
⋆ FRIENDSHIP ⇁ crying | first kiss | ladder | nickname | first sight
⋆ DATING ⇁ hot girl bunny | how long have they been together? | hand creams | carmen's hot gf | nervous!carmen | bunny and richie | carmen's tattoos | bunny's favorite spot | bunny's tattoos | birthaversary | favorite things | grizzly bear | why the tears? | nurse!carmen | come home pt. 1 | sick!bunny | easter eggs | sidewalk rule | punch | pretty boy | sleepy!bunny | tickets | smoking | hobbyist!bunny | 5 in 1 | short circuit
𝐗-𝐌𝐄𝐍
LOGAN WOLVERINE HOWLETT ⋆｡°✩
⋆ on his six – logan can't get enough of the xavier's school for the gifted youngesters' newest hire–you. (+18)
⋆ fridays – your fuck buddy makes his weekly visit. (+18)
⋆ busy signal – a phone call interrupts a relaxing logan. (+18)
⋆ rooftops – logan can't live without you. (+18)
OLDER BF!LOGAN ⋆｡°✩
⋆ older bf!logan sees how many times he can make you come
⋆ older bf!logan finds your vibrator
⋆ older bf!logan manhandling you
⋆ going down on (mean) older bf!logan
⋆ older bf!logan squeezing your soft parts
⋆ older bf!logan letting you take the lead
⋆ wearing a sundress around older bf!logan
⋆ older bf!logan being rough with you
⋆ older bf!logan helping you de-stress
⋆ older bf!logan walks in on you touching yourself
⋆ prone bone with older bf!logan
⋆ older bf!logan saying "fuck, i missed you"
⋆ older bf!logan being handsy
⋆ oiled massages with older bf!logan
⋆ older bf!logan fucking you right after a mission
⋆ you and older bf!logan welcome a new family member
⋆ "daddy, can you pass me the pepper?"
⋆ you and older bf!logan welcome a new arrival
⋆ older bf!logan is addicted to you
BOUNCER!LOGAN HOWLETT ⋆｡°✩
⋆ you make a deal with bouncer!logan
⋆ you bring bouncer!logan dinner at work
⋆ you clean bouncer!logan up after he fights in your honor.
𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒
⋆ slow – you're fiona's best friend. and the reason for lip's headaches. (lip gallagher/shameless; +18)
Girl omg I neeeeeed to see fav pics of Will! gimme the eye candy
Girl you have opened a can of worms you're not ready for! Enjoy the frankly stupid amount of photos of Will I have save on Pinterest lol
My favourite flavours of Will are bleach blonde Will and long hair Will but that may just be cause I love a mullet and a weird 80s punk vibe so much!!!!
I highly encourage everyone to reblog with your fav pics! I wanna see lol
summary: On a rainy day, you and Luca share a soft moment.
word count: 727
𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟐) 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠
You’re in his t-shirt and a pair of thick socks that slide a little too much on the hardwood. The kitchen lights are dim, but warm. There’s music playing low from the speakers, something old and jazzy, Luca put it on.
He stands at the counter, sleeves rolled to the elbow, watching butter soften in a ceramic bowl like it’s a slow science experiment. His hands rest on the edge of the counter. Barefoot. Calm. You love him most like this, not in a Michelin kitchen under bright lights, but here, soft around the edges, gentle in his silence. He still has the same focus, the same reverence for his craft, it’s just a little gentler here, more human, more yours.
You lean your hip against the doorway, arms crossed loosely as you watch him. He hasn’t noticed you’re watching yet. Or maybe he has and is just pretending not to. Luca likes to let you linger in moments. He’s good at that—letting silence stretch, letting warmth fill a room without needing to speak it out loud.
“You’re staring,” he says finally, without turning.
You smile. “You’re pretty.”
Now he turns, eyes flicking over you with that slow, steady gaze that always makes your skin feel too small for your body.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but it sounds like a compliment. Like a secret.
You pad over to him, the old the floorboards creaking softly under your socks. He steps aside instinctively, making room for you at the counter. The butter is perfectly soft now, and he hands you the wooden spoon like a peace offering.
“You stir,” he says. “I’ll get the sugar.”
You start mixing, and he moves behind you, close enough that his arm brushes yours when he reaches for the jar. He doesn’t move away right away. Instead, he leans in a little, breath warm against the shell of your ear.
“Smells good already,” he murmurs, though you haven’t added anything yet.
