༊*·˚ Angel ༊*·˚

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

The television show you had decided to play after eating dinner droned on in the background of your mind, some cooking show that you had put on, staring at the screen and letting your mind go blank after another day at the Beef.

Even through the haze, you noticed the different techniques that the chefs on the show did, techniques that you had specifically seen Carmen and Sydney do.

If you weren’t so exhausted, you would’ve wondered how Carmen and Sydney would do on a show like this.

They’d probably excel at it.

But the ringing of your phone cuts through the fog, your eyes snapping down to the screen as it lights up where it’s lying on the couch beside your thigh, an unknown number displayed on the top of the screen. Your mother always told you never to answer an unknown number.

‘If it’s important, they’ll leave a voicemail.’

Those words had been said to you day in and day out. This time felt different, though- something deep inside urging you to answer the call, like you’d regret it if you missed it. Your fingers wrap around the phone, hitting the answer button and slowly bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?” You keep your voice soft so as not to disturb your possibly sleeping neighbors at this late hour.

“Hey, uh, you’re good with kids, right?”

“Excuse me?”

Your response came quicker than your mind could catch it, and even though part of you remembered the voice of the person speaking on the other end of the phone, your confusion over the words took center stage.

“Fuck, sorry, Peach. It’s me, Carmen.”

“I kinda figured. Your voice is very hard to miss, but that’s besides the point. What kinda question is that- actually, how did you get my number?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, like Carmen was debating what his answer to your question should be, before he sighs as if the truth won out in the end.

“I looked at the number you put on the paperwork and hoped it was the right one.”

His answer causes a little bubble of laughter to escape you. It was such an honest answer, and so Carmen at that.

“Okay,” You begin once your laughter had died out, the smallest of smiles remaining on your lips, “That’s part one of my question. Now, why are you asking if I’m good with kids?”

“Richie,” Carmen sighs out exasperatedly into the phone. You can hear a slight adjustment on his end, the squeak of a chair, “We need to do a favor for a family friend because of him, and it just so happened that the favor would be catering a kid's birthday party. And I kinda figured, since you’re always so patient with the kids that come into the shop…”

His slight dragging out of the last word instantly makes even your tired mind connect the dots of what he was trying to say.

You’d be beneficial during the catering.

“Oh, well then, yeah. I’m good with kids.”

“Great, um, perfect. It’ll just be Richie and us. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good to me. Goodnight, Carmy.”

Carmen pauses on his end of the phone, the smallest of breaths escaping him and echoing in your ear as he takes in your words, the gentleness of your tone as you speak his nickname just like that night on the beach.

“Yeah… night, Peaches.”

—

You had made sure to get to the Beef earlier than usual so you could do all your prep before heading out with Carmen and Richie, making sure the front was stocked and ready to go, making it a little easier for those who were staying.

After finishing, you stood outside beside Carmen, off to the side and waiting to be directed on what to do. While Carmen went to set down the box he had been carrying into the back of his car, your eyes drifted over towards Richie, raising an eyebrow at the fact that he was trying to put a shirt on the inflatable hot dog he had already decided to blow up.

But you didn’t question it, no matter how much the words threatened to spill from the tip of your tongue. You had figured out that with Richie, sometimes nothing is better than questioning. You watch as he starts to stretch the neck of the shirt.

As if that would make it fit any better.

“Why are you doing that?”

Carmen’s voice instantly cuts through the silence that had settled between the three of you, his tone already becoming slightly annoyed with the man in front of him.

“What?” Richie just keeps stretching out the shirt.

“Why are you trying to put a T-shirt on a fuckin’ hot dog?”

“Kids love hot dogs, dumbass. Back me up, Angel.”

You instantly shake your head at Richie trying to include you in the conversation, holding up your hands slightly.

“I ain’t gettin’ in the middle, Richie.”

“Traitor.”

Hands falling back to your sides, you hum a chuckle as Richie glances over at you from the corner of his eye. Carmen sets down the tote of kitchen supplies beside the other totes on the ground beside the back of the car before speaking once again.

“That’s why we’re makin’ ‘em fuckin’ hot dogs, dumbass.”

“Yeah, exactly, Cousin. It’s a tie-in. This shit is exposure, baby.”

Carmen stops trying to adjust things in the back of the car to look back over at Richie as he takes in the man’s words, and you can instantly notice the confused and frustrated look growing in his eyes when he glances between you and Richie.

“I don’t need you exposing anything.”

Laughter escapes you at Carmen’s words, and you try your best to cover up the sound as you feign clearing your throat. Only to receive a playful glare from Richie and a slight smile from Carmen.

Richie turns back to Carmen, though, gesturing towards the inflatable hot dog with his own chuckle escaping him from the concept he had thought up, the shirt just sitting on top of it, clearly not going to fit.

“It’s a fuckin’ hot dog in a Beef T-shirt. That shit is hilarious.”

“Go grab me some propane.”

Carmen tries to ignore him, placing one of the boxes into the back and turning to see you had moved slightly, grabbing another box and holding it towards him in your own way of helping.

But Richie does his own ignoring of Carmen, who takes the box from you with a small quirk of his lips in thanks, continuing to try and put the T-shirt on the inflatable while talking once again instead of grabbing the propane tank like Carmen had told him to do.

“You know what, first of all, I didn’t wanna be doing this bullshit right now.”

Carmen sets the box you had handed him down before his gaze snaps over towards Richie, the tension between them thickening just the slightest bit the longer the conversation goes on.

“Aight, you know what?” Carmen stands from leaning over, “Then don’t borrow from Cicero you can’t pay back, and then we don’t have to cater a little fuckin’ kid's birthday party. How ‘bout that?”

“I didn’t borrow shit, Cousin!”

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter. It’s on me now. I don’t wanna get my legs broken, so shut the fuck up and help me out, please.”

Legs broken?

Was Carmen serious?

Did this Cicero guy really have the power to do that… wait, was this guy like the mob men you had seen on your dad’s television shows?

You don’t take the time to interrupt the conversation between the two, standing there with a new box you had grabbed to hand to Carmen, glancing over at Richie when he begins talking.

“If that motherfucker gets even close to us, I’m gonna fucking drop his ass.” Richie ends his sentence with a slight chuckle, but you just raise an eyebrow at his words, knowing that Richie wouldn’t be dropping anybody.

Carmen turns and grabs the box from you, silently gesturing to the next box he wanted with a quirk of his head before moving to put the box he held into the back of the car.

“Okay, look, just help me out,” Carmen sighs to Richie. “Let’s do this right. Get it over with.”

Richie just keeps going, though.

“Look, second of all, you have no idea the amount of administrative correspondence I’m supposed to be doing in there today, okay? It is fucking bonkers.”

“Richie… What are you talking about?”

“Correspondence? Is that right?”

You and Carmen speak at the same time, the confusion clear in both of your tones, but Carmen’s has a bit more frustration in his.

“Yeah,” Richie begins, “you know, you like to shit on my system, but I run a tight ship, and I get back to my cohorts and my associates in a timely fashion.”

Now it just sounded like Richie was pulling fancy words out of his ass to make his argument stand better. Carmen seemed to feel the same, putting his hands on his hips as he stared at Richie.

“Aight, do me a favor. Just name a cohort. Name an associate. Just one fucking person. I dare you.”

“Timothy.” Richie spits out before delving into a slight stutter, “But I’m not… I’m not fuckin’... gimme a hand.”

Richie instantly shuts down the conversation in his own way by trying to shove the inflated hot dog into the back of the car, which it so clearly would not fit into. The two men instantly fly into an argument about whether or not it would fit, Richie trying to push it in while Carmen tries to keep it out.

It boils over when Richie uses the inflatable to nudge Carmen out of the way.

The two pause, taking in what had happened, before Carmen instantly tries to reach over the inflatable to get to the older man, who begins using it as a shield.

You stand off to the side with the box still in your hands, watching the ensuing fight with a raise of your brow and a small sigh escaping you. You knew better than to get in the middle of their scuffles anymore.

This better not be a testament to how the rest of the day will go.

Adjusting your stance with the box to hold it against your hips, your gaze drifts over towards Tina as she appears from inside the shop to throw away a bag of trash, her eyes landing on the two men before meeting your gaze with a raised brow. You can only respond with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tina.” You call out over the small tussle, the woman rolling her eyes at the two before heading inside.

“Morning!” She calls out to all three of you before the door shuts behind her.

The scuffle soon ends, though with a popping sound and the inflatable slowly deflating under Richie, who struggles a little to stand beside the poor inflatable hot dog.

“Look what you did. Fucking baby…” He pauses, staring down at the quickly deflating hot dog, “Aight. I’m gonna get the spare from the basement.”

A small sigh escapes you as Richie walks back into the shop, your eyes soon moving over towards Carmen as he sits on the edge of the back of their car, his gaze meeting yours when you move to set the box beside him into the car.

“So… Can this Cicero guy really break legs?”

Your question causes a burst of breathy chuckles to escape Carmen, your own smile following as you look into his eyes, the sun shining against the gold chain necklace you had found yourself noticing more and more.

—

The scenery speeds past the car as Carmen drives it down the highway, your eyes trying to catch every little detail from your spot in the passenger seat as the radio drones on in the background.

It had been a little bit of a rocky start.

The car was finally packed, Richie returning with the folded inflatable and the pump to blow it up, only to find Carmen sitting in the driver’s seat, and you right beside him in the passenger seat.

“What the fuck, Cousin? No offense, Angel.”

“None taken.” You hum, Carmen turning the ignition over and the car rumbling to life while Richie just continues to stand near the window.

“Lady’s first, Cousin.” Is all Carmen answers with, receiving a grumble from Richie, who looked like he was ready to keep arguing, but one glance at you and your slight smile has him moving into the back with that same grumbling tone.

It didn’t last long, though, as soon there was the sound of a video playing in the backseat, and Richie’s over-the-top reactions to whatever he was watching. 

Your gaze just remained on the scenery out the window, liking the fact that you got to see more of Chicago in just one day than you’ve had the pleasure of seeing in the past few months of living there.

Carmen drives in silence, his right hand on the wheel and his left elbow leaning against the car door.

“Oh, my god. Cousin, you gotta see this shit.” Richie calls from the back, and you feel him begin to lean between the two seats, his phone held in front of him. “This dude is trying to fuck up this little nerd, and the fuckin’ nerd just washes him, bro- Yo, why the fuck are you on the Kennedy?”

Your attention finally moves from the buildings towards Richie, now practically leaning forward beside you. Carmen barely spares him a glance before moving his gaze back to the road.

“Chill the fuck out. Cicero lives in Naperville.”

“No!” Richie scoffs, “Cicero’s in Wilmette now. You gotta get on the fucking Eden’s…”

“Oh, shit. No, no. Th-That’s right. That’s my bad.”

Carmen breathes out, looking out the window for the best way to get the car where it needs to go without causing a crash. Richie settles back in the backseat, your gaze following behind you as he goes back to his video.

“It’s all good, though. I’m in no hurry to see that motherfucker. I swear to god, if he calls me ‘Rick,’ I’ma fuckin’ lose it.”

“Rick?” You voice out, confused chuckles escaping you at the nickname, Richie glancing up from his video with a lighthearted glare at your clear amusement.

“It’s this stupid, dumbass fuckin’ name that he always calls me. And he knows I hate it!”

“Cousin, listen,” Carmen interrupts, barely stealing a glance over his shoulder towards the man, “do me a favor, okay? I’m trying to get us outta this hole, alright? I want today to go smooth. Please do not bring that shit up.”

Richie looks at Carmen, leaning back in the seat as he holds one of his hands up in surrender.

“Chill. I’m not gonna bring up shit, alright?”

—

You stand awkwardly beside Carmen as Richie and an older guy, whom you’re guessing is Cicero, get into a yelling match. Over what? You couldn’t really make out with how much they were talking over each other.

You take the chance to observe Cicero as he argues with Richie, and he instantly reminds you of the mob bosses you had caught glimpses of whenever your dad would watch those kinds of TV shows. Maybe you could ask Carmen about it later? Would it come off as weird or offensive?

Your attention is quickly taken back by the growing argument between the two, eyes flicking between them.

Richie was using his hands and arms to convey his frustration, while Cicero kept his hands in his jacket pockets, only moving them a little bit.

Your hands were clasped behind your back, and you fought the urge to rock on your heels as you pursed your lips, waiting for the yelling to cease.

Moving your gaze up to Carmen as he stood with a box of supplies in his hands that he had grabbed, you found him staring off blankly between the two arguing men with his own lips pursed, and you reached over with your elbow to gently nudge it against his side.

His eyes blinked a bit before flicking over to stare at you, taking in the small smile you sent his way. He responded with a slight quirk of his lips. Even so, the arguing continues in the background.

Carmen’s brow raises when the loud voices slowly die out as the fighting reaches it’s enevitable end, leaving Richie saying the last word, before Carmen clears his throat. His gaze moves up to Cicero.

“You want us to get this stuff out back or… how do you, uh…”

Cicero finally looks away from Richie, his demeanor doing a complete 180 as he nods in agreement with his words.

“Yeah, take it around the side for me, will you?”

Even his voice had softened when talking to Carmen, who takes the break from the heat to turn towards you and finally introduce you. He says your name, not Peach or Peaches, keeping that name a secret between the two of you.

You give a smile and hold out your hand like your father had taught you to always do when meeting new people.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

Cicero raises an eyebrow, Richie giving a small groan beside him, but he slowly reaches a hand out to grip yours in a firm shake.

“Angel, the fuck have I said about the ‘sir’ and ‘ma'am’ shit?”

You shrug towards Richie’s words.

“Habit.” Is your simple response.

“Around the side, sure.”

Carmen interrupts the little side conversation, beginning to turn towards where they would need to take the boxes.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, too.” Cicero starts by looking at you, placing his hands back in his pockets before turning to stare at Richie with a pointed look, and you can tell it won’t end well. “Thanks, Rick.”

“I fuckin’ hate when you call me fucking Rick-”

“I fucking hate it when you don’t answer your phone!”

A small sigh escapes you, but it doesn’t delve into the argument that you had been expecting. Instead, Cicero just turns away from Richie to head inside, his attitude shifting again once his feet pass through the doorway.

“Food’s here, kiddies!” He calls out into the house.

You continue to watch his back for only a few seconds before turning to face Carmen, Richie already beginning to make his way towards the car with a grumbled set of cursed words.

“Is he always like that?”

You ask him softly while following him towards the back of the house, Carmen just responding with his own sigh while adjusting the box in his arms.

“Yep. That’s Cicero for you.”

—

The table had been set up; Richie was… somewhere, and you stood beside Carmen, prepping the plastic bowls and plates and cutlery while he cut up grapefruit for a drink he was making.

Ecto-cooler, he had called it.

“What… is ecto-cooler?”

You ask while carefully separating the silverware into three different cups so the kids could grab them more easily. Carmen pauses in his cutting, staring at you for a few seconds like he couldn’t believe you’d actually asked that before going back into the rhythm of cutting.

