YALL im sooooo excited for Valko 3rd myth!! I wonder how they’ll approach his long hair… Will he have the shaggiest hair of the 6 or will they deviate and give him a big bushy ponytail to match his big bushy tail (*≧∇≦)ﾉ
pairing: chef!caleb x waitress!mc (with generous cameos of the other lis)
summary: On the first day at your new job you learn that the way to a person's heart is through their stomach apparently. But after a week of distracting customers, trying to confess to the handsome head chef while managing the chaotic dinner rush is proving impossible.
tags: restaurant au, fluff, a little comedy, workplace romance, slice of life
wc: 4382
No, no, no, NO! You swear this is the thirtieth job you've applied to, and still… absolutely nothing. Not a single place is willing to take you. At this point, you've accepted defeat. There's no way you're finding a job before rent is due. With a groan, you slam your laptop shut, convinced that all these job openings are fake. They have to be. You sink into your couch and run your hands through your hair.
Setting your laptop on the coffee table, you're ready to give up the search for good. Then, your phone pings with a new email.
Huh. Unlocking your phone and tapping on the notification, you stare down at the screen in shock.
Your hands tightly clutch your bag as you stare at the entrance to the Farspace Pavilion. I mean, sure, you've worked as a waitress before, but that was at—like—a diner. Not this fancy-ass, high-end place! Taking a deep breath, you rest your hand on the cool metal of the door handle and push.
Somehow, the inside is even more luxurious than the outside. The walls are lined with intricate crown molding. Crystal chandeliers hang low from the ceiling, creating a soft glow. Scanning the room, your eyes catch the velvet-covered chairs and shiny marble tabletops adorned with vases and candles. All luxuries you can't afford. You scoff at the thought. Ironic considering—
"Excuse me?" You hear a gentle voice behind you and feel a soft tap on your shoulder.
You turn around to see a girl with a short brown bob bouncing slightly on her heels. She gives you a kind smile before speaking.
"Oh! Sorry to startle you. You're the new hire, right? I'm Tara. I was asked to help you with training before your first day."
"Yep. That's me…" You chuckle sheepishly.
"Okay! Well, first off, here's your uniform." She hands you a neatly folded stack of clothes. The crisp button-up shirt, black skirt, and apron match hers to a T.
"Come on. I'll bring you to the employee locker room so you can change, and then I'll show you around the place."
-ˏˋ { 🍽️ } ˎˊ-
"And this over here is where we drop off all our tickets after we get the orders. Oh look! The cooks are prepping tonight's meals. That over there is our head chef Caleb, and our sous chef Gideon."
Upon hearing Tara mention his name, Caleb looks up from filleting a sea bass to give you a charming smile and a wink. Gideon notices his shenanigans and promptly digs an elbow into his side.
Pots and pans clatter, food on stovetops sizzles. It's hard to hear over the commotion of the kitchen, but you swear you catch an "Ouch! How dare you?" followed by a "Then get back to work, dude!" from Gideon. Their playful antics make you chuckle, calming your nerves the slightest bit.
Your first day at the Farspace Pavilion isn't the smoothest, but you do your best. Compared to the slow pace of the local diner you used to work at, the relentless speed of endless requests makes your head spin. Halfway through, you almost mess up an order, picking up the wrong style of beef dish. How are you supposed to know? They look almost exactly the same. Luckily, Caleb corrects you with an understanding smile before you leave with the plates.
Between all the running around, dropping off dishes, and dealing with entitled customers, you start to feel exhausted. Besides, seeing all your guests enjoying delicious honey-glazed pork and Dragon Well shrimp is making you increasingly hungry. What you wouldn't give for a bite of that lady's perfectly roasted duck—No! Not yet. There are only twenty more minutes until your shift ends. You can last.
Each second stretches out, as if the clock is mocking you. Your final table clears out, and you let out a sigh. You collect the dirty plates, carefully balancing the heavy porcelain and silverware as you carry them back to the kitchen to be washed. The uniform-mandated dress shoes dig into your heels, and you wince. You manage to hobble over to the sink, dropping off the dishes.
You lean against the metal counter, your back digging into cold steel. Taking a deep breath, you press the palms of your hands against your eyes. You're just looking for a moment of peace.
"Rough first day, huh?"
His voice cuts through the silence in the empty kitchen, startling you. Peeking between your fingers, you see the head chef shrugging off his heavy coat. Dropping your arms back to your sides, you let out a breathless laugh.
"Something like that."