You glance over your shoulder. “You mean me or the butter?”
He doesn’t answer. Just smirks a little, pours the sugar in, and keeps going like you didn’t just call him out.
You keep stirring, even after the sugar’s fully mixed in — more out of something to do with your hands than necessity. Luca doesn’t say anything about it, just leans one hip against the counter beside you, close but not quite touching.
Outside, the rain ticks a little louder for a moment—wind, maybe. The lights flicker, but stay on. You reach for the vanilla, Luca cracks the eggs. He nudges the bowl closer to you, leans on his elbows to watch.
“Now who’s staring?”
He hums, low in his throat, the sound almost lost beneath the rain. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, one that says you got me.
“Can’t help it,” he admits, voice quiet. “You’re pretty.”
You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “That’s my line.”
He grins now, wide and boyish, the kind of grin that pulls warmth straight to your chest, no matter how many times you see it. “It’s the truth,” he says, simple as that.
You shake your head, but there’s no hiding the way your face softens. You kiss the corner of his mouth, just a quick press. “You always know exactly what to say.”
He hums a low, content sound that vibrates more than it fills the air, leaning in again he kisses you —this time slower, with that same deliberate care he brings to everything.
“You want tea?” he asks. The question vibrates against your lips, still so close you can feel the shape of the words more than you hear them.
You smile against his skin, then pull back just enough to see him, you nod softæy. “You read my mind.”
He smiles at that — the quiet, knowing kind that never rushes. “Comes with practice,” he says, brushing his thumb along your jaw, leaving one last peck on your cheek before turning toward the kettle.
Sumary: Where you accompany Luca to Ever's farewell dinner and tease him into fucking you.
"Which earrings do you think go best with this dress?" you ask, watching Luca on the other side of the bed fixing his hair. He checks himself in the mirror again and then looks at you, holding two types of earrings in each hand, while he rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt to his elbows.
"I think the second one... it's more discreet. I think," he replies, looking at you expectantly, as if hoping he's right. You stare at the earring thoughtfully, shrug, and then put it on, looking back in the mirror.
You smooth out your black dress as you check that you are presentable for the event you are attending with Luca — the closing of an important restaurant. You didn't know there were ceremonies for this kind of thing, but since you started dating a chef, you discovered that the world of gastronomy is made up of silent rituals.
You feel Luca's tall figure approaching, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind as his face nestles into your neck.
"You look so beautiful, darling... God help me not to keep you here with me," he murmurs, kissing your skin and eliciting sighs and laughter from you as he gives you space for more kisses.
"I wouldn't complain. But I need to make it worth it to debut these heels you gave me. And, by the way..." You turn your body, making Luca step back to face you, with a hungry look that darkens his eyes. "I need to be elegant enough to pretend I know something about cooking, since I'm going to be facing several great chefs. Like you."
He snorts, smiling.
"You don't have to worry about that. The table we'll be at has people who are talented but kind-hearted. No snobby chefs who will scare my wife."
"So you'll stay by my side all night?"
"I won't leave your side for a second."
"I don't doubt it, with this neckline I'm wearing," you tease, raising your eyebrows.
He laughs and looks directly at your bust.
"That's a great incentive. I'll wait for you in the living room so we can go," says Luca, giving your butt a light slap before leaving the room.
You bite your lip, watching that figure dressed all in black, his muscles pressing against his perfectly fitted shirt. Just looking at him makes you wet. Of course, you'd rather be at home with him, indulging in couple activities instead of facing a sea of strangers in expensive suits and inflated egos. But for him, you'd go anywhere.
Still... you haven't ruled out what you've been planning since you put on that dress. A dress that hugged your body in an almost cruel way. And especially since you decided not to wear panties — without him having a clue.
You grab your purse, check your lipstick in the mirror, and leave the room to meet the blond man. Luca is in the living room, fiddling with his phone while he waits. As soon as he sees you, he looks up — and freezes.
"Fuck..." he murmurs with a low smile, putting his phone away and approaching you again, as if he were going to touch you but restrained himself out of respect for the impeccable time it took you to get ready. "You're going to have me flustered all night in that dress."
"That's the idea," you tease, smiling slyly, and he laughs, throwing his head back before taking your hand firmly and guiding you to the car.
------
Ever is full of culinary legends. It's a luxurious wake for a historic restaurant, with silent waiters, impeccable glasses, and dishes served like art. You're dazzled by the atmosphere, but also nervous. Until Luca holds your hand firmly.