“This cool ass drink that Minute Maid released for Ghostbusters. It was green like Slimer and tasted really fuckin’ good. Got discontinued, but I did some digging and found out how to make it.”

“Interesting.”

You hum in response, setting the cups in the front of the table before making sure that all of the plastic bowls and plates could be reached by the kids.

“Carmen? Is that you?”

You hold in the jump your body wanted to instinctively make at the sudden appearance of an older man standing beside you, his gaze locked on Carmen, who keeps cutting the grapefruit.

“Hey, Mr. Szorski. How are you?”

“I thought you’d killed yourself.”

Your hands instantly freeze around the bowls, eyes snapping over towards the older man at his words before drifting to stare at Carmen, something in you pulling at the slight shift in his eyes at the man’s mention.

“No. Sir, that was my brother.”

The man just nods and walks away, as if the conversation was the most normal thing he had all day. Your gaze stays on Carmen, taking in how he continued to cut grapefruit even through the aftereffects of the question still hanging in the air.

Your mind flashes to the name of the elusive man whom you had been hoping to see around the shop: Michael.

But…if you’re correct… you never would.

Keeping your eyes on Carmen as he continues to cut through the grapefruit in his hands, your lips part, ready to ask a hard-hitting question about his brother- before Richie suddenly appears.

“That motherfucker is complete fucking bullshit.”

“Hey, perfect timing. We already did everything, dick.” Carmen says while setting aside the cut grapefruit before grabbing an orange to cut.

“Who does he think he is?” Richie continues as if he didn’t hear Carmen’s words, “You know he’s not even Italian, right? 100% Polish. Fucking insulting.”

“Why does that matter?” You ask out loud while moving to grab the square napkins, red just like the other cutlery, trying your hardest to ignore the questions that still lingered at the forefront of your mind.

Carmen glances over at you before his attention goes back to the oranges he started to cut.

“You know you’re not even Italian, right?”

He says while beginning to remove his cotton jacket after getting too hot from moving around too much. Richie suddenly starts digging into one of the pockets of his leather jacket, producing a pill bottle that causes you to pause.

“Yeah, I’m more Italian than that guy is.”

Richie mumbles while also pulling out a small piece of red tape, working to place it over the label of the bottle. While he’s doing that, Carmen turns to set his jacket on the now empty boxes, seemingly unaware of what Richie was doing.

“Turn on the grill. I gotta get the dogs goin’- Richie, what the fuck is that?”

The concern was evident in Carmen’s tone as the two of you continued to stare at Richie, who had now popped open the bottle, tilting it to where little tablets fell into his awaiting palm.

“Relax. Shit’s regulated. I suffer from anxiety and dread. Want half?”

Richie looks between you and Carmen, biting into one of the pills while holding the other like an offering. You quickly shake your head before going back to getting the napkins out of the packaging and onto the table.

“No thanks, Rich.” You respond softly.

“No.” Is Carmen’s quick response, looking around as if searching for a way to change the subject; he finds it while grabbing his apron from one of the boxes. “Which, uh, box you put the ketchup in?”

Richie makes a questioning humming sound as he takes a swig of soda to wash down the pill, causing Carmen to repeat himself before Richie shakes his head in response.

“I didn’t bring ketchup.”

Carmen pauses in tying his apron to stare over at the man, his hands frozen behind him before he goes back into the motions of tying it, with a little frustration beginning to grow.

“Why didn’t you bring ketchup?”

“What kind of asshole is gonna put ketchup on a hot dog?”

You stand with your hands on your hips after finishing setting out the napkins, an exasperated look on your face as you stare at the older man.

“A kid, Rich. Children love putting ketchup on stuff. It’s like… their thing.”

“Child asshole.”

Your shoulders droop slightly at his response, a sigh escaping you as Carmen turns slightly, clearly aggravated by how Richie was responding to the whole situation.

“You’re a child asshole,” Carmen says while heading towards the double doors that had perfectly placed hanging streamers against the frame.

“Yo, Cousin, what’s up with all this gay-ass fruit?”

Carmen pauses at the door from Richie’s question, but only for a few seconds.

“Homemade ecto-cooler, motherfucker.” Is all he responds before heading inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Richie makes a small, impressed sound, looking over the spread of fruit and other prepared garnishes for the hot dogs.

“That’s actually pretty fuckin’ dope. Rest in peace, Harold.”

Your eyes glance over as you shove the trash from the cutlery into an empty box, watching as he looks over the jug that had green liquid in it.

This could be your chance.

“Hey, Richie?” You feign your attention in the box as he hums out in response.

“What’s up, Angel?”

“Who’s Michael?”

You can feel the instant shift in the air, your eyes moving over towards him to find Richie had paused his exploring of the table, staring down at it before slowly turning to look at you.

“That’s Carmen’s brother. Why you wanna know, Angie?”

His voice had softened into something that wasn’t entirely Richie, like even the memory of Michael’s name erupted a specific type of hurt.

“I just…” You sigh out, finally turning to face him, only to find him keeping eye contact with you. “I see his name all around the Beef, and then I hear you guys talk about him, too. I just wanna know who he is, I guess.”

Richie crosses his arms across his chest, his fingers absentmindedly messing with the zipper as he releases his own sigh at your words.

“Michael owned the Beef. Then he killed himself on the State Street Bridge. Michael left the Beef to Carmen. Now Carmen runs the show.”

Your heart tugs at Richie’s words, how he shrugs them off as if you couldn’t see the true hurt behind his words. He must’ve been close to Michael, you guessed.

“I’m sorry.” You say softly, reaching out to place a gentle hand against his elbow in a comforting motion.

Richie glances down at your hand, giving a slight shrug at your words.

“Nothin’ we can do to change it now. But, um…” He clears his throat, rubbing at his nose when he gives a slight sniff, “I gotta blow up that fuckin hot dog, gonna take a smoke break, too.”

Richie turns without another word, heading towards where he had left the pump and inflatable hot dog, your eyes following after him as he walks away. Something heavy settles in your heart, not just for Richie, but for Carmen as well.

His brother, Michael, had killed himself.

Leaving a restaurant to his chef brother.

Your eyes move to the set-up table, hands reaching out to fiddle with things that didn’t truly need to be fixed, just needing something for your hands to do after a short but heavy conversation.

You wonder how Carmen reacted to hugs.

You didn’t know why the thought popped into your mind as you double-checked the cutlery in their respective cups.

You were born into a family of huggers, being one yourself. You’d held back around your coworkers at the Beef, as they all didn’t seem particularly welcoming to such affection.

But maybe Carmen needed it more.

Later…

Yeah… Later.

Prep continued even with Carmen’s absence.

The chopping of vegetables, the sizzle of meats, the ticking of the clock as the seconds to open wind down, down, down.

Your mind should be focused on the prep work laid out before you: setting up tables, making sure that all sauce bottles and napkins were filled, scrubbing at those damned dirt spots on the floor until your arms ached and you just give up with a huff.

But every time you blink, all you see is Carmen.

His hunched-over figure in the chair with his fist pressed against his chest, the way you had to guide him to breathe normally, his frantic exit from the shop.

You were worried about him.

It’s only been a few weeks since you started working at The Beef, and even though you’ve gained friendships with most of the staff, something about Carmen felt different.

Something your brain didn’t want to hurry to name.

The grip you had on the cloth in your hands tightened as you tried to think through these thoughts, moving your arm just perfectly in your haze, knocking over the nearby small bucket of your cleaning solution that you had just set on the nearby table.

Your mind barely had enough time to process the mistake and move yourself out of the way as the mixture of water and bleach splashed onto the floor you had just cleaned.

Well… at least it was clean.

A small groan of anger escapes you as your shoulders droop, placing the cloth onto the table harder than you intended as you bring your hands up, rubbing the heel of your palm against your closed eyes until all you see is little bursts of color in the black.

You needed to get your head in the game.

Immediately.

Arms flopping against your side, you blink away the blurriness a few times, giving yourself just enough time to pull yourself together before beginning to make your way towards the kitchen to grab the mop you had already set in there since you believed yourself to be finished with it.

“You two look like you joined the dumbass cult.”

You hear Tina’s voice as you carefully push open the door to the kitchen, quickly followed by Sweeps and Marcus thanking her at the exact same time, in the exact same cadence.

It would’ve been really funny if you weren’t so focused on the mess you had made in the front… and Carmen.

“Behind.”

You voice softly while trying to make your way past Tina and towards the back, her gaze instantly snapping towards you, flicking between your eyes and the blue apron you wore. Her eyes narrow at the sight before her.

“Stupid fucking aprons- not you too, Angelita.”

Continuing to move past her, you turn around just long enough, walking backwards, and respond with a quirk of your lips and a slight shrug of your shoulders; she takes it with a roll of her eyes, and you quickly right yourself before your body knocks into anything else.

Manny and Angel are placing dishes onto the drying rack when you make your way towards them, greeting them while shifting around them to grab the mop and bucket, which they had thankfully already replaced for you.

You pause just a moment, taking the time to stare at the sight as the tension in your shoulders from everything that had transpired throughout the day slowly loosens.

“You two didn’t have to do that.”

Manny responds with a simple shrug of his shoulders before going back to balancing the large collection of pots in his arms, as if helping you somewhat truly meant nothing, jutting his head towards Angel before walking towards the shelf in the kitchen where all the pots were held.

“Was his idea.”

Angel stops his scrubbing of the pan in his hands, turning to look at you with a smile on his lips.

“Us angels gotta stick together.”

He simply responds with a slight nudge of his elbow against your side before he goes back to scrubbing the pan.

You stare at him just a moment more, a smile slowly appearing at his words and thanks leaving your lips before you grab the mop handle and begin pushing it towards the front.

For how much this job could be at times, the people inside of it were truly something special.

As you’re guiding the mop and bucket through the kitchen towards the front, you hear Carmen’s voice filling the air as he finally makes his way back inside. Looking over your shoulder towards him as he makes his way over towards Ebra, asking about Family, you notice how he acts as if nothing had happened earlier.

Like he truly had just gone out for errands.

When he turns to talk to Tina, his gaze drifts up, finding you paused near the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him with that worried furrow of your brows.

Your emotions were always seen on your face.

It was a part of you that you had since childhood; it could be your greatest strength… or your detriment.

Paused in the doorway, your eyes met for just a few seconds before he snapped them back to Tina to focus on the conversation.

You want to say something, pull him aside, and check on him. Your hands on the broom handle tighten, and just as you’re about to walk over-

“Yo, who the fuck left the puddle in the front?!”

A sigh escapes you as you turn towards Richie as he makes his way through the door into the kitchen, having mere seconds to stop in his tracks so he doesn’t bump into you.

“Shit, Angel. Almost fuckin’ hit you.”

“Sorry, Richie. The puddle is mine.”

The man gives a shrug of his shoulders before stepping aside so you can go through the doorway. You start to make your way through it before a sharp ‘Yo!’ causes you to pause in your tracks, quickly looking behind you to find Carmen moving towards a steaming pot, using the towel from his apron to pull it off of the flaming burner.

Sydney rushes over, the two of them talking over each other as they both discuss the stock inside of the pot, which was now pretty much ruined by Carmen’s standards. Richie walks over, staring into the pot while the two continue talking at each other instead of to each other.

“It’s not low enough.”

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

A small sigh escapes you at Richie’s words while Carmen and Sydney respond sarcastically to Richie’s insertion into the conversation before going back to talking about the stock. Richie throws his hands up slightly at their tone before turning to look at you, finding you staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” He mutters down at you while moving to walk to the front.

“They knew what was wrong, Rich.” You hum out while following after him, Carmen’s and Sydney’s voices trailing behind you as you quickly move towards the puddle, using the mop to soak up the solution.

Richie just huffs out at your response before beginning to do the prep work for the cash register, making sure that the correct amount of bills was in the till.

After mopping up the spill, you stretch your back until it pops with a slight sound, returning the mop to the bucket and pushing it back into the kitchen. The conversation between Carmen and Sydney had now shifted to the onions and how they weren’t done.

Something that had been designated to Tina, which Sydney tried to convey, but Carmen only cut her off with a sharp ‘Yes, Chef’. A clear demand that he expected Sydney to do them instead of her trying to explain why they weren’t done.

His voice had risen, halting any more talk from Sydney, aside from her small, resigned, “Yes, Chef.”

It didn’t feel right. The way the conversation had ended. The tension in Sydney’s shoulders, the clear frustration that rolled off of her with no clear outlet.

But… you weren’t a chef. You didn’t really understand Carmen and Sydney’s world of obedience.

You watch as Carmen turns to walk away towards the office, barely flicking a glance in your direction over Sydney’s shoulder, but your attention is quickly taken by Sydney, who rushes over towards the containers. Moving just as steadily, you set the mop bucket back by Manny and Angel before heading back towards Sydney.

You hated the thickness of the air from the tension that had quickly brewed from just a singular conversation.

You find her fixing the bucket of onions onto the prep station to be closer to her.

“Here. Let me.”

Your voice is gentle as you grab an onion and begin to peel the skin like your father had taught you all those nights in the kitchen by his side, tossing it into the nearby trash can, hearing Sydney pause long enough to stare at you with her knife gripped in her hand.

You know looking at her might just make her feel more exposed about the situation.

“I don’t need help-”

“I may not know how to cut an onion, but I can sure peel them. It’ll save you time.”

You set the peeled onion on the cutting board in front of her, not taking the time to stop your momentum as you grab the next onion, doing the same motions as the first one and keeping your gaze on the onion in your hands.

Slowly, but surely, the familiar sound of a knife slicing through an onion could be heard.

A slight smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

—

The two of you work like well-oiled machines.

Sydney’s chopping was quick and efficient, while you peeled in time to hand her the next onion right when she needed it.

Soft sniffles escaped both of you from being in close proximity to the onions, the fumes from cutting them causing a slight sting to appear in your eyes.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Sydney stop in her tracks, setting the knife down and practically glaring at her gloved hand with a sigh escaping her lips, but an alarm goes off before you can fully look over and see what had happened.

Both of your gazes snapped over towards her phone, where the alarm was ringing loud and clear, breaking the spell the two of you had gone under with the familiar motions.

“Chefs! Walkthrough!”

Sydney turns to grab her checklist, but she pauses and turns to look back at you, her eyes finding you once more as you make sure all of the onion skins are in the trash. You two stare at each other for a few seconds before she gives a nod.

“Thanks, Angel.”

Her words, although muttered, cause a smile to appear on your lips as you nod back at her, shifting the trash can over to the side.

“My pleasure, Syd.”

You two turn at the same time, Sydney going back to grabbing her checklist for the walkthrough, and you heading towards the front to make sure there was nothing else that needed to be done. Alongside Richie, you find Sweeps wiping down the counter, which gives you time to work on the dirt spots on the floor.

“It’s still not gonna come out, Angel.”

Richie remarks while you walk past him with a new bucket of solution, his focus on you as you make your way towards the biggest spot. Turning to look at him over your shoulder, you respond to his words by sticking your tongue out at him, which only causes him and Sweeps to release chuckles before Richie heads out front to take his smoke break.