Caleb walks over, rolling up his sleeves to reveal toned forearms. The faint scent of apples and cinnamon clings to his skin from the pies he baked for dessert. He leans against the counter right next to you, crossing his arms. Caleb tilts his head, carefully studying your expression.
"You did pretty good today. I’m surprised you were able to keep up. I remember when I first started in this kitchen. It was—it was bad."
Right on cue, your stomach growls, reminding you how painfully hungry you are.
"Oh, lucky you. It seems like there's just enough sea bass left over. Ya want some?" Caleb asks.
"Are… you sure? I don’t think I’m allowed to—"
"Doesn't matter." He cuts you off. "We were gonna throw it out anyway. Besides, it's your first day. You deserve a little bit of kindness."
Caleb pushes himself off the counter and turns to grab a clean dish. With astonishing speed, he plates the fish and adorns it with glistening sauces and a garnish of green onions.
"Wow. You're really giving me the full VIP treatment?" You laugh.
"Of course. I wouldn't be where I am if I didn’t put my heart into everything I cook."
Caleb smiles with a warm honesty that makes your heart stutter. The genuine joy he has for his craft touches you in a way you didn’t expect. The loud hum of the industrial refrigerators and the slow dripping of leaky faucets fade into the background. For a second, all you can focus on is him. Your gaze sweeps over his broad shoulders and muscled arms. Jesus. How does he find the time to work out? The two of you lock eyes. You watch as his gaze softens, an unspoken understanding passing between you.
"Ahem. Here." He coughs, looking away and holding up the plate. The tips of his ears have a light dusting of pink, embarrassment creeping in.
"Right. Yeah…" You awkwardly take the plate from him, your fingers briefly brushing against one another. The touch is electric, your heart speeding up so fast you’re sure your doctor would be concerned.
Taking your first bite, it's like your whole world shifts. The fish is perfectly cooked, with a buttery, melt-in-your-mouth texture. The miso sauce is a gorgeous, caramelized brown; the perfect balance between sweet and salty. Each bite feels like a warm, comforting hug. It tastes nostalgic in a way you can’t quite place.
"Oh? That good? Thanks, pipsqueak." Caleb gives you a knowing smirk, noting your starstruck reaction.
"Pipsqueak?" You ask, not expecting the nickname.
"Yeah, pipsqueak. I think it fits you."
-ˏˋ { 💗 } ˎˊ-
You are so royally fucked. Beyond all expectations. Falling for the super buff, handsome, kind man in the kitchen is the last thing you want, but somehow it happens. At first, you are able to convince yourself it's just a little crush. You can get over it. I mean, you definitely aren't staring. You are not blushing whenever he talks to you and are not lingering in the kitchen just to talk to him.
Ugh. Who are you kidding? You definitely are. By the end of the month, you are done waiting. You try telling yourself that falling for the impossibly kind, extraordinarily capable head chef is a recipe for disaster. But the subtle glances over the prep station, the excuses to spend more time in the kitchen—they are driving you insane. You smooth down your apron, take a steadying breath, and turn toward the kitchen doors, ready to finally say what you've been keeping to yourself for weeks.
-ˏˋ { 🍰 } ˎˊ-
This is it. This is the day you will ask Caleb out.
Except…
One guest in particular sits at table six, ordering his food in a voice that is sharp, cold, and methodical. Which completely contradicts the fact that he is only ordering sweets. The first time, you think it's funny, watching this super serious man stress over the menu. He orders a simple entrée. But the minute he glances at the dessert section, you are trapped. He sits there for an eternity just looking over the various pastries, sweets, and sugary drinks. Eventually he settles on a plate of macarons, and you leave to relay his order to the line cooks. You think that will be the end of it. Oh, how wrong you are. By the time he finishes his food, you are called over once again.
"Excuse me, miss," he calls you over again the moment his plate is clear. "I was wondering… could I get the baked pear tart as well?"
After he finishes that, you are called back again, forced to watch him debate over what to order next. Irritated by his indecision, you decide to take matters into your own hands. "May I suggest our carrot cake? It's a great choice if you want something that isn't overwhelmingly sweet."
He adjusts his glasses, staring intensely at the menu. "Oh. Uh… Do you have anything else?"
At this rate, you are never going to talk to Caleb. It is going to be a long night.
-ˏˋ { 🍖 } ˎˊ-
You are pretty sure the guy you are serving is some kind of big tech CEO. I mean, he is dressed in a flawless tailored suit, yapping with a family member.
"Yes, grandmother. I will visit soon." He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "I just need to finish up this project—I have to finalize the safety trials before the board meeting next week. Yes, I know."