"Come on. Everyone's already seated."
You're led to one of the main tables. When you arrive, you immediately recognize a face: Carmen Berzatto. Carmy. You know him from stories Luca has told you—and from the internet, of course.
He looks tense, scanning the room with the analytical eyes of someone who never switches off.
"Carmy, this is my girlfriend," Luca says casually, introducing you with a discreet smile.
Carmy just nods and murmurs a polite, "Nice to meet you."
You frown and glance discreetly at Luca, wanting some sign that something went wrong, to which the blond just shakes his head, silently asking you to ignore Carmy's behavior.
Soon after, Luca points to the woman next to him — with her hair tied back and an attentive gaze.
"This is Syd. Sydney. She's brilliant."
"Oh, I've heard of you," you say sincerely, extending your hand. Sydney smiles, surprised and shy, quickly shaking your hand.
"Luca exaggerates... But thank you."
You settle in, and for a few minutes everything seems to flow normally. The appetizers begin to arrive, and the conversation revolves around restaurants closing, nostalgic memories, and cooking techniques.
Luca delves deep into a conversation about fermentation and sauces with two renowned chefs. Meanwhile, you notice the insistent gaze of the chef on your left — younger, handsome, confident. He smiles.
"First time at a dinner like this?"
"Is it that obvious?" you reply with a smile, swirling your wine glass.
"Not at all. It's just that... you stand out. You don't look like a critic, or a chef. You just... look like the most beautiful woman at the table."
You laugh. A little too loudly. And you feel Luca's hand land on your thigh, under the table.
Strong.
You don't see him, but you hear him clear his throat and continue his conversation with Syd. Then you lean a little closer to the chef next to you.
"My boyfriend is a chef," you say in an almost confidential tone. "He taught me to pretend I understand the basics. Is it working?"
"More than you know."
Luca's hand moves up, his fingers firm against your bare skin.
You feel the heat rising, the game intensifying.
Luca continues talking to his colleagues, but squeezes your thigh harder, warning you. Then, taking advantage of the moment when everyone is distracted by the dish being served, he leans in close to your ear:
"Do you really want to play with me here?"
"I just said I was going to see a mural in the hall..." you exclaim, giving him an innocent look, as if you were the purest creature in the room.
You calmly get up, finishing your glass of wine.
"I saw something beautiful when we arrived. I'm going to take a look."
"Do you want me to come with you?" asks the chef at your side, interested.
Luca glares at him, annoyed by the audacity of the question.
"No, I don't want you to miss the main course."
And you walk away. Knowing that Luca will follow.
------
You barely turn the corner of the hallway when you feel Luca's fingers close around your wrist. Without a word, he pulls you into a side utility room—stainless steel walls, a cabinet of glasses, dim light coming from a frosted window.
The door closes behind you with a click.
"You wanted this, didn't you?" He approaches you, his body pressing yours against the wall.
"Do you think this is funny?" he asks quietly, his voice deep and hoarse. "Playing with me in front of everyone? Laughing at that guy while I'm standing there trying to keep my fucking composure?"
"I was bored. I wanted to see how you would react, chef," you reply, smiling, breathless.
Luca stares at you for two seconds as if he's going to devour you whole.
And then he kisses you.
It's rough, hungry, desperate. He pulls up the hem of your dress abruptly, gasping as he confirms what you've been hiding all night.
"No panties? From the beginning?"
"Since you helped me choose the earrings."
Luca grunts. He lowers his pants and underwear just enough, takes out his hard cock with one hand while turning you around and pinning you against the cold wall.
In one swift movement, he penetrates you — deep, hard, direct. Your moan escapes loudly, but his hand already covers your mouth.
"Be quiet. Do you want someone to come in here? To see you being fucked like the provocative little slut you are?"
You moan against his palm, and he continues thrusting hard, each thrust making your body vibrate against the wall. The sound of his hips slapping echoes softly, muffled by the distant noise from the kitchen.
"You laughed at him, you flirted with him... but look who's inside you now."
He takes his hand away from your mouth for a second.
"Say who."
"You... Luca..."
"Who's going to make you come until you can't walk?"
"You!"
"Say it again."
"You, Luca! You!"
He covers your mouth again, now holding you tight with his arm around your waist. The tension of being discovered makes everything more intense. You hear footsteps on the other side of the door. Someone passing in the hallway... or maybe stopping.
Your eyes close.