You’re kneeling by the spot, shoulder aching from how long you had been scrubbing, when Sydney suddenly appears with her arms full of plastic bags. She talks to Sweeps about how he should be the one preparing paper cups and plates instead of Manny and Angel, before commenting on what he had been doing.

She doesn’t seem to even notice that you’re in the room, too.

“Love the wiping, love that energy. Maybe we do it, like, on the floors. Cause they are so dirty, I almost broke my neck, and honestly, I think I’m gonna pass out just looking at them. Um, what’s up?”

“Yes, Chef.” Sweeps doesn’t seem like he knows how else to respond to her words aside from compliance.

“Great. Okay.” Sydney turns and heads back into the kitchen.

Sweeps and you slowly make eye contact, confusion in both of your gazes from how Sydney came at Sweeps.

“It’s not just me, right?”

“No,” You shake your head, sitting back on your heels, “That was… a lot.”

“Cool, cool.”

Sweeps gathers up the plastic bags that Sydney had brought up, placing them where the others were before heading towards the kitchen to begin cleaning the floors.

Once again, like usual, you give up on the spot right when Richie walks in from his smoke break. He takes in your small huff and the way you practically shove the cloth into the bucket. You make eye contact with him as you stand and move the bucket behind the counter, seeing the way his lips were ready to form around words he had said day in and day out.

You knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Not a word, Richie.”

Instead, he just held his hands up in surrender with the smallest of chuckles escaping him, following you behind the counter and leaning against it. He began talking about anything and everything while you made sure everything was ready behind the counter, only for the door to the kitchen to slam open, a frazzled-looking Sydney staring at both of you with barely contained anger.

“Where are my onions?”

Richie’s conversation dies out, you and him looking over at Sydney; Richie with a look of confusion while you stare with a look of worry.

“I don’t know,” Richie responds with a shrug.

“They should be where we left ‘em,” You respond while moving to stand beside Richie. “Want me to help look?”

But Sydney doesn’t respond, instead rushing back into the kitchen to look for the misplaced onions.

You stare at the door as it swings a few times before stopping closed, the look in Sydney’s eyes held bubbling frustration.

It reminded you of Carmen.

Just barely boiling over the edge.

It wasn’t but a few moments before you heard Sydney yelling at somebody in the kitchen, telling them to ‘shut the fuck up’ and to ‘leave her the fuck alone’.

Your brows furrow at the words, Richie turning back to continue his conversation as if nothing was wrong.

Before something tumbled in the kitchen.

“The fuck is going on back there?” Richie glances over, but doesn’t make any move to actually step back and help. You debate whether or not you should go back and make sure that everyone is okay, but by the time you truly think it over, Ebra is calling for family.

Everyone stops what they were doing and gathers together in the same room as usual, sitting in the same seats and discussions already beginning as everyone digs into their plates.

But one seat is empty.

Sydney’s.

You stare at the seat in worry before your gaze drifts over towards Carmen, who had been standing at the front of the table like he usually did, looking over the group while picking slightly at his bottom lip.

When he finally looks at you, his hand falls from his lip, and your eyes remain locked for a few moments before you gesture towards the untouched plate with a slight tilt of your head, a silent notion of ‘if you won’t, I will’.

But Carmen knew he needed to be the one to talk to Sydney.

He stares at you for just a moment longer, giving the smallest of nods and reaching forward, grabbing the plate in one hand before heading towards the back.

Your eyes follow after his form before your attention is promptly taken by the others and their conversations, eating the delicious plate of food in front of you while occasionally giving your own two cents towards whatever was being said.

The table gets cleaned off, dishes get rinsed, and it’s mere minutes from being time to open the shop to hungry customers when the back door opens, and two figures walk inside.

When Carmen and Sydney finally come back into the restaurant, the air between them feels lighter, and you know that they had talked out whatever happened in their own way.

It made the air in the restaurant looser, and it felt like you could finally take a deep breath.

You make eye contact with Carmen through the window that looks between the kitchen and the front, and you give him a soft smile and a nod.

Which he promptly returns before turning back towards the others.

—

Service had run like usual: smooth but chaotic, a familiar song and dance that you found yourself getting used to.

Once you were finally free to clock out and go home, you found yourself deviating from your usual path, adjusting your purse against your shoulder as you made your way towards where the shore was. You had heard many customers talking about it while they were in the shop.

And you finally figured that it was your time to go, even after a long shift.

Even with the cool nip from the sea against your bare arms, you found comfort in the cool, toeing off your shoes and carefully removing your socks until you felt the mixture of sand and rocks between your toes.

Something in you settles at the familiar feeling, a deep ache that you hadn’t even realized you had.

You missed the beaches back home. The family trips. The laughter and feeling of the waves hitting your skin.

Slowly, your eyes close, basking in the smell of the salty air, the gentle whip of the wind coming from the waves as they crash against the shore.

“Peaches?”

A voice calls out from behind you, your gaze snapping open to look over your shoulder, finding Carmen standing just a few feet away from you, staring at your form as if he hadn’t expected you to be there.

“Carmen.” You breathe out in greeting, watching as he makes his way to stand beside you, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.

As he gets closer, his mind can catch details once he’s within a certain distance due to the setting sun, and something in him hates the fact that you weren’t wearing anything with long sleeves.

“The fuck are you doing without a jacket?”

You’re not given the time to explain that this wasn’t cold to you, that it was refreshing after experiencing summer in the southern heat, before he removes his jacket and quickly drapes it over your shoulders. Your eyes, slightly wide from the shock of how quickly he had moved, stare up at him.

His own eyes widen when they meet yours, clearly not thinking through his actions before doing them, as he clears his throat and glances over towards the waves, his hands absentmindedly moving to fix the hat he wore.

Which didn’t even need to be fixed.

You purse your lips, your own gaze moving towards the waves as you two stand beside each other, the air filled with unspoken words about the day and the moment you just had. You both take in deep breaths.

You know Carmen won’t tell you what had truly happened to cause such a reaction out of him. But you didn’t mind.

“Thank you for the jacket.” 

“Thank you for earlier.”

Your gazes snap to meet one another at the fact that you had talked at the exact same time, and you can’t help the snicker that escapes you. Carmen feels his shoulders slowly untense, his own smile beginning to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Thank you,” You begin first, moving to grip the lip of the jacket to pull it closer around you as you start to feel the chill the further the sun sets, “For the jacket.”

Carmen just gives a slight shrug, as if he were trying to say that he would do it for anyone, but you both knew that it wasn’t true. He stares into your eyes for just a few moments before looking back towards the shoreline.

“Thank you for earlier in my office. That, um… that trick… really worked.”

You hum softly as your gaze follows his, taking in the gentle hiss of the waves hitting the shore before the tide pulls them back. You wait a few moments, basking in the silence between the two of you that had grown comfortable.

“I learned it from a movie.”

“You fucking did not.”

Laughter comes from Carmen first, before you quickly follow behind with your own.

You two look back at each other, the edges of your eyes crinkled from how big the smile on your lips was while Carmen’s face looked more relaxed than it had all day with his own smile.

As Carmen stared at you, taking in the way you looked with his jacket draped over your shoulders, he couldn’t help how right it felt. Like seeing you in his clothes was just as natural as the sun coming up and setting every day.

And the smile you sent his way.

It was as bright as the sun itself.

He didn’t feel worthy of it.

Carmen clears his throat as a thought pops into his head, one he’d had many times before, but never truly acted on. Until now… until seeing you in this exact moment.

“Do you, um… Do you want me to walk you home, Peach?”

The question is soft, much softer than he’s used to speaking, but just like the other thought, this felt right as well.

You remain silent for a few moments too long as you register his words, almost making Carmen retract his question with a nervous laugh, but your smile softens and you give a small nod in response.

“Yeah, I’d like that, Carmy.”

Carmy.

Not Mr. Carmen, not Carmen, but Carmy.

‘Oh my heart,’ Carmen thinks as the nickname he had heard all of his life falls from your lips, his eyes watching as you carefully wipe off the sand from your feet before putting on your socks and shoes.

Once you were done, you fell into an easy stride beside him back towards the sidewalk, telling him about the apartment complex that you lived in nearby, leading the way as you turned down the street, the crashing of waves falling quieter and quieter behind the two of you.

Carmen, keeping his pace slow to stay right beside you, shoves his hands in his jean pockets quickly. To you, it seemed like he had done it because they were cold from the night air, but Carmen knew the true reason behind it. The reason flashed in his mind as he snapped his gaze to the sidewalk in front of him to avoid your gaze, afraid you could tell just by looking in his eyes.

It was to fight the easy urge that had crawled up his spine.

The urge to hold your hand.

It was easy to feel that things between you and Carmen had gone back to normal after the small talk you shared.

Business went on as usual.

The silent, shared looks between each other continued on. Even though Carmen’s gaze would occasionally flick up to your temple, where nothing but a small scar remained after the cut had finally healed.

The restaurant was packed, as you had grown accustomed to.

Richie’s voice was heard over the crowd, and Carmen was in front wrapping sandwiches instead of in the back.

You stood at a table that a customer had just left, holding the dirty plate in one hand while the other gripped your cleaning cloth, wiping down the table in familiar motions.

A sudden squeal and a chirped ‘Angie!’ interrupt your cleaning.

You knew that voice anywhere.

Turning to look behind you, you find little Kimmy walking in beside her mother, who is already looking over at you with a smile upon her lips. The 5-year-old girl instantly lets go of her mother’s hand to make her way over towards you in a slight run.

“Kimmy!”

You greet her with your own smile on your lips, setting down the plate and cloth onto the table before bending down slightly, right when she makes her way to you, catching her running form in your arms and standing with her now resting against your hip.

The little laughter that escapes her always makes your smile brighten.

“How’ve you been, honey?”

“Good! I know all the alphabet now!”

Your expression instantly goes into an over-the-top, shocked look as you stare at her. You always played up your reactions for Kimmy, knowing that she loved it just as much as you did.

“You do? All of it?”

“Mhmm!”

“Well, aren’t you just a smart cookie.”

Kimmy’s laughter fills your ears as you gently set her back down onto the floor when her mother makes her way up towards the two of you, you give the woman a smile in greeting.

“Hello, Mrs. Green. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Angel. Come on, Kimmy, let’s go get our food.”

Kimmy looks between you and her mother, and you can see the wheels turning behind her little eyes, the desperation to fight back and continue talking to you. When she looks back towards you, you just give her a smile and a gentle ruffle of her hair, which instantly takes her attention, a giggle escaping her.

“I’ve gotta lot of work to do, Kimmy. But I’ll make sure to say goodbye, okay?”

“Okay!”

It was always so simple to make her happy.

Your eyes follow the pair as they fall into line behind the other customers, before turning back to your duties of cleaning and serving. After a few minutes, while you’re placing a plate full of food in front of a customer, you hear Kimmy call out to you while walking with her mother towards the door.

“Bye, Angie!”

Looking over with a bright smile on your lips, you wave towards the young girl, who is already excitedly waving goodbye to you.

“Bye, Kimmy!”

God, you adored that sweet girl.

Once the door shuts behind them, you turn to grab your cloth from the bucket filled with your cleaning mixture, ringing it out before Richie suddenly yells, like he usually does.

“What is wrong with you fucking jackoffs?! We’re down six dozen pepper, five Greeks with ravioli. Let’s go!”

You find him facing the kitchen door when you glance over, wondering what he could possibly be yelling about now.

Sydney opens the door, staring at Richie with a barely contained look of frustration hidden behind a strained smile.

“We are down that because you are not firing.”

“Chefs, chill.”

Carmen tries his best to cool the tension between Sydney and Richie, but it was impossible whenever the two got into it. Two hard-headed people who believed their way was the right way.

You give a small shake of your head, heading over towards a table that has just been emptied, using the cloth in your hands to wipe the surface of the table. You can still hear Richie’s voice over the crowd around you.

“Are you outta your mind? I’m firing like a fuckin’ maniac-! Cousin, don’t tell me to chill. We got a real-”

Carmen just seems to ignore what Richie was telling him, looking over towards Sydney as he continues to work through the chaos.

“Waiting on those peppers, chef.”

Just like clockwork, Sydney and Richie begin to talk over one another, yelling at each other over firing the food as if it would truly solve the problem brewing between them.

You had learned to work around their arguing, dropping the cloth back into the solution as you moved to grab the sandwich that Carmen had just wrapped, taking a quick glance at who it needed to go to.

When you look at Carmen, you take in the frustration that slowly begins to boil at the yelling around him, his eyes flashing up to send you an exasperated look. Which you give a soft chuckle to before turning and heading towards the customer with their sandwich.

“Chef! Lower your voice, please! Thank you.” Carmen seemed to finally hit his breaking point, looking over towards Sydney to address her before turning towards the crowd, “So sorry, guys. Thank you for your patience.”

Marcus suddenly appears, asking who took his trays, just adding to an already overstimulating conversation. Sydney turns and talks to him, letting him know that she went ahead and prepped his trays for him, letting him know that they were in the oven.

People talk over each other: Richie telling a customer where the ketchup was, Carmen still asking for peppers, Richie dealing with the next customer in line before shouting the order out to the kitchen.

Heading back behind the counter, you watch as Carmen looks up at Richie, telling him to stop shouting and to press the button.

“Sydney! Head in the game! Are you kidding me?”

“Learn how to use a fucking computer-!”

While Carmen turns to deal with Sydney, asking if she was good, you move to stand beside Richie, nudging his side with your elbow, quickly taking his attention from Sydney and Carmen.

“Use the computer; it’s better than just yelling the orders out. It tells the kitchen what’s needed.”

“But the system-”

“This helps the system, Richie.”

You look up at him with a raised brow, watching as his eyes stare between you and the computer with a grumbled sound before his attention is taken back towards the conversation between Sydney and Carmen, shoving himself into the conversation with a sarcastic ‘thank you’.

Richie could be so childish sometimes.

Rolling your eyes at his action, you head over to grab the next sandwich, hearing Sydney talk about the chits before heading back into the kitchen.

The chaos of the front continues again, this time without arguing, as you weave through the customers to deliver the sandwich.

—

Another week at The Beef.

You found yourself beginning to relish the soft mornings, everyone still trying to wake themselves up, prepping for the service where things would undoubtedly amp up between customers and workers.

After finishing cleaning the front, a task that you had begun to get faster and faster at every day, you found yourself standing in Marcus’s station while he prepped the dough for the day, looking over all of the pictures that he had plastered on the walls around him.

They were all beautiful desserts, clearly taken from a book, and your fingers brush over one that takes your full attention. It was a pink cake-like thing with a fresh strawberry placed on top. It looked complex, but definitely delicious.

“Getting ideas?”

You ask Marcus softly, finally turning to face the man as he sets the finished tray into the rack before starting on another one, watching as he nods. His fingers move in a practiced precision while his eyes drift over the wall.

“Thought I could try something new.”

His response is quickly followed by Carmen’s voice as he enters the restaurant, greeting everyone with a good morning while heading towards the lockers.