On first impression, he seems like an incredibly put-together, professional man. That is until his food comes in. He orders three steaks. Three whole rare steaks. All for himself. When you first hear the request, you actually do a double-take and ask him to clarify. But nope. That's what he wants. The moment you place the plates on the table, he digs in. All the formality he carries is thrown out the window as he wolfs it down like an eager puppy.
You make sure to check in a few times, partially out of sheer disbelief and also because management keeps reminding you how important he is. For some reason, they decide it is your responsibility to make sure he is a returning customer. Unfortunately, keeping his table stocked with extra napkins and water means you are completely trapped at the front of the house. Once again, you don't get a single second to talk to Caleb.
-ˏˋ { 🐟 } ˎˊ-
When you walk back to check on the tables, you freeze. A man with purple hair is furiously scribbling in a small black book. Is he some kind of food critic? Great. Just great. The absolute last thing you need tonight is a bad review tanking the restaurant's reputation. Putting on your best customer service smile, you walk up to him.
"Hi there! Welcome to the Farspace Pavilion! What can I get you for today?" You greet him cheerfully, pulling out your pen to write down his order.
"Could I get the ginger and scallion lobster?"
"Of course, sir. I'll have the kitchen prepare that for you right away."
You watch anxiously as the man carefully inspects his plate. Strangely enough, fifteen minutes pass, and the food critic hasn't even touched his food. He is just staring at it and writing in his little notebook. You don't know if you should tell management or not. Maybe he just really appreciates the plating? He mutters something to himself and scribbles down one last note before picking up his fork. You hold your breath, hoping he enjoys the food. Even if it is a little cold from waiting.
He takes the first bite and… he seems very pensive. He chews carefully, as if he's trying to memorize the taste. You can’t really tell what his opinions are from his reaction, so you figure now is as good a time as any to ask.
"How are you enjoying your food, sir?" You ask, peeking over his shoulder to try and get a look at what he wrote down. Only, it isn't notes like you are expecting. On the page is a messy but expressive sketch of the dish, capturing some of the little details like the garnishes.
"Oh. Well, I guess that explains why you weren't touching your food." You breathe a sigh of relief. He isn't a food critic. He is just an artist. "That's a beautiful drawing."
"Oh. Yeah, I have an art show coming up and my manager has been yelling at me to finish up the collection." The purple-haired man rolls his eyes, letting out a small huff. "Nothing was coming to me, so I thought I should take a break and go get food. But then when I saw it I was so inspired—"
This artist continues to express his love for the food and his plans to make the whole collection centered around his feelings toward different culinary styles. Or something. Honestly, you aren't quite paying attention because the clock is ticking and you can feel your chance to speak to Caleb slipping through your fingers.
"I'll be sure to pay your compliments to the chef." You nod before briskly walking toward the kitchen.
As you get closer, your heart sinks. While you were busy chatting and admiring the sketch, the final orders were cleared out. The stainless steel counters are wiped down, the heat lamps are turned off, and Caleb's warm presence is nowhere to be seen.
He's already gone for the night.
You let out a defeated groan, resting your forehead against the cool wall of the wait station. Wednesday is officially a bust.
-ˏˋ { 🍷 } ˎˊ-
"Did you hear?" Tara comes up to you right before your shift. "Mr. Skye booked a table for tonight!"
"Mister who? Tara, who are you talking about?"
"He's some super wealthy businessman. I’m still not quite sure what kind of business, though. I've been trying to get him to spill, but he never says." Tara shrugs and shows you the seating chart.
"Lucky for you, he'll be in your section today! Be nice, okay? He tips very well. Mr. Skye looks intimidating at first, but trust me, he's a kind guy."
"Thanks for the heads up." Tara nods and walks off to tend to her own patrons. The minute you step out to the dining floor, the air changes.
Table four exists in the darkest corner of the restaurant, lit only by flickering candlelight. A tall man with silver hair and piercing crimson eyes sits in the corner. He's dressed in a deep maroon suit that just screams luxury. The low light of the flames gives him this hauntingly ethereal look. His eyes follow you as you walk toward him; the sheer intensity of his stare feels like it's peering into your soul. You desperately hope Tara is right because this guy… looks straight out of a mafia movie.
Swallowing your nerves, you smooth out your apron and go into your usual customer service script.
"Good evening. Can I start you off with something to drink tonight?"
Mr. Skye leans back in the velvet-covered chair, a knowing smirk on his face.
"The rarest vintage wine on your shelves," the man announces in a smooth cadence that radiates confidence. "For the main dish, whatever the chef recommends. As for the appetizer… perhaps some caviar deviled eggs."