You come. Hard, shaking, your moans muffled under his hand.
He thrusts a few more times, deep, almost desperate, until he comes too — with a muffled growl in your neck, his teeth pressing into your skin.
-----
You stay there for a few seconds, panting, sweaty, bodies still pressed together.
Luca kisses your shoulder.
"You're unbearable."
"And you love me," you reply in a weak voice, a dirty smile on your lips.
You both slowly compose yourselves, but the scent between you still gives you away. The crumpled dress, the flushed neck, the sparkle in your eyes. When you return to the table, the chef from earlier looks at you with a curious smile. But before he can say anything, Luca's hand rests on your thigh again — this time in silent warning.
He leans in and whispers:
"If you smile at him again... I'll make you come on my leg during dessert."
Summary: Luca is the chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant in Copenhagen. Every Friday, you walk through his doors and never finish your meal. Week after week, the two of you grow closer. The problem is that you were already pregnant the first time he saw you.
Characters: Soft Dom Chef Luca x Shy Pregnant Fem!Reader
Warnings: none for the first chapter except kind Dom Luca
Author: Blackcat-9696 / Do not copy, publish, translate my work or claim it as your own.
Author note: New story after watching season 5 of the tv show The Bear. Enjoy.🐈⬛
Tag list (open, just ask) : @1960memories @periandernyx @theredvelvetbitch @goth-detectives365 @littleall003
MASTERLIST
Chapter 1: A Table for Two
The three-star restaurant is packed. The perfect setting for a high-end establishment. The waiters are dressed in black with immaculate white waist aprons. Just another Friday at Luca's in Copenhagen. The streets outside are lit by street lamps and the enchanting view is only visible from four tables. Small candles illuminate the white tablecloths, dishes are served, waiters move quickly and politely. Nothing is left to chance, everything is measured to perfection and the pastries are worth selling your soul to the devil for.
You always book in advance, the table near the bay window for Friday night. It has become a ritual, a sort of gift you give yourself at the end of the week. And today is no exception.
This is already the third time you've done this since discovering the restaurant tucked away at the corner of an alley. Three times you've come and sat at the same table with your gaze lost outside, and three times you haven't finished your meal. Chef Luca doesn't pay attention at first. At least not particularly. At the end of every service, he always inspects the leftovers to see what is appreciated and what isn't, and your plates are always half full. His blue eyes scan them every single time, no potatoes left untouched or vegetables pushed to the side, just half of the dish eaten. The first time, he tells himself it's nothing serious. The second time, he takes the plate and tastes it to see if something is wrong. The third time, he frowns. Which is why today, when you sit down at your usual table and stare through the bay window, he watches you from the kitchen.
He notices your tense posture, your legs crossed beneath the table and your phone that you check far too often for his liking. When your order comes in, he takes care of it personally. A citrus avocado starter, a risotto with shavings of Italian parmesan and, for dessert, a chocolate mousse. You ask for the mushrooms and seafood to be removed from the dish. A request that leaves him confused considering they're the very heart of the plate, but his muscular arms accept the challenge and he decides to make you something special.
The sous-chef watches him from the corner of his eye as Luca delegates the other dishes to focus entirely on yours. And about thirty minutes later, your appetizer arrives. He watches as the waiter places the plate in front of you and you order a glass of non-alcoholic wine. Strange once again, but he heads back into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on your meal.
Chef Luca is patient, kind with his team, orders fly around but are never shouted. He handles his tools with care and cooks with his heart. The Michelin stars are there to prove his excellence and he puts his expertise into your plate in a particularly personal way. It's not an ego thing, he simply hates knowing a customer has left dissatisfied with his food.
Classical music echoes through the restaurant, cutlery clinks and quiet conversations fill the space. Your flowing dress falls along your legs all the way down to your heels. Curly hair pinned into a bun, a few strands resting against your temples and a sad look directed at your plate. You place your fork and knife to the side before picking up your phone. You're alone, not a word, not a smile, just a plate returning to the kitchen with the entire right side untouched. Luca wipes his hands on his apron, his black shirt rolled up over his tattooed forearms, then picks up the plate and inspects it. The avocado is creamy, the radish shavings are crisp, the seasoning is perfect and everything blends together in harmony despite the absence of crab. He looks at you again from afar, you sip your non-alcoholic wine without even lifting your eyes and remain glued to your phone while waiting for the main course.