“Morning, chef.”

He says to Marcus, who responds with a simple ‘chef’, before realizing who said it.

“What you doing here so early?”

“I could not sleep.”

You hear the familiar creaks of the lockers after Carmen’s response, a slight twinge of worry rolling through you at his answer, but nobody else seems to question it, or they just don’t speak up about it.

“Oh. Getting flashbacks.”

Your gaze finally drifts over towards where Carmen is standing, tying his apron around his waist, his own eyes staring at the wall with a sort of tainted remembrance. You carefully move around Marcus to stand beside Carmen, giving him a gentle smile.

“Mornin’, Carmen.” Your words are soft, almost whispered to him as his gaze flicks down to meet yours for only a few seconds before they move back up to the wall covered in pictures.

“Morning, Peaches.” His voice matches yours in softness, like a gentle secret shared just between the two of you.

“I copied them outta your books. I mean, if it’s too much, I could take them down.”

Marcus’ words interrupt the quiet greeting between the two of you, unknowing as he continues to knead the dough in front of him.

“No, no. It looks good.”

Your eyes drift up, content with just watching Carmen as he takes in the images of his past, the look in his eyes as if he were reliving every moment with every picture he glances at, his hands moving in familiar motions to hook his two hand towels on the string of his apron.

“The colors are wild. Gets me thinkin’.”

Sydney suddenly walks in front of the two of you towards the lockers as Marcus speaks, greeting Carmen and you on her way with quick words and a nod of her head. Carmen gives her a quick glance before his eyes lock on a specific photo.

“You know it takes, uh, 12 people to prep that?”

Your and Marcus’ gazes move towards the photo he was talking about, the two of you taking in the intricacies of the dish while Carmen continues talking, his tone filled with reminiscence.

“I plated that every night. There’s four sets of plums in that.”

Marcus, at the story Carmen was willing to tell, momentarily forgets his prep duty as he turns to stare at Carmen, crossing his arms against his chest.

“What do you mean?”

Carmen’s words take your own intrigue, your gaze slowly moving between him and the photo as you try to imagine making such a gorgeous-looking dessert.

You knew you didn’t have the finesse for that.

“There’s, uh, plum wine-”

“Plum wine?” Marcus interrupts.

“Oh, it’s delicious. It’s really sweet.” You respond with a slight smile tugging at your lips, your own memory of your mother bringing home such a delicacy one year flashing in your mind.

“Yeah, it’s a sweet wine from Japan,” Carmen says while glancing between you and Marcus before continuing his story, “You take a shit ton of bottles of it, and you just boil the fuck out of it until it becomes a syrup.”

When you glance back up at Carmen, you take in his eyes as they stay focused on the little photo, a slightly lost look in them as he remembers every step of making the dessert. His voice continues, filling your ears.

“You know, it takes hours, two shifts, two different people just watching that shit.”

Your attention, though reluctant, is taken by Sydney as she walks back in front of you and Carmen. You turn towards Carmen as he keeps going into every detail about the dessert, practically memorizing the look in his eyes before turning and following after Sydney.

“Syd.”

You call out softly, the woman slowing a bit for you to catch up, looking over her shoulder at you and following you with her gaze as you move to stand beside her, her lips quirking into a small smile at the sight of you.

“Huh? Oh, hey, Angel.”

Getting to her station, you stand beside her as she rolls out her knife bag, checking over all of her knives to make sure that they are nice and sharp for the day ahead, Carmen’s voice continuing to drift through the kitchen as he rambles on about the dessert.

“The tickets still coming through the system okay?”

It was a new process for the Beef, something that was tested last week to make sure that service ran smoother than ever.

“Yeah,” She says while beginning to walk back over towards where Carmen and Marcus were still talking. You follow after her, “As long as Richie actually puts the order into it.”

“I’m still trying to beat it into his head, promise.”

A hum of a chuckle escapes you, nodding in agreement as you watch her foot nudge over a step ladder before standing on it to reach for something on the top shelf. Carmen’s words continue beside you as he talks about something needing to be the consistency of a Haribo gummy bear and nobody aside from one chef being able to do it.

“With veal fat.”

Sydney buts herself into the conversation between Carmen and Marcus, your gaze drifting over to the two men as they look to stare at Sydney.

“What?” Marcus asks, the confusion clear in his tone.

Sydney stops reaching towards the top of the shelf as she turns towards Marcus, “Veal fat congeals when it’s cold, so…”

“Yeah. No, that’s…” Carmen nods along to Sydney’s words, “That’s right.”

“So fire. Fuck, man. Mission accomplished.”

You laugh a little at Marcus’ words, giving a small shake of your head at his obvious excitement at the talk of the dessert, while Carmen agrees with his sentiment. Sydney just goes back to reaching for the top shelf.

You take the conversation shifting to Marcus wanting to help Sydney reach for it and Sydney promptly declining, as your sign to head back towards the front and finish your and Richie’s prep. While you turn, you give one last glance towards Carmen, taking one last look to observe his eyes.

Those blue, staring at the picture, your brows furrow slightly at the look that was hidden beneath them, like the memory of the dessert wasn’t as good as he portrayed it to be.

But the look in his eyes shifts when he turns towards Sydney and asks her to talk in his office. Blue eyes glance over Sydney’s shoulder at you briefly, noticing the furrow of your brow, the observant look in your eyes.

As if you could tell the things he tried to keep hidden.

The contact breaks when he leads Sydney towards his office, and you turn to head back towards the front.

You can’t let go of the far-off look in his eyes, though.

—

You’re prepping sauce bottles in the kitchen when you hear Carmen call for everybody, your eyes glancing over towards Tina, who gives you a shrug before wiping her hands on her apron and heading towards the sound of Carmen’s voice, with you following quickly behind.

Everybody takes their seat in the dining room, you sit to the left of Tina, being right beside Carmen when he walks in with a cardboard box, which he promptly places onto the table. Sydney moved behind him to stand off to his side.

The shop phone begins to ring.

“Okay! Everybody, go ahead. Grab one.”

You peer over the side of the box, finding blue aprons that match Carmen’s and Sydney’s instead of the white aprons that everybody else wore.

Murmuring fills the room as everybody looks into the box, Sweeps being the first one to grab an apron, with you grabbing the next one, tilting it in your hands as you observe it.

The material was nice, really nice.

You liked the blue over the white anyway.

“Hey, uh, Carm, the phone ringing.”

Marcus says while grabbing aprons and tossing them down to the people who can’t quite reach the box. Carmen acknowledges it but doesn’t go to answer it as he prompts Manny and Angel to get an apron as well.

“We’re gonna look like a team, right?”

Tina stands a little after Carmen’s words to look into the box, but doesn’t reach to grab one, shaking her head while sitting back down.

“Mine is better, Jeff.”

The phone continues to ring in the background, but it’s obvious that Carmen is ignoring it for the time being.

“Aight, I’m gonna hand it over to Chef Sydney in just a second, but first, uh…”

You lean back in the chair you were sitting in as Carmen glances between everybody sitting at the table, thinking over what he wanted to say.

“Okay, look, I’m not trying to be an asshole and change your guys’ system, okay? I don’t- I don’t wanna fuck it up. I don’t wanna meddle with it or whatever the fuck, alright? I want to… harness it.”

Everybody sits silently at the table, focused on Carmen’s words as he speaks with his hands, something you’ve noticed him doing quite often when he’s trying to convey a point.

You felt a little out of place, having come into the restaurant after all of the systems had been in place, so you had no true qualms with changing them.

“Seriously, I wanna organize it,” Carmen continues through the silence, “We can’t keep operating like this. We got a C! A ‘C’ stands for chaos.”

You and Sydney nod along to his words.

“That can’t happen again! And that’s why we’re gonna start operating like a French kitchen. That means there’s gonna be a chain of command. This was developed by Escoffier, and I think-”

“Oh, Scoffi-gay! Love that dude.”

There’s a light laughter that rings across the table at Richie’s sudden appearance and interruption, but you just give a small sigh and unconsciously mess with the strings of your new apron still resting in your hands.

“What’s up? I don’t know what’s going on.”

Carmen stares over at Richie, messing with the spoon that he had carried into the room with him.

“We’re implementing a French brigade.”

“Mm! Got it. Cool. Yeah.”

Richie responds before imitating the sound of a buzzer, setting his coffee cup beside you as he stares into the box of aprons, grabbing one, only to drop it back into the box.

Your eyes follow as Richie stares at the aprons with a resounding ‘fuck that’ before grabbing his coffee and heading out of the room, presumably towards the register to get his prep done, but you know it was occasionally wishful thinking and that he liked to mess around.

Ebraheim suddenly starts saying no multiple times, clearly against whatever was happening.

“I was in a brigade once.” He reasons out.

“What happened?” Tina asks while leaning forward a little towards the table to get a better look at Ebraheim.

“Many people died.”

His answer causes you to glance over at the older man with a raised eyebrow before looking back over at Carmen, finding an exasperated look on his face at everything that is happening.

“Okay, this is- it’s gonna be different. This is what real kitchens do. This is what real teams do. Everybody takes care of their own station. They keep their own side of the street clean. Okay?”

Silence is what greets Carmy at his question, the only sound being the phone that is still ringing, but when he makes eye contact with you when he looks over the table, you give him a reassuring smile and a nod.

He nods back, clearly thankful for some type of response.

“I am gonna go get that phone, um, but you are in good hands. Take it away, Chef. Thank you, guys.”

Your eyes follow as Carmen leaves the room to head towards his office, remaining on him until he turns the corner and he’s no longer visible. Sydney starting to talk is what finally brings your attention to her, you could see the obvious nerves that racked her body as she moved to stand in front of the table.

“As you may have heard, we are implementing a French brigade. We all heard that, right, so, uh…”

You smile at her when she looks over the table, and a small thumbs-up, which she takes with her own nervous smile and a nod while grabbing the little notebook that she always kept in her apron.

“Carmy is the head chef guy. He’s the chef de cuisine, or the CDC. Uh, I would be- I am… I am the sous-”

“Like hierarchy.”

Ebraheim interrupts Sydney, your gaze flicking over towards the man before looking back at Sydney when she responds in a slightly breathy voice.

“More just like a regular chill-archy, uh… It’s more about dividing labor.”

You can feel everyone’s confusion the longer that Sydney talks, her words becoming a nervous ramble, as if she already knew this could potentially backfire and crumble.

“Because I’m the sous, right? I just, uh, follow orders even if it leads to tension and chaos and resentment and ultimately doesn’t work. But, yeah, that’s what I do.”

Sydney’s gaze shifts over towards you, flicking through her little book as if searching for the page with your name. “Um, Angel, you are really our only server, so the role that instantly goes to you is the Chef de Rang. Or, like, um, the captain of the servers if we ever somehow get more.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You nod in agreement to your position, even if it was handed to you by default, you knew you would try your hardest to fulfil your role. Sydney takes your nod of acceptance with a grateful look before she turns to address Tina.

The conversation continues: Tina is labeled the garde manger, Ebraheim is labeled the chef de partie, and Marcus is labeled the patissier. But your attention slowly wavers as Marcus begins talking about bread and making his own cake, your gaze drifting over towards the door that Carmen had walked through.

Something tugs at you, pulling you towards the kitchen, so while the others keep talking, you silently stand and head towards the doorway between the two. While you walk, you take off the white apron, setting it on the counter before pulling on the blue apron, tying it around your waist.

You stop, though, as Richie walks in from the kitchen with an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips, his gaze instantly finding you before drifting to the blue apron you now sport.

“Ugh, not you too, Angel.”

He grumbles while grabbing the coffee cup that he had abandoned by the register, taking a large chug before tossing it into the trash can placed behind the counter.

“I think they look nice.”

You respond with a soft smile, barely missing Richie’s mumbled copy of your words, his pitch heightening to match your voice. You send a slight glare over your shoulder, to which he just responds by raising his hands in a surrendering motion.

You don’t say anything further; you just push yourself into the kitchen, heading towards Carmen’s office. Nothing but silence greets you. You knew you needed to come up with an excuse for needing to be there, knowing the ‘I just have a hunch you’re not okay’ might be a bit too straightforward and uncomfortable.

Bleach.

The store needed bleach. That could work.

And then you could segue into just asking how he is.

It’s perfect. You turn the corner-

“Carmen? We need to order more bleach-”

You pause at the sight before you: Carmen was sitting down with his curled fist pressed against his chest, the look that flashed across his face as if he were in pain, the slight hitch when he breathed, his lips parted as if he couldn’t quite catch a breath from just breathing through his nose.

Something was wrong, more than you were expecting.

Carefully walking over, you hover your hand over Carmen’s shoulder, not knowing if he would be okay with touch when he was like this.

“Carmen.” You speak softly, ignoring the closed-off look that he flashes your way, the instant shift of his face as he tries to pretend like everything is okay, “Put your head between your legs.”

“What? I’m fine, Peach-”

Carmen’s voice is slightly hoarse, the confusion and reluctance obvious in his tone as he stares up at you, moving his body to go and stand.

“Trust me… Please.”

Your words stop him. They were a gentle plea as you looked into his eyes, taking in the hesitance that filled the sea of blue, the fight that was beginning to brew as he stared into yours.

Carmen found himself hating how easily your words convinced him, how gentle they were towards him, the look in your eyes holding nothing near the judgement that he would expect from the others.

Just… trust.

He wants to fight, wants to leave, but before he notices it, he’s moving his body to your request, bending at the waist as he hangs his head between his legs.

Slowly, your hands move to his arms, ignoring the little flinch that occurs as you guide them to hang limp beside his body, before your right hand begins to rub gentle circles against his back.

“Take deep breaths.”

He does, although shakily… he does.

And you stand there silently, understanding words would do no good in the moment, continuing to gently rub at his back until his breathing begins to even out.

His back pushes against your hand as he goes to sit up, causing it to fall limp against your side as you watch him, his heart rate no longer racing as it once was.

It scares him.

It sends his heart racing for a different reason.

“I need to run an errand.” 

He stands from the chair, his hands moving to grip his jacket from the nearby hook as he avoids your gaze. He wanted out of the confined space of the office, needing to go out and breathe fresh air, his movements jittery from just how much he craved to leave.

“Carmen-”

You watch as he practically runs out of the office, things clattering from how quickly he moves around corners, leaving you standing there alone, wondering if you had truly done the right thing after all.

Carmen paused in his search for tape at the sight of red staining one of his fingertips, the paper forgotten in the storage closet amongst the buckets and cleaning supplies as he headed to the nearby customer restroom.

He wastes no time once he’s inside, hitting the soap pump more times than necessary, filling his palm with the liquid while his other hand yanks the hot water faucet on.

Staring down at his hand, specifically the finger that held the sight, he begins to move in the motions of washing his hands, making sure to specifically focus on his one finger, desperate to get the blood off of his skin.

He scrubs and he scrubs and he scrubs.

The hot water stings his hands when he shoves them under the running faucet, but he doesn’t quite find himself caring at the moment, just watching as the suds drift down the faucet, revealing his skin and nails underneath.