"Of course, sir. I’ll get that for you right away."
You quickly learn that serving Mr. Skye is a full-time job. You return to his table carrying the rare vintage wine and set down the standard wine glass the restaurant provides every customer. Unfortunately, that's not enough for the man. He stares at the glasses set on the marbled tabletop and sighs.
"Not these," he says smoothly, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. "This specific vintage needs to breathe properly. Go down to the reserve cabinet and fetch a Grand Cru glass."
"Right away, sir," you reply, keeping your customer service smile glued to your face while your brain frantically tries to remember which cabinet that's in.
For the rest of the night, you are practically this man's personal messenger. You keep having to sprint back and forth between table four and the kitchen, fetching all of his highly specific needs. You run to Caleb multiple times to ask questions like "Where is the caviar sourced from?" and "Is the sauce infused with a balsamic or a cherry glaze?" to then go back and relay them to Mr. Skye. It's as if you're playing a really exhausting game of telephone. You're so preoccupied by his requests that you barely get a second to breathe, let alone have a proper conversation with Caleb.
Much to your relief, Mr. Skye calls for the check and leaves a small mountain of cash for a tip that could cover half your rent. You let out a sigh, all the adrenaline leaving and being replaced with bone-deep exhaustion. As your mysterious customer disappears out into the night, the lights in the kitchen are already clicking off.
-ˏˋ { ⚔️ } ˎˊ-
Today has been nonstop work, work, work. The whole restaurant has been rented out by the Hunters Association to celebrate another successful year of protecting people from rampaging Wanderers. The whole place is packed and buzzing with energy. You are carrying a stack of appetizers, sliding through the crowds with more proficiency than the people on the dance floor.
These plates are meant for table twelve, all the way in the front, next to said dance floor. All the seats are filled by higher-ranking members of the association. Captains and top hunters only. As you slide the appetizers across the white linen tablecloth, one of the plates bumps into a lump in the tablecloth. The lump turns its head, sleepy blue eyes blinking open. That's when you realize that lump is actually just a man napping face-down on the table. In the party's low light, his white hoodie blended perfectly with the tablecloth.
You stare for a moment, a bit dumbfounded. How did he manage to fall asleep in the middle of all this noise? It's kind of impressive, really.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." You lean down to talk to him, trying to project your voice over the sheer volume of the celebration.
The young man sits up slowly, his blond hair slightly rumpled and falling in his eyes.
"Mmm. Smells good," he mumbles, eyeing the plates in your hand. "Is that for the table?"
"Yeah, go ahead—" You arrange the rest of the platters and refill any empty glasses of water. You watch as the man in the hoodie goes to grab a barbecue steak skewer. He sticks out quite a lot. Most of the others at his table are significantly older, having earned their positions through years of dedicated work. Meanwhile, he looks like he's barely out of college.
You continue to ponder the unique circumstances of your strange guest as you make your way back to the kitchen.
Behind the large swinging doors, it's a whirlwind of activity. Pots of savory broth bubble and pans filled with tender pork sizzle. Cutting boards are piled high with fresh herbs, and plates line every stainless steel surface.
Caleb shouts orders with the command of a colonel, keeping everyone working like a well-oiled machine during the dinner rush. Sweat drips down his neck as the hot steam from the stovetops hits his face. Caleb wipes the moisture from his brow with the back of his forearm, catching sight of you stepping up to grab the main courses. The deeply focused, authoritative expression on his face disappears into a soft smile that you swear is reserved just for you.
"Hey pipsqueak!" He calls over the commotion of the kitchen, stepping closer to you. "You’re doing great out there. Just hang in there a little longer."
He wipes his hands on his apron, lowering his voice for only you to hear. "Actually, do you mind staying after for a bit? I wanted to ask you something real quick."
Your heart feels like it's stuck in your throat, cutting off your ability to speak. All you can do is nod dumbly, unable to concentrate on anything but his honeyed voice. Before you know it, you’re armed with a heavy tray of food and ushered back out into the battlefield that is the front of house.
You deliver the main dishes right as the awards are handed out at the front stage. Imagine your surprise when the blond-haired guy you accidentally woke up at table twelve stands up, brushing the crumbs off his hoodie to receive the highly anticipated award for Most Wanderers Defeated.
The rest of the night is a blur. You just can’t get your brain to focus on anything other than Caleb's words ringing in your ears. You're practically on autopilot as you clear off tables and drop off desserts.