Luca sighs before pressing the bell to send it out. You welcome it with a small, polite smile before beginning to eat while watching passersby walk through the streets outside. Your expression is melancholic and your movements elegant. You look like a painting frozen in time through flavors and candlelight. He glances at the silver watch on his wrist, answers a few questions and then gets to work on your dessert. You eat slowly, a good hour passes before the waiter brings your plate back and once again Luca loses patience when he sees it unfinished. He even makes his sous-chef taste it and judging by the pleased groan that follows, the dish is excellent, so why don't you finish it? He can't understand it.
If you didn't like it, you wouldn't have eaten it. If it didn't interest you, you wouldn't have ordered it and considering the outrageous prices of his restaurant, you might as well enjoy it. He chooses to ignore his disappointment and send out the dessert instead. He practically follows the waiter into the dining room and positions himself at a reasonable distance. He shakes a few hands, those of regular customers, wealthy neighbors and simple admirers of his cooking, but he never looks away from you. No, you remain the center of his attention. At six foot three, he towers over almost everyone. He stays behind the register, arms crossed, leaning against the counter where menus and napkins are stacked.
Every bite is watched, analyzed, dissected. You barely react, no expression of pleasure, no dissatisfaction either. You eat your dessert quietly, ignoring the world around you as if there is only you inside your little bubble. He sees you as a loner. You come here alone every Friday and tonight, you somehow look even sadder than the week before. And yet he added little surprises to the chocolate mousse: caramelized hazelnuts, tiny biscuits and a sprinkle of crushed peanuts. A delight for anyone willing to be seduced by it, but you remain neutral. Every spoonful brings you closer to halfway and Luca holds his breath.
Then suddenly, you place a hand on your throat and begin coughing. Not a pretty cough. A frightening cough. The kind of cough that makes people think something is stuck. Luca doesn't waste a second. He crosses the restaurant with quick strides. He's the only one who noticed you were struggling to breathe.
“Hey, are you alright? Need help?” His hand brushes against your arm while you cough before sliding up to your shoulder.
“I’m- cough- fine- cough- the hazelnuts- stuck.”
“No, don't talk. Drink this.” Luca fills your glass with water and places it in front of you. “Drink.” he says as he leans over you. It doesn't sound like an order, but it isn't very far from one. You hear the urgency behind it and empty the glass in one go. “Easy now. Yeah, just like that. Better? Still stuck?”
You shake your head. Your coughing is less violent but still there. You take another sip of water. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the effort.
“Look at me.”
You lift your eyes and your gazes connect instantly. His is soft and blue, a mixture of certainty and confidence that reassures you.
“Breathe. It'll pass.”
You nod and swallow hard and he smiles.
“See? All gone.”
He straightens up and his hand leaves your shoulder. He moves to the other side of your table and leans against the chair while watching you catch your breath.
“Thank you.” You clear your throat softly and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“So I suppose the hazelnuts were a bit too big.”
“No. No. It was fine. Delicious.” You push the empty bowl slightly across the table to show him you've finished eating. His gaze drops to it before returning to you.
“You're sure it was delicious? You might as well be honest with me. Any feedback is welcome.”
“Excuse me, who are you?”
“Fair.” He laughs quietly. “I'm the owner and the chef of this restaurant. My name is Luca, but you can call me Chef.” He offers you his hand. “For now.”
“Oh!” You shake it. His hand is large around yours, warm and surprisingly soft. “I'm-”
“You're Friday.”
He watches you frown.
“You've come here every Friday since last month.”
“You noticed?”
“I did. Especially when you don't finish your meal every single time. You offended a chef, that's quite an uncommon thing to do.” He smiles. “I'm kidding. I was curious about you. Well, about your taste, at least. Your satisfaction is mine. Help me achieve it.”
His hands grip the back of the chair and he leans a little closer.
“Please.”
He straightens up again and crosses his arms.
“What was wrong with the menu?”
“Nothing.” You swallow hard. “Really.”
“Try again.” The answer comes too quickly and he immediately reins himself in. “You're not obliged to answer, but I'd appreciate some honest feedback. It's the only way for me to know what you like.”
You look left, then right, then back at him. His gaze hasn't left you once. You take a deep breath and begin turning your glass slowly against the table.
“The appetizer... Good, but a little sour.”
“Too much citrus, alright.” He nods.
“The main course, too simple.”
“I should've replaced the protein instead of simply removing the grilled octopus.”
“And the dessert...”
“You nearly choked on it.” A smile stretches across his lips.