Clean, like nothing had ever happened.

But his brain knew.

He had hurt you, whether it was intentional or not. His anger had gotten the better of him, and in turn, you were caught in the middle of it.

Carmen couldn’t understand why the thought affected him so much- the sharp pang that settled deep in his chest.

Turning off the faucet, he shakes the excess water off of his hands in the sink, and finally flicks his gaze up from his hands to look into his eyes in the mirror, taking in a few deep breaths. He reaches up, running his slightly wet fingers through his curls as he lets out a huff.

The memory was front and center through the waves of dying frustration and anger. The soft call of his name before he completely blew up, the look on your face as you pushed at his chest to keep him away from Richie, the concern and worry and the edge of fear that flashed every time he blinked.

He hated it.

Hated how the fact that he had scared you and injured you hurt more than any cut he had ever sustained from a knife.

Carmen lets out another huff before taking a deep breath, running his fingers through his curls one more time to steady himself and his thoughts.

Trying his hardest to push the memory towards the back of his mind, he rips off the paper towel from the nearby dispenser and dries his hands, tossing the crumpled thing into the trash can once he’s done.

He gives himself one last glance at the mirror, one last deep breath, before he pushes the door open and heads back to the supply closet to grab the paper and continue to look for tape.

The tape was deep in the back, hidden behind some cleaning supplies. He tears off four little pieces, placing them over the corners of the paper, which he still couldn’t believe was in his hands.

As he makes his way towards the window to regretfully tape it up, his eyes glance over towards the spot where the fight had taken place. He could still hear him and Richie yelling at each other. Quickly, he tears his gaze away, pushing down the paper into the bottom corner of one of the windows.

Maybe people wouldn’t look down there and see it.

While he’s smoothing out the paper, a hand comes up to the window, gently knocking on it to gain his attention. His eyes glance up, and his heart skips one singular beat at the sight of who is standing on the other side of the glass, smiling down at him.

Uncle Jimmy.

“Shit…”

—

You hiss softly in pain at the sharp sting when Tina begins to wipe at the cut with a disinfectant towelette found in the first aid kit.

“Oh, hush.”

The older woman says with a roll of her eyes while she moves from a wiping motion to a dabbing motion, but there’s no true heat behind her words as she tosses the towelette into the trash once she’s done, digging for a band-aid that isn’t too big or too small.

The bleeding had slowed to barely a dribble after pressing the tissue on it for the time it took Tina to find the first-aid kit in the staff restroom and place it on the station beside you while you leaned against it.

The cut was small, Tina had figured out after cleaning away some of the blood, but it only bled as it did because of how it was positioned on your temple.

Carmen’s nail must have perfectly nicked one of the many veins there.

Tina is careful and precise as she tapes the bandage to your temple, making sure that it completely covers the wound and smoothing it down with her thumbs.

“There.”

She hands you a wet paper towel to wipe off the blood that had dried on your cheek before tossing the band-aid wrapper and closing the first-aid kit, standing in front of you as her hands settle against her hip. As your eyes glance over her stance, it instantly reminds you of how your mom would stand when she’s about to interrogate you over something you've done.

The disappointed look of a mother was in her eyes, and you quickly glance down at your feet under the weight of such a stare. You gently wipe the blood away, giving your cheeks a few swipes with the material and hoping you got it all before also tossing the paper towel into the nearby trash.

“Thank you, Ms. Tina.”

You bring a hand up to gently run a finger over the band-aid, the stinging pain soothing into a gentle thrum now that it’s been cleaned and bandaged. Tina doesn’t return your words, just continuing to stare at you before her arms move to cross against her chest for only a few moments of silence.

“Why’d you get between them?”

The sudden question caused you to pause, your eyes moving up to glance into her own as you took the time to think it over.

Why did you get between them?

The fight wasn’t something you should’ve gotten in the middle of. Two men who were definitely stronger than you, fueled by nothing but anger towards the other.

Sydney shouldn’t have even gotten in the middle of it either.

But you two were the first to act.

Maybe it was because you were the closest, maybe it was because you never really liked fighting, maybe it was because you hated the sight of the two men you had grown close to in different ways going at each other's throats.

You quickly push that last one aside, knowing that you would never voice such a thought to anyone, lest you want Carmen to find out about such thoughts.

The kitchen crew was chatty about such things; that much was clear after the few days you had been working here.

Your hand falls from your temple to rest limply against your side, fingers beginning to gently mess with the edge of the apron you wear, a movement to keep your hands busy while you think of what you actually want to say to Tina.

Finally, you settle on an answer, one that seems better than the others.

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

One of Tina’s brows raises at your words, her eyes glancing between yours and the bandaged cut on your temple.

“So you put yourself in the crossfire?”

“I guess I wasn’t really thinking when I did it.”

Your words were chuckled out, trying to lighten whatever had tensed in the air between the two of you, but Tina doesn’t seem to find the humor in it as she keeps her arms crossed and her gaze sharp on you.

“Angel.” She sighs, adjusting her stance, shaking her head before meeting your gaze once again and pointing at you, “Don’t pull that shit again.”

Tina doesn’t give you any time to react to the words that left her lips, the concerned edge to them that you didn’t expect from the older woman, before she turns and heads towards her station to begin her daily prep.

Your eyes stay locked on her for a few seconds longer, digesting her words before you push yourself off of the counter, knowing that Tina had officially ended the conversation in her own type of way. Now it was time for you to do your own duties, starting with cleaning the front, especially the spot where the health inspector had placed that abomination.

The disgusting mixture of napkins and oil.

You shiver at the thought of it.

Heading towards the front, you pause when you hear Carmen talking to a voice you don’t remember ever hearing before. Slowly, you push open the door, not wanting to potentially disturb their conversation.

“I’ll get you the money, Jimmy. Alright? I promise you.”

The conversation ends with the slight creak of the door between the front and the kitchen, both of their gazes looking over to find the source of the noise. Carmen’s shoulders tense when he sees it's you, the bandage on your temple a sick reminder of what he had done.

The other man, Jimmy- you’re guessing his name is- just looks back over towards Carmen while clearing his throat.

“Call if you change your mind.”

The older man says to finish the conversation before standing from his seat, adjusting the coat he wore while making his way towards the front. Jimmy glances over at you, taking in your form as you move a little further into the room, nodding at you once before leaving the shop without another word.

You watch as Jimmy walks out before your gaze drifts over towards Carmen, who is pointedly avoiding your gaze. Even as he stands and walks past you towards the kitchen, even as you turn to follow him with your eyes.

“Carmen?”

You call out, so gently and full of worry, that it stops Carmen right in his tracks. But he can’t turn to look at you, see the bandage like damning evidence that he couldn’t be around nice things such as yourself.

“I have things to do.”

Is all Carmen says before pushing his way into the kitchen, the swinging door the only evidence that he had been in the room at all. Your shoulders droop ever so slightly as you continue staring at the door, a slight ache bullies its way into your chest at his obvious ignoring.

But you try your hardest to push past it.

And instead focus on the work that needed to be done.

—

You had scrubbed the spot on the counter countless times, making sure to use bleach and hot water before moving on to your other tasks. Wiping the tables, sweeping and mopping the floors, motions that had become familiar after days upon days of doing them.

It was almost time to open the shop by the time you had finished, just enough time for the floor to dry.

As you push the mop bucket filled with dirty water towards the sinks in the kitchen, you pause when you see Richie kneeling beside the lockers, his body stock still as he stares at something on the floor. His focus was so intent on it that it almost worried you.

“Drop something?”

Your soft words cause his shoulders to jump, and he quickly glances over his shoulder to stare at you with widened eyes. The look on his face almost reminds you of a child who had been caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

“Angel, shit! Don’t fuckin’ sneak up on me like that.”

Richie stands after grabbing the ruler that had originally dropped, hopefully keeping your attention from the note he had found on the floor. Your eyes thankfully follow him instead of staying near the leg of the lockers.

“We should put a fuckin’ bell on you or some shit.”

Your laughter echoes through the once quiet kitchen, shaking your head at Richie’s words with a smile tugging at your lips.

“When would I have any fun then?”

“Haha, very funny, Angel.”

Richie follows you with his eyes as you begin to make your way towards the sink with the mop bucket, setting it to the side to be dumped later on in the night. He moves to stand in the doorway, using his body to hopefully cover any sight of the note.

You turn once you’re sure that the mop bucket won’t go anywhere and make your way back towards him, nodding towards the front with the smile still on your lips.

“Come on, it’s almost time to open-”

“Shit, Angel, what the fuck happened?”

Richie interrupts, his gaze focused not on your eyes, but instead on the bandage placed against your temple. Your hand instinctively goes up, fingers tracing against the material of it before you give a slight shrug of your shoulders.

“It happened during yours and Carmen’s little fight. His nail caught on my temple. But I’m-”

“You got hurt?! That fucker hurt you?!”

“Richie…” You catch his attention and stare up at him, your gaze turning reassuring at the sudden flare of worry that had overtaken him, “I’m fine. It was an accident. And you’re not innocent either, mister; you got into it with him.”

Richie holds his tongue at your last words, realizing how right you were, a huff of breath escaping his nose as he glances away for a few seconds before glancing back at you. His eyes flick between the bandage and your reassuring gaze.

“You’re okay?” His voice had softened ever so slightly.

“I’m fine. Now let’s go. We’re about to open.”

You and Richie stare into each other’s eyes for just a few moments longer, as if he were truly seeing if you were alright, before he gives a nod at your gaze and follows you out towards the front.

—

“Uh, can I get hands, please?”

You hear Sydney call out from the kitchen, popping in while Richie deals with an upset customer. The rush had become another thing that you had found yourself getting used to, going from one customer to the next.

You almost found yourself thriving in it, the opposite of what you had initially thought when you first started.

“Thanks, Angel.”

Sydney says to you as you grab the plates from the pass; you respond with a quick ‘You’re welcome!’, as she instantly goes back to calling orders out to Ebraheim and Tina. Your eyes flick over the kitchen, pausing as you make eye contact with Carmen, who is cooking instead of running the pass like usual, but you find that his attention is on you as he stirs something in a pan.

You stare at him for only a second before you send him a soft smile. He doesn’t return it, though; instead, he quickly looks back down at the pan in front of him, his stirring quickening in its pace.

With everything that has happened between the two of you just today, you can’t help but wonder if you have done something wrong.

Was he upset that you had stepped into the middle of the fight?

While stepping back to the front, placing the plate in front of the customer, you know that you need to figure it out.

You don’t think you can continue to go on like everything was normal without having Carmen act like he used to. The slight nervous looks, the gentle way he spoke to you, the nickname only he used with you.

You never thought you would crave being called ‘peaches’ before moving to Chicago.

But here you are.

Craving it from a man whom you’ve only known for a few days.

Your momma would call you crazy, and your father would think you were silly.

But you liked the way Carmen was with you.

You didn’t know if you liked Carmen, but…

Would it truly be such a bad thing?

Later on in the night, Richie had left to take a smoke break, leaving you alone with the front to juggle by yourself. You were quick to answer the call for hands from Sydney, while also making sure that you took the time to check out any customer in the front. 

You were glad that Richie didn’t take very long smoke breaks.

And that the rush had died down to only a few customers.

Your attention is taken from the customer you had been talking to after dropping off their order when Carmen suddenly emerges from the kitchen, your eyes following his form as he steps outside, where Richie was.

He didn’t look your way the entire time.

It wasn’t long before Richie suddenly emerged from outside, fixing the towel on his apron as he made his way back to the cash register while wiping his hands on his towel once it was in place.

Now would be your chance to finally confront Carmen about the day.

“I’m going on break.”

You call out to Richie as you pass by him, missing the confused look he sends your way because of how focused you were while making your way to the front door.

“Angel, you don’t even smoke-”

The rest of his sentence is cut off as the door shuts beside you with a small thud, the crisp night air instantly hitting you as you begin to glance around, finding Carmen off to your right, looking down at his phone.

“Carmen.”

Your voice shocks him, his shoulders jumping a little at the sudden intrusion and his grip tightening around his phone as his gaze snaps up to look at you. He pockets his phone, finally turning his attention to you after everything that had happened.

“Shit, Peach.”

He breathes out, and something in you sparks at hearing the nickname again, a little flame that settles deep within you.

But you don’t have time to think about the consequences of such a reaction to his simple word.

“Did I do something wrong? Because if I did, then you can just tell me and I can-”

“Wait, hold on, wait. Peaches, the fuck are you talking about? You didn’t do anything wrong?”

He sounded more confused at the end than anything. Your body moves to stand a little closer to him near the right side of the building, but still giving him space.

“Then why are you acting as if I did?”

Your words cause him to pause, a hand instinctively reaching up to run over his curls in a familiar, nervous move as he releases a small breath, leaning back against the brick wall of the shop.

“You didn’t…” He takes in a deep breath of air between his words, his gaze moving to stare ahead of him, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your brows furrow in confusion at his words, slowly move to lean against the brick wall beside him, your own gaze moving across the street to stare at the empty windows. Your hands gently begin to mess with the apron you are wearing.

A tense type of silence overtakes the two of you, standing beside each other as the sounds of the city can be heard in the background, the muffled sounds of the shop continuing behind you.

“I’m sorry.”

Carmen suddenly breaths out, voice softer than it had been all day as he keeps his gaze in front of him, his hand slowly falling limp against his side as his own fingers begin to mess with the towel hooked on his apron.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You repeat back to him in your own soft tone, your gaze finally moving to stare over at him, taking in his side profile, the way his once tense shoulders gradually relax as he takes in your words. Slowly, his face turns to meet yours. You notice how his eyes flick to the bandage, still prominent against your temple, before they stare into your own.

“I’m sorry.”

He repeats, his tone of voice more sure in his wording, and you realize he’s apologizing for the cut against your temple. Your lips quirk into a gentle smile, giving a slight shrug of your shoulders as you keep your eyes locked on his.

“Occupational hazard.”

Your hummed words cause a slight chuckle to finally escape his lips, the sound familiar, and you accept it with open arms. Your heart skips a beat at the fact that you were the cause of such a noise from him.

The silence returns between you, but it’s not as tense and thick as it once was. The air had lifted into something lighter, something that you had grown used to between you and Carmen over the past few days of working for him.

You were glad that it was back.

Carmen’s eyes had that same blue, gentle look that he always directed your way, no longer avoiding your gaze or full of the frustration that had plagued them earlier that day.

The smile you directed his way had softened into a look he had become familiar with seeing. Even with the band-aid tainting your face, your smile and the way your eyes stared at him were a welcoming sight after all of his worried thoughts.

In the back of his mind, though, he didn’t know if he had the heart to tell you that he realized the cigarettes found by the health inspector actually weren’t Richie’s.

That he had taken them out of his apron pocket while the two of you had cleaned last night, setting them on the small counter by the stove while your back was turned, sweeping.

Carmen thinks he couldn’t bear the thought of your eyes changing now that he had gotten to see them again.