-ˏˋ { 🍎 } ˎˊ-
The last of the Hunters slowly file out of the building as the banquet comes to a close. The dining hall is filled with a silence that gives you the space to breathe. You finish wiping down the last table, body aching.
Pushing open the steel swinging doors, you step into the dimly lit kitchen. The bustling line cooks and dishwashers are all gone. The only light comes from a soft lamp above the prep station, casting a warm, golden glow over Caleb as he sits on a tall stool, waiting for you.
"Look at that. You survived." he looks up at you with a charming smile that instantly melts away your fatigue.
"Barely," you chuckle, walking over and resting your arms against the counter. "So… what's got our chef staying after hours?"
"Actually…" Caleb reaches behind him with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He drags a plate with a food cover across the counter, the porcelain scraping across the metal surface. He reaches for the handle, lifting it up with a dramatic flourish. "Ta-da!" Caleb laughs, leaning over the counter with that familiar, confident smirk. But as your eyes meet, the playful look softens, replaced by a sudden, unexpected shyness.
Resting on the dish is a delicate, freshly baked apple galette, its flaky crust dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a single scoop of melting vanilla bean ice cream. The warm, comforting scent of cinnamon, brown sugar, and crisp apples fills the quiet room.
"I uh— I made this for you," Caleb whispers. He searches your face for any sign of approval, hoping you're happy with his little surprise.
"Thought you deserved a little treat after tonight," he continues, grabbing the back of his neck as a blush creeps up his face. Caleb abruptly turns and scrambles to find a fork for you to take a bite. There's something so endearing about seeing the usually confident Caleb stripped away into a nervous mess.
"Here—try it before the ice cream melts into a puddle." He weakly holds up the fork, anxiously waiting for you to take it from him.
"Thanks, Caleb," you gently reply, pulling the fork from his hand.
You cut off a bite, combining the warm, caramelized apples with the smooth vanilla ice cream. The moment it touches your tongue, an overwhelming sense of warmth washes over you. It tastes amazing. Familiar. Safe. Like wrapping yourself in a heavy blanket on a cold afternoon, or sitting by a cozy fireplace. Eating it feels like coming home.
You close your eyes, letting out a soft, contented sigh as the sweetness lingers. When you open them, Caleb is leaning forward on his elbows, watching your reaction with an expression so tender it makes your heart skip a beat.
"Is it good? You know, at first it was a little too sweet because I didn't take into account the sugar from the ice cream," Caleb begins to ramble, his fingers playing with the strings of his apron. "But then the second time around the moisture from the apples made the pastry too soggy, so I had to—" You grab his hand, stilling his fidgeting and cutting off his train of thought.
"Right. What I've been trying to say is that I worked really hard on perfecting the recipe for—Ahem." He clears his throat, finally looking up from your joined hands to meet your eyes. "For you."
"Caleb," you attempt to carefully broach the topic you've been meaning to bring up all week. "Do you want to go out with me?"
"Whoa, whoa. Hold on," Caleb interrupts quickly, red creeping all the way up to the tips of his ears. "You can't just steal my moment! If anyone's asking, it's me."
"No way, I've been waiting weeks to ask you—" you complain, crossing your arms across your chest.
"Hey, look at me," Caleb says, his voice fond and light. His smile is bright, genuine, and entirely focused on you. "I've been trying to find the right moment to ask you out all month, pipsqueak. So yes. Absolutely, yes."
Turns out, the way to a person's heart really is through their stomach.
an: I started this fic cause I was inspired by the new kitchen update in game. which spiraled into this au. then they cancelled valko and I kinda lost motivation... but! i've finally finished it!
side note, doing research into some dishes that caleb could cook made me really really hungry…
taglist: @ellavelysworld
if you want to be added to the tag list, don't be scared to leave a comment!
I think I’m literally never gonna be sick of this masterpiece. I think watching it on a loop for eight hours could fix me. Dancing’s what clears my soul. Dancing’s what makes me whole.
I just love that this very video is an accumulation of thousands of years worth of art made by people who have never met each other. The concept of this video was so completely unfathomable to every single artist who made the sculptures and yet they’ve all put something toward the creation of it.
Now if I said Zayne blindfolded you, and got you dressed, and when he slipped the blindfold off that's when you see that he bought you the pretty baby blue strap (7 inches because he swears he can take it) and he starts whispering about the stuff he wants you to do to him, hands roaming the skin he just dressed up so prettily. And how he'll reward you if you're such a good girl for him and do as he asks.
In return he'll be suchhhh a good boy for you, right?
you're sick and evil for this. where is he at bro omggggg
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