“More biscuit.”
“Interesting.” He thinks for a moment. “Good to know for next time.”
“Yeah...” You lower your eyes to your phone. It's almost ten o'clock already. And you're already thinking about the trip back home.
“Would you like some tea? Coffee? I have to make amends for the incident. The bill is on the house.”
You are about to refuse.
“Don't fight it. I'm a gentleman. It's the British side of me.”
“A tea would be nice.”
“Let me guess, green?”
“Black.”
You smile despite yourself. You have the vague impression that he's flirting, but you could be wrong, so you look away.
“Thank you.”
“The waitress will be back with your tea.” He smooths down his apron. “Have a lovely evening, ma'am.”
“You too, Chef.”
You watch him walk away, say something to a waiter while pointing toward your table and disappear back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, your tea arrives, along with a tray of miniature pastries, each one more tempting than the last. The waiter tells you they're compliments of the house and thanks you politely before leaving.
You start on the desserts with an appetite you hadn't expected and, about thirty minutes later, you push open the doors of the restaurant without knowing that the chef is watching you leave with a thoughtful expression.
The following Friday is a rainy day. Heavy drops fall over the canal, the streets are slippery and umbrellas are everywhere. Around seven thirty in the evening, you walk through the double doors of the Michelin-starred restaurant. The waiter guides you to a table you know all too well. You take off your trench coat and sit down on a comfortable chair. September is damp and slightly cold. You pull at the sleeves of your light sweater as you pretend to read the menu. You already know what you're going to order, the same thing as last time and the times before that. The brunette waiter with the mischievous eyes keeps a straight face when you tell him what you want. He doesn't write anything down as if he already knows. He brings you your non-alcoholic wine and a carafe of water. Then a bowl of warm homemade bread with salt and pepper on the side.
Your thoughts drift toward the people passing by outside. You've been holding back your tears for hours, a deep sadness pulling at your features. You swallow it down and fiddle with your phone. Videos scroll by, you don't listen, you only watch to pass the time. Some are funny, others thought-provoking. You rest your face against one hand, your expression passive when your appetizer arrives.
The first thing you notice is that the lemon is much softer, lighter, almost bright somehow. It's no longer served as a sauce but as an airy foam. The avocado melts in your mouth and the radishes are crisp. It's good, so good that you eat more than half of it but not the entire plate. The second course arrives a few minutes later and you lift your eyes to thank the waiter automatically, but a blond man with blue eyes greets you instead. He places the dish in front of you with almost reverential grace before giving you a wink. You can't help but smile.
“Hi, Chef.”
“Evening, Friday. I came myself to check whether the risotto is to your liking.”
“You mean you'll stay here while I eat?”
“If it doesn't bother you, yes. You look like you could use some company. Though don't hesitate to tell me I'm wrong. I'm perfectly willing to hear a very polite ‘leave me alone and go back to your kitchen, Chef.’”
“I wouldn't say that.” You laugh a little but he notices your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. “You can stay. Do you want to sit down?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Wouldn't be appropriate. I should maintain some composure while spying.”
He stands behind the chair, his hands gripping the wood. You can see his tattoos more clearly now, vegetables, drawings, all more artistic than the last. You pick up your cutlery and begin eating. You don't dare look up but you know his blue eyes are fixed on you. He's not intimidating, or maybe he is a little, but it isn't unpleasant. Something about him feels kind and there is something else beneath it, something controlled. Not in a bad way, at least not to you. The tears you've been holding back since this morning are almost forgotten. The dish is comforting, like an old grandmother's recipe he reinvented to fit within a fine dining setting. Silence takes up space as spoonful after spoonful disappears and eventually you decide to look at him. He smiles.
“Keep going. Almost there.”
You swallow the last spoonful and his smile widens.
“You did it.”
“Yeah...” You pull your sleeves over your hands and he notices. “You added bacon.”
“The very best for you. I mean for my clients.” He pauses. “I choose my suppliers myself.” Another pause. “Are you alright today?”
“Yes, why?” You smile awkwardly.
“You look... sad. May I ask why? I'm a curious sort, forgive my bluntness. You usually seem to drown in melancholy but today there's something else.”
“It's, uh... personal.”
“Right. Of course. I respect that.” He picks up your empty plate. “Your dessert is waiting for you. I'll be back with it.”
He starts walking away. Your breathing quickens and the words leave your mouth as if they had been waiting for permission all along.