The shop was packed as you weaved and bobbed around groups of customers throughout the front.

You can hear Richie taking orders behind you as you take on the duties of running food out to customers and cleaning up after them.

Even amid the stress of keeping as many customers as possible happy, your smile remains, and you nod and converse with some of them as politely as you can.

Over the past few days, you’ve even had repeat customers who knew your smile by heart.

An older man named Bobby, a middle-aged woman named Linda, and a little girl named Kimmy.

Those three were your favorites.

They didn’t mind when your Southern mannerisms slipped; no matter how many times Richie tried to get it through to you, it still came out sometimes.

Bobby was currently the one you were talking to as you served a nearby table.

“How have you been, Mr. Bobby- enjoy your food.” You smile at the customers before turning and collecting the trash on the table in front of Bobby. You carefully stack the plates and set them onto the seat before grabbing the rag you kept attached to your apron, wiping the crumbs and grease.

“Good, Angel. Say, they not workin’ ya’ too hard? I’ll give ‘em a piece of my mind if they are.”

You chuckle softly in response. The customers even started picking up on your nickname from Richie, especially since he would have to yell it out over the gaggle of customers during a rush.

You barely even heard your real name anymore, but… You didn’t mind.

“No, Mr. Bobby. I’m being treated just fine.” You put the rag back on your apron and grab the plates from the seat, balancing them on one hand while the other gently pats Bobby’s shoulder when you pass by him, “Enjoy, Mr. Bobby!”

“Only cause it’s from you, Angel!”

You smile over your shoulder at the older man before making your way towards the kitchen, passing behind Richie as he argues a little with a customer.

“These prices are outrageous!”

“Pay ‘em or leave, fucker!”

You roll your eyes slightly at the interaction while pushing the door open, ‘Corner!’ leaving your lips as you do so to head back to Manny and Angel, smiling at the two dishwashers when you place the stack of plates into the dirty dish bucket.

The two grin back.

“Hands! Somebody fucking answer me!”

And a bell dings.

Your eyes snapped over towards where Carmen was, a small sound escaping you as you instantly began to make your way over towards him. You must’ve missed his call while you were talking to Bobby.

“I’m here! Sorry, Carmen!”

You take the plate from the pass, glancing over at the ticket for whom it should go, giving one last look and an apologetic smile to Carmen. He grabs a paper wrap for another sandwich, looking at you through his lashes as his hands move on autopilot.

His voice instantly quiets.

“Thanks, Peaches.”

Before he turns and talks to Marcus, his voice rises back to that same loud tone he used when trying to control the pass. Even when the others ignore him.

You watch for only a second longer before turning and heading to the front, keeping the sandwich balanced in one hand while the other nudges Richie out of the way. He always got enthralled in the stories he told, and that included using his whole body to tell them.

“Behind, Richie.”

“Fuck! Scared the shit outta me, Angel.”

“Wouldn’t have scared you if you were paying attention.”

Your smile stretches as you barely miss Richie’s hand reaching for you, walking quicker towards the customer, hearing Richie’s sarcastic laughter behind you.

“Very funny, Angel!” He calls out to you.

And you just look over your shoulder, grinning at him in response before turning back to the customer and asking if they need anything else.

—

The tables were a mess by the time the shop closed, covered in grease and sauces and crumbs. You tried to clean throughout the day, but there was only so much you could do during service, being the only server.

While wiping the tables with a clean rag you had dipped in your solution of bleach and hot water, you heard the muffled conversations of everyone in the kitchen, knowing they too were cleaning at Carmen’s orders. Richie was being loud, as usual.

Your eyes glance over towards Ebraheim, watching for a few moments as he tries to mess with the ice cream machine that you never really noticed was there.

Wait… y’all served ice cream?

Brows furrowing in slight confusion, you watch as the man huffs before making his way to the kitchen after the machine does nothing.

“The ice cream machine is broken!”

You hear Ebraheim say to everyone from the door frame before turning and heading back towards the machine, with Richie soon following after him, a few things in his hands.

As the two begin to mess with the ice cream machine again, your focus goes back to the tables. You had a long way to go.

—

One by one, the others clocked out using their punch cards.

You had just finished mopping the front, the tables having finally been cleaned and the floor as clean as it was going to get.

Carefully pushing the mop bucket into the kitchen, you notice how quiet it is now that nobody is there, your eyes glancing over the empty kitchen before it freezes on Carmen gripping onto a small detergent bucket and a clean rag.

He froze at the sight of you, too.

“Shit, Peaches. You’re still here?”

He sets the bucket onto an empty milk crate, keeping his gaze locked on you even as he does so.

In the back of your mind, you find yourself liking his voice when it isn’t loud like during service. When it was soft, just between the two of you. But you quickly will the thought away as you adjust your grip on the mop handle.

“I just finished with the front.”

You glance between him and the bucket, instantly understanding what he was doing.

“Want me to help?” You offer softly.

Carmen looks at you, really looks. He takes in the way you hold the mop bucket, the way you constantly adjust your stance from being on your feet all day, the tired look in your eyes that he could tell you were trying to hide.

“Thanks, Peaches. But I can’t pay you overtime.”

You just give him a look, a silent thing that shows him you’re planning something. Before he can say anything, you push the mop bucket off towards the sinks and then move towards the punch clock, grabbing your little card and clocking out.

Carmen’s brow raises when you place your card back into its slot, turning to face him again while placing your hands on your hips.

“You don’t need to be here any longer.” You say with a soft smile quickly beginning to tug at the corner of your lips, “So… tell me what to do.”

Carmen stood frozen for a few silent seconds, staring at you and your offer with a confused gaze. Here you were, offering your free time… just to help him.

He gulps down the feelings that began to bubble in his gut.

“Yeah, um, okay. I’ll wipe the counters and appliances while you sweep.”

You nod, accepting the task while heading over towards the broom. Carmen watches you for a bit, noting how willing you are to do overtime without pay. He easily brushes it aside in his mind, telling himself that you would have done it for anyone, that was just who you were.

The gentle brush of the bristles against the ground and the dripping of the cloth in the water soon fill the once silent kitchen, your bodies move in tandem with each other, even through the hush.

After you finished sweeping and Carmen finished wiping everything down, you knelt beside each other on the floor, rough cloths in your hands as you each scrubbed at stained spots on the floor.

Your eyes occasionally glance over at his form, trailing over his arms and the way his muscles move with each scrubbing motion. As your eyes move to look at his face, expecting the focused gaze in his eyes that you had seen before, your heart jumps a little to find his eyes staring at you instead.

Now that focused gaze, those furrowed brows, were aimed at you instead of the spot on the floor that he had been scrubbing.

You feel the heat instantly rush to your cheeks, quickly shifting your attention back to the spot on the floor, your scrubbing intensifying as embarrassment floods through you at the fact that you had been caught.

You barely hear the hum of a chuckle that escapes him.

Deciding to keep your eyes to yourself for the remainder of the scrubbing, the time goes by quicker now that your heart and mind are racing.

You couldn’t believe that you had gotten caught staring at him. You just hoped the embarrassment wasn’t obvious on your face.

It wasn’t long after the whole ordeal that Carmen called it for the night, sitting back on his heels as he glanced down at the floor, somewhat cleaner than when it had started. His movement causes you to follow, your eyes finally drifting up to meet his after staring at the floor for so long.

“Alright, Peaches. It’s late enough. Go home, get some rest.”

He stands with a grunt, using the nearby station to help steady himself before reaching out his right hand towards you to help you up. You stare between his hand and his eyes for a few seconds before gently taking his hand, also making a small sound.

Kneeling for too long was not the best idea.

Your hands linger together for just a few seconds too long before Carmen slowly slips his hand away to instead run through his curls, a nervous twitch to his lip.

“Thanks for your help again, Peach.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

Your smile is soft, reassuring as you grab your things, body aching to be in bed after the day you had. The silence in the kitchen only lasts for a few moments before Carmen speaks up again, having frozen in the doorway of the office.

“You live nearby?”

Your eyes look away from your locker, instead focusing on his form as he stares at you with his hand on the back of his neck. He looked nervous, as if the question had left him before he truly had to think about it.

“Yes, sir. Just a block or two, not too far.”

There it was again, that same tingle at the base of his spine that he quickly pushed away. His eyes follow you as you make your way towards the back door.

“Okay. Yeah, um… night, Peaches.”

“Goodnight, Carmen.”

You give him one last smile, a gentle thing, before turning and heading out the door, closing it softly behind you.

And Carmen? He just stands there like a fool, the proposition of walking you home coming to his lips just a bit too late.

—

“Angel, put on a pot!”

“Already on it, Richie!”

You place the coffee pot under the spout, flicking on all the buttons like Richie had shown you to do on your first day, hearing it whir to life before you. As the slow trickle begins to start, your gaze turns to look at Richie, who is preparing the sauce bottles after getting the cash register ready.

Marcus had joined the two of you in the front, observing since he had already finished his prep for the day.

Your attention is suddenly drawn to a lady who enters the shop. She’s dressed very professionally, unlike the clientele that you're used to serving.

“Um… Richie?”

The man looks over at your call, taking in the woman as well before making his way to stand beside you. Marcus decides to call out as Richie moves.

“Yo, Carm!”

Richie’s gaze remains on the lady in front of you, who is standing just as professionally as she is dressed.

“Listen-”

“Yo.”

Your eyes look over at Carmen when he walks from the kitchen to the front, Sydney following behind him.

“Yo. I can handle this myself, cousin. I got this.”

Richie holds out a hand to Carmen, your eyes instantly turning worried as you look back up at the man beside you.

“Richie, I really think Carmen-”

“I got it, Angel, promise.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, his gaze remaining on the professional lady.

“So… you’re not Ron.”

“Ron’s gone. Gone gone”

Is all the lady responds with, and you feel your worry at the situation only growing as you glance over towards Carmen and Sydney, the latter giving you a confused shrug as you move to stand beside her while Carmen stands closer to Richie.

“Ron’s dead?” Marcus’ voice is full of shock.

“Who is Ron?” Carmen’s voice is full of confusion.

The lady’s gaze moves from Richie to Carmen.

“My partner, Ron Pager. He passed away. I’m running his routes now.”

Richie’s head leans back slightly, a thing he did when something frustrated him, but the lady only continued to speak

“Nancy Chore. Chicago Board of Health. I’m here to inspect the property.”

“Okay, Nancy, hi. I’m Carmen Berzatto. I’m the owner.”

Carmen and Nancy shake hands; beside them, Richie’s hands are on his hips, and he gives a slight shake of his head.

“He’s the owner’s brother, actually. He’s also dead.”

Your brows shoot up at Richie’s words, leaning forward a little to shoot him an incredulous look, which he pointedly avoids.

“He doesn’t look dead.” Nancy glances between Carmen and Richie.

“No, no, I’m not dead. My brother’s dead.” Carmen clarifies.

As the conversation continues, you lean your hip against the counter, crossing your arms against your chest, keeping your gaze on the three conversing.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” “Thank you.”

Richie quickly budges himself into the discussion, staring down the lady as if she owed him money.

“Yeah, I’m sorry for your loss, too. Can I, uh, see some kind of identification?”

Nancy just scoffs, pulling out her badge to show to him and Carmen, only for Richie to respond with:

“Interesting.”

You could feel the frustration practically beginning to boil up in Carmen, the proof in the slight twitch of his eyebrow.

“Is it? It’s interesting. What’s interesting about that?”

“It’s an interesting logo on the badge-” Richie tries to defend himself, but Carmen quickly cuts him off.

“Nancy, you need anything, just find us. Make yourself at home. Okay? Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Richie mumbles.

Your eyes follow as Carmen turns to head back into the kitchen, barely missing the quick glance he sends your way before his gaze snaps back in front of him.

While Carmen calls out for Tina and Ebraheim, Richie’s eyes follow Nancy as the woman walks behind Carmen into the kitchen.

“No funny business, Ms. Chore.”

“You too.”

Nancy quickly fires back, which causes a sarcastic huff of a chuckle to escape Richie.

Once Nancy is out of sight, you stare deliberately at Richie, who quickly holds his hands up in surrender at the look in your eyes before turning and ignoring it by going back to prepping the sauce bottles.

“You’re like a child sometimes.”

Your hum of words is soft, the insult having no true heat behind it as you go to wipe down the counter one last time. Richie gives a slight chuckle at your words, this one sounding more real than the one he gave to Nancy.

Who… quickly returns.

You pause as she places something onto the counter, your eyes widening at what you can only describe as disgusting.

She says something to Richie that you can’t make out, but his next words are loud enough that you’re sure they hear him in the kitchen.

“Oh, my God. That’s some fucking ass shit!”

Mostly everybody had filtered to the front at Richie’s annoyed yelling, your eyes remaining locked on whatever Nancy had brought in from the kitchen as you stood beside Richie.

“Does anybody know how dangerous this is?”

Carmen soon storms into the front right as Nancy finishes her question, Sydney following right behind.

“Yo! What’s going on? What’s dangerous?”

You make eye contact with Carmen as he makes his way to stand beside Nancy, the look of pure disgust on your face a new sight to see, and you gesture over towards the thing on the counter.

You already knew you would be scrubbing that spot multiple times over.

“It wasn’t dangerous,” Richie begins, “Ms. Chore, until you pulled it out.”

Nancy ignores Richie, looking over towards Carmen instead.

“I discovered a large hole in the tile. Looks like a former gas line next to the stovetops. Not only was it not properly dry-walled and caulked, but someone clogged the hole with napkins and then proxied over it with some kind of plastic.”

“Don’t look at me.” Richie holds up his hands slightly, but that only causes you to look over at him with a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“Did you?” You mouth at him, but Richie just shakes his head while keeping his hands up.

Nancy just continues.

“Grease seeped into the napkins and the proxy became unproxied.”

“What does that mean?” Carmen glances between Nancy and the napkin-grease abomination.

“A potential cross-contaminate. Additionally, no hot water in the hand station.”

Both Richie and Sydney suddenly explode into an explanation, Sydney getting upset at Richie for talking over her. But it quells instantly when Nancy begins talking again.

“Health code states any sink near a prep area needs to deliver instant hot water to prevent the spread of bacteria-”

Carmen begins to rub his head in frustration, your eyes shifting from the disgust at the abomination still on the counter to worry as you glance over him.

“I haven’t even delivered the big one yet.”

“There’s a big one?” “There’s more?”

You and Fak both speak at the same time, your eyes glancing over at each other before looking back at Nancy with confusion in your eyes.

“W-What is the big one?” Carmen asks, though he’s unsure if he truly wants to hear the answer.

“Someone left a pack of cigarettes on the stovetop near the burners.”

Nancy places the pack of cigarettes down onto the counter, your eyes taking them in before shifting over towards Richie, noticing him beginning to feel his pockets. The look on his face instantly turns guilty when he feels how empty they are.

Oh, Richie.

“Not only very dangerous, but also a potential contaminant.”

“Motherfucker.” Carmen grits through his teeth at the older male.

“You can say that again.” Nancy laughs incredulously.

“Motherfucker!” The tone in Richie’s voice instantly clues you in to how guilty he felt, but Carmen, you could tell, didn’t feel the same sentiment.

“Don’t actually say it again, you fucking idiot!”

Richie suddenly turns and goes to get in Carmen’s face, causing you to quickly take a few steps back towards where Sydney was standing.

“You’re about to get fuckin’ power-washed, cousin!”

“Unfortunately-!” 

Nancy quickly interrupts the growing argument between the two, your eyes glancing nervously towards Sydney, who returns with the same look.

“These violations leave me no choice. I award you a C.”

Everybody practically blows up at the rating: Richie repeating the word ‘no’, Sydney looking out the window in shock, and you just looking at Carmen.

Like the other day, boiling near the lip, just an inch from exploding.

Richie takes a step towards Nancy, practically begging her to let him caulk the hole, but nothing changes the older lady’s mind as she shoves the rating paper into Carmen’s hand while Richie turns to yell at Fak.

Your eyes move to follow her as she walks out, shoulders deflating every so slightly before your gaze moves back over to Carmen, finding his lips pursed in frustration.

But you freeze at the sight in his eyes.

Those stunning blue, clouded in utter hatred for the man he was following with his eyes: Richie.

“Carmen-”

You try to softly voice, not knowing what he was going to do next, just that it wasn’t going to be pretty.

But it doesn’t matter; Carmen is already advancing towards Richie.

“You wanna bitch at me? You wanna run this place, you fucking slob?”

Carmen points at Richie’s face, who quickly retaliates at the sudden onslaught of aggression by pushing him back towards you and Sydney.

“How do you know they’re not your cigarettes?!”

The yelling only continues, amping up quickly between the two men. You and Sydney quickly shove your way between them, knowing that some serious damage could be done if you didn’t stop it.

Sydney goes to push Richie’s chest, while you do the same for Carmen.

The two of you duck to try to miss their hands when they reach over you to try to get each other, but one of Carmen’s nails manages to catch the side of your temple during his reach, your head jolting to the side a bit. An instant sting of pain appears, but you ignore it as Marcus comes over to try to help keep Carmen away from Richie.

“Alright!”

You hear Carmen yell as the situation slowly dies down between them, the two no longer trying to go at each other’s throats.

While Carmen tells Richie about going to the hardware store to get some caulk, you step to stand near Marcus as Richie and Sydney soon join the conversation.

Your eyes watch as Carmen tells Sydney to take Richie to the hardware store when the man tries to get out of it using his suspended license.

After reluctantly agreeing, but only on the condition that they would take his car, Richie and Sydney soon make their way towards the back of the restaurant, Carmen stepping forward once they’re out of the way to grab the sign with the shop’s grade on it.

His fingers tighten their grip on it right as the Ballbreaker game cabinet starts repeating itself over and over.

“Fak, fix that fucking sound. Fix that fucking sound. Please fix that fucking sound!”

“I will fix it. Fak always fixes it.” Fak tries to reassure in hopes of quelling some of Carmen’s anger, “The kids come in, they break it- what happens? I fix the balls. Fak always fixes the balls.”

“Fix it!” You hear Carmen yelling from the other room.

You don’t hear Fak’s next words, though, because Marcus is suddenly in your face, a worried look in his eyes as he stares at your temple.

“Angel, you're bleeding!”

“What?” Your brows furrow in confusion at his words, before flinching when a folded napkin is pressed against your temple by Tina.

“Shit, Angel. He must’ve got you good.”

Your hand comes up to touch right under where Tina was holding the napkin, feeling something wet and warm against your fingertips. When you pull them away, your breath hitches slightly at the red coating them.

“I didn’t… even know I was bleeding.”

Tina grabs your wrist, moving your hand to where you would hold the napkin instead of her, leading you towards the restroom in the kitchen to where the first-aid kit is held.

“Come on, let’s get you patched up. Maybe you’ll get a cool scar.”

You chuckle softly at Tina’s attempt to help cool the situation, following after her as the others watch before slowly getting back to their morning tasks.

Like they always did after huge blow-ups in the shop.

In the other room, Carmen hears the entire conversation even through his anger at Richie and the health inspector. His grip on the paper only tightens as he begins to search for tape, glancing down at his right hand as the word ‘bleeding’ echoes in his mind, and sure enough, on the tip of one of his nails.

The kitchen remains silent, even as those inside slowly return to their duties after Richie storms out.

Your eyes watch Carmen; notice how his fists clench and unclench at his sides before he turns and makes his way out of the kitchen and towards the front without a word to anyone.

Marcus and Sweeps follow after him.

The silence felt worse than the yelling in your mind. How the others went back to work as if it were a normal, everyday occurrence. While looking around the kitchen, your eyes meet Sydney’s from where she stood at a station she designated for herself.

You stare at each other for a few silent seconds before her lips quirk up at the side, a nervous sight, but reassuring at most, and she gives a slight shrug of her shoulders.

You return with your own soft smile, and your gaze returns to the peaches you had sliced.

Deep breath in, slow breath out.

You grab a saucepan, placing the sliced peaches in it along with sugar and salt before heading over to the stove. You only needed it for a few minutes, just enough for the sugar to melt and juices to form. While you gently stir the ingredients in the pot, your eyes glance over to what Sydney is doing, taking in how efficiently she is working.

It reminds you of Carmen.

“Smells good.” You hum the praise softly in her direction, her gaze snapping up from where she had been stirring a type of stew.

Her shoulders relax ever so slightly at your words.

“Thanks.” Is all that leaves her lips, but her eyes tell you how much she appreciates it.

The sugar dissolves, leaving the peaches to settle in a sugary juice, before you carefully make your way back to Marcus’ station with the pot, turning off the burner as you go.

Setting the pot to the side, you put on the nearby set of oven mitts and take out the baking pan, finding the butter had melted on the bottom. Just like you wanted.

The next steps were easy, ones you had done plenty of times in the comfort of your kitchen back home. Although this time, there was no laughter and conversation between your mother and father, aunts and uncles.

Just… silence.

You ignore the pang as you pour in the batter first, letting it ooze over the bottom and mix with the melted butter before grabbing the pot of peaches. You carefully spoon the peaches onto the settled batter, making sure that you evenly distribute them over the top.

Mixing it just a little, not too much to incorporate it, you give a generous sprinkling of cinnamon over the top. Just like how momma made it.

A soft smile appears on your lips at the fact before you turn with the pan and place it into the oven, grabbing your phone from your pocket and setting a timer. You were proud of it, and you couldn’t wait to feed it to the others.

You may not be able to cook, but you took pride in what you could bake.

Stepping back, you stare at the oven for just a few moments longer before your attention is taken by Ebraheim heading towards the front with a steam pan in his hands. You can’t quite see what’s inside it from where you stand.

“Corner,” Ebraheim calls out before you watch with widening eyes as he and Carmen suddenly collide in the doorframe.

It’s like a car wreck- horrible, but you can’t look away.

“Fucking damn it, Ebraheim!” Carmen shouts in frustration.

“Carmen, your fault! Say corner!” Ebraheim speaks with the same amount of frustration in his tone.

Carmen’s left hand suddenly shoots up, and you catch the red hue covering one of his fingers.

“Blood! You see?! Good! Good! Y’all happy now?!” Carmen’s hits the wall with his right palm before beginning to walk into the kitchen, “Can I have my fucking knife back?!”

The others all shout behind him, but it all blends because they all decided to do it at the same time. Your eyes follow as Carmen practically storms into the staff restroom, your shoulders jumping at how he slammed the door shut.

Silence fills the kitchen once again as you stare at the shut door for a few moments.

Without much thought, your feet begin to lead you towards the restroom, the innate urge to fix bubbling deep in your gut.

You didn’t know what you could do or what you should do, but your hand is raised before you can truly think it over. Your knuckles gently knock against the door.

“Mr. Carmen?” You call out gently to the door.

You hear something tumble in the restroom before the door opens, and when you glance inside, you find it to be a first-aid kit having fallen from the sink to the floor. Your eyes glance up, finding Carmen standing before you, his nostrils flaring slightly as he takes in deep breaths.

“Just… Just Carmen.”

His voice had quieted down from the frustrated yelling just minutes prior.

Your eyes glance over him. His shoulders taut, his non-bleeding hand gripping onto the door while his bleeding finger was now wrapped in a bandaid, his hair seemed messed with, as if he ran his fingers over it a few times for a semblance of looking like he was in control.

“Are you okay, Carmen?”

Your soft question catches Carmen off-guard, his hand tightening against the door as he stares down at you. He wasn’t used to it: the concerned tone after yelling.

He was used to the silence that followed the fight, the way everybody just brushed it aside as if it never happened. Ignoring any hurt that might have festered. That’s what Carmen was good at.

… not this.

“Yeah, uh… yeah.” He takes in another deep breath through his nose, “I’m fine.”

“Did you disinfect it?”

You just kept pushing, this time about his wound, even through his reassurance, which you so painfully knew was a lie straight through his teeth.

Carmen clears his throat, nodding to your words as he moves to step past you, being careful to not brush your bodies together. He ignored the way his skin tingled when it was close to yours, his hand instinctively rubbing against the spot.

“Promise, I’m fine.”

Your eyes follow after him as he does so, and he notices the apprehension bleeding in them when he looks at you one last time before turning and heading back into the kitchen.

A soft sigh escapes you when he breaks eye contact, shoulders drooping with the breath, and you make your way into the restroom to clean up the fallen first-aid kit.

While you pick up the Band-Aids and little cloth wipes, placing them back in their respective spot in the kit, you hear the radio turn up for just a few seconds before being immediately turned off. Richie’s voice becomes clearer now, telling a story to someone.

You stand and place the kit back on the little shelf above the sink, taking the time to wash your hands before leaving.

Richie is talking to the group, Carmen is trying something that Sydney was making, and a new guy is standing behind Tina.

There’s no time for introductions as Carmen begins talking, clapping in hopes of getting the others' attention.

“Hey! Guys, look, we gotta line up!” Richie just keeps talking; everyone else ignores Carmen, who continues, “We got service in an hour, alright?”

You move to stand beside Sydney, who instantly offers you a spoon, silently gesturing to the small container.

A smile quickly tugs at your lips, Richie’s voice going on in the background as you take a small bite, humming at the taste while setting the spoon with the other dirty ones.

“Delicious.” You keep your voice low, between you and Sydney, who smiles and gives a singular nod at your words.

Both of your attention is taken as Carmen starts calling out to Richie, trying to get him to stop his story so everybody can hear him. You move with Sydney to stand beside Carmen.

Richie brushes him off, though.

“Seriously, I wanna start defining our roles a little bit more clearly, alright?”

Your eyes glance over to Sydney whenever Richie brushes Carmen off once again.

“We’re just- Hold on a second.”

“Cousin. Seriously, Cousin!”

Sydney glances over at you as Richie holds up his hand to Carmen, Marcus instigating by asking more about Richie’s story. The woman’s shoulders move in a sigh, and your arms come up to gently cross over your chest, fingers messing with the ends of your sleeves.

The car wreck was happening once again.

While Sydney’s eyes go to stare at the wall as the conversation continues to happen, your eyes drift over to Carmen, finding him staring down at the floor very pointedly at something before bending down and reaching for it.

A knife…

His knife.

The pretty Japanese etchings in the blade and the wooden handle just going to show how expensive his knives were.

Hell, you know your father was always very meticulous about his knives, keeping them as pristine as he could so they would always be ready for the meat he barbequed and the vegetables he cooked. He took pride in those types of things. And you had a feeling Carmen did too.

So seeing it on the floor, where it definitely shouldn’t be, your fingers gently grip onto the ends of your sleeves, feeling the blow up beginning to build and build and build as you catch the look in Carmen’s eyes when he glances up towards the others.

But… it never happens.

It never boils over, just simmers dangerously near the lip of the pot.

He grips the handle of the knife, his knuckles almost turning white from his grip, and he releases a controlled breath through his nose, turning away from the group.

Your eyes meet.

Your worry-filled eyes catch his, pausing him in his stride.

The fury behind those striking blue tell a hundred more stories than his words ever could.

You stare at each other. For how long? You couldn’t quite determine. But you watch as that fury dims ever so slightly the longer he looks at you.

Before he turns his head and keeps walking.

—

You had made your way to the front after checking the timer on your phone, having a good bit to go on your peach cobbler, so you decided to busy yourself before opening by trying to deal with the crusted dirt spots on the floor.

Richie was working on the cash register and everything that was needed in the front of house, his eyes occasionally glancing over at your kneeling form as you scrubbed with a rag.

“Ain’t gonna come out with just some elbow grease, Angel.” He calls out to you while filling the little napkin slot.

“It will.” You mumble, sitting back on your heels with a huff, staring down at the dirt spot that definitely hasn’t gotten smaller since you started. Your shoulders droop in defeat before looking over towards Richie, who is staring at you with a slight smirk.

It wasn’t a creepy look you had seen from men before, more of an I-told-you-so kind of smirk.

It irked you just a little bit, but you contain the frustration with a deep breath through your nose.

You needed to change the subject.

“Richie, who’s that new guy?”

“Who, Fak?”

You give a slight shrug, discarding the cloth in the bucket of hot water as your silent sign of defeat.

“I saw him working on the games.”

“Yeah, that’s Neil Fak. Old friend of the family. He fixes things around here that we can’t.”

The conversation gets cut short when Carmen’s voice calls out through the shop.

“Time to try the new sandwiches!”

Carmen soon emerges from the kitchen carrying a large tray of meat, and you stand with a soft grunt, your knees aching after being knelt for too long.

You grab your small bucket, looking up just in time to watch as Marcus throws a roll at Carmen’s order, Carmen missing the catch. Your chuckle at the sight is what causes Carmen to glance over for a few seconds before calling for another.

Carmen feels the bread, brow furrowing at how crumbly it is, before calling out to Marcus and heading back into the kitchen to talk to the man.

You barely hear their conversation, more interested in looking at the meat through the slight corner of foil that Carmen had tilted up.

The meat looked and smelled good.

You barely hear Richie walk away, more focused on the mouth-watering food that lies in front of you. A few of the others walk into the front, crowding around where the meat is as they all observe it along with you.

Carmen soon returns after a few moments, making sandwiches with the meat as precisely and quickly as a chef with his expertise could.

His hand, carefully holding the made sandwich, instinctively reaches over to you while his other hand grabs a new roll for the next sandwich. No words are spoken between anybody as you gently take the sandwich from his grip.

Your fingers barely brush against one another.

Bringing the sandwich up to your lips, you bite into it, and a pleased hum instantly escapes you. The meat was so tender and flavorful. It was absolutely delicious.

While making the next few sandwiches for the others, Carmen glances over at you from the corner of his eye, taking in the happy look on your face as you take another bite. He always liked it when others enjoyed his food, but seeing the look on your face?

It stirred something in him that he quickly pushed down by looking at the others, watching as they, too, enjoyed the sandwiches.

Carmen hands a sandwich to Tina before he looks over at Ebraheim after he takes a bite.