“I'm pregnant.”
He turns around. Contrary to what you expected, he doesn't look surprised. He almost looks happy for you.
“That's good news. Congratulations. But it doesn't explain why you're sad.” He studies you. “The father?”
“Not in the picture.”
You pull at your sleeves again, a nervous habit or maybe he hopes you're simply cold. Luca doesn't want you to feel nervous around him and the thought intrigues him.
“How far along are you?”
“Three and a half months.”
“I see...” He nods as though he's suddenly understood something about you. “I didn't know.” He nods again. “That deserves a little treat. What's your favorite dessert? And don't tell me to surprise you, that's a death sentence for a chef. You might as well sleep here because I'd take far too long, so choose something and I'll bake it.”
“Really?” you ask incredulously.
“Come on, Friday. Try me. Don't be shy now when I can still fix it.”
“Cinnamon rolls.”
“An hour and a half wait. Does that sound fair to you?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
You smile a little wider and Luca seems to freeze.
He grips the edge of the plate harder than necessary and nods before heading back into the kitchen. The waiter comes over with tea and little pastries, you tell him you didn't order any and he replies that the chef made them for you. The cup is warm in your hands, warming both your body and your heart. The sadness inside of you seems to lose some of its space and you feel grateful.
Finally, someone who sees you, who sees beyond the facade and acts for you. This gift may seem small but to you, this tea is worth all the gold in the world. The rain keeps falling over Copenhagen while you sip hot tea with a slightly lighter mind. The tables begin to empty as the night goes on. Conversations become rarer. Two hours later, the waiters clear the tables and there are almost no customers left apart from a couple in the corner and you. Luca returns with a plate of three steaming cinnamon rolls and places it in front of you. You slip your phone into your bag, the sweet smell makes you hungry.
“Mmm, it smells good.”
“Homemade bakery effect.” He stands behind the chair across from you as usual. “Extra butter and extra icing sugar for the lovely pregnant lady. I can add ice cream if you fancy it. And don't forget the feedback, I'm rather eager for that.”
“Alright, I taste and I tell you.”
“Please, be my guest.”
You pick up your fork and he makes a disapproving sound.
“Eat with your fingers. Better flavor. Trust me.”
You do as he asks without even arguing and he licks his lower lip.
“Good gi-... uh yeah.”
The dough is perfectly soft. The cream melts on your tongue. There is a little crunch to it, hazelnut chocolate. Sweet and not bitter. You close your eyes as you chew and a quiet moan escapes you. He watches you eat with your cheeks full, satisfying in a way that feels almost intimate. Watching you enjoy his cooking creates a kind of euphoria inside him and his smile widens. You eat one, then the second, then the last one. Your fingers are covered in thick cream and you lick them eagerly while Luca finds himself caught by your slow movements.
“Right. I'm definitely adding those to the menu. You seem to like them, Friday.”
“It’s really, really good. Oh my God! How can it be this good?!”
“Chef's secret. Want more?”
“No, no, that's enough sugar for tonight.” You laugh, happy for once. “Thank you, Chef. I'm going to wash my hands and head home. It's late.”
You stand up, move too quickly and the top of your thigh hits the edge of the table.
“Ouch!” you exclaim with a grimace.
“Hey. Hey, what happened? Did you bump yourself?”
He steps closer to you and it's only now that you realize just how tall he is. You stammer something but Luca is already crouching in front of you, inspecting your bare thigh beneath your skirt.
“Sharp edges... I should buy new tables with rounded ones.”
His warm hand moves across your skin as he checks whether a bruise is forming, too focused, too involved. You remain speechless somewhere between surprise and satisfaction. You blame your hormones because the way he touches you stirs something inside of you.
“You don't need to throw away the tables. I'm just clumsy.”
“I don't need to, no.” He rises slowly, his hand gliding over your skin, then your skirt which he adjusts slightly over your thigh before moving to your arm. “But I want to.”
“Okay...” you breathe.
The closeness is overwhelming for a few seconds. Neither of you moves and then he steps back and removes his hand at the same time.
“Doggy bag for later then. No discussion.”
“Chef?”
“No. Discussion.” He says seriously before his features soften and a smile appears. He steps back again to let you pass and you hurry away from him.
“Same time next week? I might have more surprises for you.” He laughs. “I'm talking about the menu. That came out wrong. I'd like to keep this routine. I work hard to make you finish your plates and it's surprisingly fulfilling. How does that sound?”