“What’s goin’ on? What do you think?”

Ebraheim’s response is quick.

“It’s redundant and white, just like you.”

“Heard, heard, heard.”

You chuckle softly around your bite, glancing around at the others as Carmen soon turns to Tina.

“Tina. Salt? Beef? It’s tender?”

Tina makes a happy sound at the taste.

“Very good, Puta!”

“It’s nice? We happy? Alright.”

It doesn’t take long for you to finish the sandwich; your stomach is settled now that you have some food in your system. 

“It’s delicious, Carmen.” You say while gathering your small bucket, words he accepts with a smile and nod, before you head back into the kitchen to dump your dirty water and fill it with clean, hot water.

You greet Angel and Manny as you step behind them, the conversation of the others behind you continuing as everybody works to get ready for service.

The two men greet you back, Angel already stepping aside to where you could get quick access to the sink.

You barely fill it before the timer on your phone goes off.

A small sound escapes you feeling the pressure of having so much to do but so little time. You throw your thanks to the two over your shoulder as you rush to the front to put your small bucket behind the counter before heading back into the kitchen.

You barely have time to duck under a tray of bread that Richie was carrying towards the front.

“Call fucking corner, Angel!”

“Sorry!”

You grab the oven mitts you had used earlier from Marcus’ station, putting them on before carefully taking your peach cobbler out of the oven, setting it on a nearby station while making sure not to ruin anything on it.

“Shit, smells good.”

You jump a little at Marcus suddenly appearing over your shoulder, which causes the man to laugh and hold his hands up slightly.

“Shit, sorry about that, Angel.”

It seems Richie’s nickname for you was catching on with others. Which you didn’t seem to mind. At least it was a nice nickname and not something much, much worse.

“It’s okay, Marcus.”

You thank the man as he passes you a serving spoon and a small stack of containers to put the servings of cobbler in before he heads off to continue working on the bread for service. 

You try to make each portion as similar as possible. Right as you scoop into the last container, you hear Sydney call your name, looking over to find her standing at the entrance between the front and the kitchen.

“Ready?”

You release a breath, glancing down at the containers of peach cobbler. It wasn’t much, not as much expertise as Sydney’s dish. You shake out your hands at your sides while giving a small nod. Ready as you’ll ever be.

“Yep!”

With Sydney’s help, you carry the containers towards the table, setting them beside Sydney’s own containers of food.

“Wow, those look beautiful.”

You look over the food before looking at Sydney, catching the smile she sends your way at the compliment, before she gestures to one of your containers.

“It smells really good.”

The nerves that had tingled at the tips of your fingers slowly dissipated at her words, nodding at them with a gentle thanks leaving your lips. Sydney steps to stand beside you before looking over at the kitchen.

“Yo, family’s up!”

Everybody whoops and cheers as they trickle into the room, moving to take their seats. You decide to sit to the right of Tina, the older woman scooting over to make room for you as an excited chatter blankets the room. Richie looks over the table.

“What do we got going on over here?”

You look over at Sydney, gesturing for her to go first. She clears her throat as she takes her seat beside Richie.

“Yeah, we got a stew, rice, plantains, and a little fennel salad.”

Sydney looks over at you, showing that she’s finished speaking. You perk up a little, looking around at everyone with a smile on your lips.

“And a peach cobbler for dessert.”

Conversation easily overtakes the table as everybody digs into Sydney’s dishes first. It was delicious, as expected. And even though it was fancier than you were used to, it all blended well together. You send Sydney a thumbs-up across the table before taking another bite.

Your eyes drift over to each person as they speak, Richie starting a conversation about what everybody is thankful for.

But you catch the empty seat at the head of the table, and your gaze looks over at Carmen, standing near the window and just looking outside with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Carmen? Come sit with us.”

Your voice is soft, almost unheard over the chatter and laughter, but he glances over at you when you call his name; the tension in his shoulders loosens ever so slightly, and the look in his eyes shows he’s debating something.

Sydney seems to catch on, too.

“Chef, you want a plate?”

The tautness in his shoulders returns, and he breaks his gaze from you towards Sydney before looking back out the window.

“All good. Thank you, chef.”

Tina says something behind you, but your focus is on Carmen, brows furrowing in slight worry at why he isn’t eating. Carmen soon leans closer to the window, and you catch the muffled sound of people outside.

“Yo, shit. Cousin, cousin. Yo, it’s getting crazy out there. Come give me a hand.”

“Nah, bro. This is on you.”

Your eyes instantly move to look over at Richie at his words, obviously meant as a jab, before he begins talking to Tina about the food. You couldn’t believe it. Well… you could, from what you’ve experienced in the two days you’ve worked here.

“Yo, really?”

“Yeah, really. This isn’t my house, remember?

Carmen, frustrated but knowing he didn’t have time to argue, rushes out of the room to deal with the crowd. Richie continues speaking with the others before his gaze finally shifts over to you.

And there, on your face, was a disappointed look in your eyes and a furrow in your brows.

“What, Angel? Don’t like your food?”

You just stare at him for a moment longer before you give a soft huff and stand up from the table, barely catching the words of people trying the peach cobbler. But you were more focused on heading to the front, where Carmen had gone.

Richie’s eyes follow after you as you go, the others laughing slightly; he tries to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach, the same feeling he got when he let his daughter down. He quickly shrugs it off, and he takes a bite of the cobbler.

It was damn good.

—

When you get to the front of house, you find Carmen not there, looking around a little more, only to see his figure through the window, talking to the crowd that had gathered.

You hear muffled yelling, Carmen trying to get control of the crowd, only to get himself punched in the gut.

“They’re hurting him! There’s a fight!”

You yell out to anybody who would listen, rushing out of the front door, eyes locked on the scene in front of you. People were brawling, hitting and kicking, but you find him hunched over in the middle, his head getting hit repeatedly.

“Carmen!”

You knew better than to try to get in the middle of the crowd and go to him, lest you be hurt as well. A figure suddenly appears beside you, and you find it to be Richie, who’s staring back down at you.

“Cover your ears, Angel.”

“What-”

BANG!

Your hands instantly fly up to cover your ears, shoulders tensing at the sound right beside you as the crowd hushes, gazes flying over towards Richie, his hand still in the air as he stares intensely at the crowd. His other hand comes up, a megaphone in his grip.

“Merry Christmas, lizards.”

God, your ears hurt. A slight ringing echoes in your hearing as you slowly lower your hands, eyes glancing between the frozen crowd to see Carmen still hunched over. He slowly looks up, his eyes (though his right one was shut) finding you through the mass of bodies as he slowly brings a hand up to his arm.

“Sounds like we got a real problem out here.” Richie continues, but you ignore it as you start to go and make your way through the group, only for Richie to outstretch his arm, keeping you from going into it.

You quickly stare up at him, but he just keeps talking to the crowd.

After he finishes, he calls out to Carmen with a sharp: “Cousin.”

Carmen’s gaze moves over to Richie, who nods in appreciation, moving to go and stand beside both of you, but not before reaching out for one last jab at the man beside him. He limped slightly as he walked.

“You alright?” Richie drops the megaphone and asks him once he’s close enough.

“Thank you.” Is all Carmen responds with.

Richie brings the megaphone back to his lips to converse with the crowd again, but your focus goes entirely to Carmen, your hands hovering slightly with the need to do something, but you don’t know what you could do.

“Where did they hit you? Are you okay? What hurts?”

Carmen’s hands fall to rest on his hips after he stretches out his right shoulder a bit, a soft huff of a chuckle escaping him at your urgently whispered words, reaching up to gently rub the side of his nose.

“Jesus, Peaches. I’m fine; they didn’t get me too bad.”

Your hands pause slightly at his nickname for you, faintly hearing the cheer of the crowd to whatever Richie had said, but your brain quickly refreshes as you give a slight nod.

“Right, right, um…” You gently clear your throat and give a slight nod.

Richie finally finishes his small speech to the crowd with one final ‘fuck you’ before the three of you head back into the shop.

You’re quick to head back into the kitchen, grabbing a little plastic bag and heading over to the ice maker. Your eyes glance off to the side when you hear Richie and Carmen’s voices rise, a slight sigh escaping you as you make your way back to where the two were standing.

“-So get your ass back in there, and you make that fuckin’ spaghetti.”

Richie shoves four cans of spaghetti into Carmen’s hands before pointing at his face, making sure to iterate what he was trying to get across. He softens the sharp words with a hand to the side of Carmen’s face, turning when he notices you slowly making your way towards them.

“Hey, sorry about that, Angel. Your ears good?”

Richie’s voice softens slightly as he steps closer to you, leaning a little to check your ears. You nod, even though the ringing is still there in the background.

Taking your nod as an answer, he begins to walk towards where the others were, calling out an apology to Sydney about using the gun.

Slowly moving to stand in front of Carmen, you watch the slight twitch of his lip, the way his eyes are locked on where Richie had been, before you slowly raise a hand to carefully place the ice pack against the side of his head where you had seen it get punched.

He flinches back a little from the cold, blue eyes finally moving to look at you and take you in.

“You okay, Carmen?”

You ask in that same soft tone that he had found himself growing used to, so different than the people around him. Something new he could easily fall into.

But he couldn’t.

Even when the worry in your eyes flickers over his face, and his fingers tighten around the cans in his arms.

He can’t.

He shouldn’t.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine, Peaches.”

There it was again.

You had grown used to the way that people in the shop were calling you ‘Angel’, but to hear the singular word fall from Carmen’s lips. You found yourself craving more, leaning into the name that only left him, like a secret between the two of you that you wouldn’t mind keeping.

“Why Peaches?”

You ask gently while moving the bag of ice to his arm, where you had seen him holding it earlier. Your eyes were locked on your hand, but when your gaze flicked up to his face at his silence, you saw the nervous twitch in his lips.

“Well, you, uh… You made peach cobbler, and you’re sweet like one. But I can stop-”

“No, you don’t have to stop.” You quickly interrupt, though your voice doesn’t rise in volume: “I like it.”

And the sweet smile on your lips is hard to ignore. Through his frustration at Richie, through his annoyance at the staff, through his irritation at the damn sauce cans in his hands.

He gives you a slight smile back.

“Yeah?” His voice softened to match yours.

Your alarm clock blared bright and early, ripping you from sleep in a way you hadn’t expected. That would take some getting used to.

With bleary movements, you change into one of the shirts Richie tossed to you last night and a pair of jeans you don’t mind getting dirty. This time, making sure to wear your good pair of tennis shoes, a cruel reminder of yesterday, as your heels throb slightly in aggravated pain.

Biting slightly on the piece of buttered toast you made to free up your hands, you grab your things and lock the door behind you before heading out onto the street. The soft crunch from the toast fills your ears from how quiet the streets are at this time of day, eyes glancing around as you chew the bite in your mouth.

The sun shone over the horizon, blanketing everything in a warm glow as you made your trek from the apartment complex towards The Beef. Which thankfully, wasn’t too far or too bad a walk.

It was just long enough to finish your toast, you wiped the crumbs from your hands before heading into the restaurant through the back door that Richie had led you out of last night.

Quiet is what greets you when you step through the threshold, a complete difference from how it was yesterday. Tina is at her station, doing something you couldn’t quite tell from where you stood. You could also slightly hear Carmen in his office, his voice muffled through the shut door, so you couldn’t fully make it out, as you made your way towards the lockers so you could put away your things.

“Good mornin’, Ms. Tina.”

Your voice is small, keeping the semblance of calm that had blanketed the kitchen, as you hang your purse on the little hook in the locker before shutting it with a gentle click. When you turn towards the front to begin cleaning, you freeze slightly as you find Tina has stopped her task to stare over at you.

With the way she was looking at you, her brows furrowed, you find yourself wondering if you had said something wrong.

But the small staring contest between you is broken as she moves her gaze back to what she was doing, huffing through her nose. Only a few seconds pass before she raises her hand slightly in greeting.

It was the best you were going to get, so you took it with a small smile and headed towards the front, instantly making your way to the supply closet.

You were going to target the floor today before the shop opened, and you knew that started with a good sweeping.

One of the Ballbreaker cabinets was being exceptionally loud this morning, almost echoing throughout the front as you move around, sweeping as you go. But your eyes had caught the little note left on the power cord, warning to not turn it off, so you figured you would just have to get used to the noise.

“FUCK!”

The word, although muffled, was shouted loud enough to be heard even from where you stood, trying to sweep the dirt pile you had collected into the dustpan. Your eyes barely snap up to catch as the door to the kitchen swings open, Carmen storming through.

“Shut up!”

He’s so focused on the game cabinet and the sounds blaring from it that he doesn’t even notice you standing off to the opposite side of the room. Carmen was beelining towards the power strip, obviously done with the noise and how loud it had become.

As if sensing what he was about to do from his small outburst, Tina soon appears from the kitchen behind him.

“No, no, no. Puta! Don’t unplug it.”

Your task of sweeping has been completely forgotten as you glance between the two, more invested in their conversation than in what you had been doing. Carmen brings his right hand up, rubbing his forehead as if to soothe the ache that the noise had been causing.

“I know what that means, Tina,” Carmen says exasperatedly.

“You unplug it; it won’t work again.” Tina continues, clearly knowing something about the cabinets that Carmen didn’t.

Carmen pauses for only a second, taking in the game cabinet before an idea comes to his head; you can practically see the way the wheels were turning behind his eyes before he gestured to the cabinet in front of him.

“When was the last time you emptied these?”

“I don’t know.” Tina gives a slight shrug, and that only seems to click something in Carmen’s mind.

His eyes finally drift over to your form, taking you in for the first time that day before pointing at you for a few seconds. His expression was focused, determined, a change from the frustrated look he had just a few minutes before.

“Grab a bucket. I’ll be back.”

Is all he says before rushing back towards where the office was.

Your eyes meet Tina’s in a moment of silence, the older woman only shrugging in response before she turns to walk back into the kitchen, and you move to follow orders, leaning the broom against the nearby wall and heading towards the supply closet where you had seen a majority of the buckets.

Digging through the supplies, you grab onto a bucket you believe to be perfect for what Carmen had in mind right as the man himself pushes himself back into the room, a new key in hand. You follow after him as he makes his way back to the game cabinet.

Carmen crouches in front of the cabinet, taking the bucket when you hand it to him, standing beside him and watching as he sets it under the little door. His hand moves quickly to unlock the door, coins instantly falling into the bucket once it’s opened in a steady stream.

Your eyes widen as the coins just continue trickling from the cabinet, filling the bucket that Carmen kept his hands on, occasionally shaking it to flatten the growing mound of coins so that more could fit.

“That’s insane.” Your voice is a gentle whisper, clearly amazed at the sheer number of coins.

“Yeah, and it’s about to save our ass today.”

Carmen does the same thing for the other cabinets, filling up the bucket with coins before standing while holding it with a deep grunt, moving back into the kitchen, presumably to his office to bag the coins.

The sound he made when he stood, you hate to admit, sent a slight tingle through your spine, something you tried desperately to ignore.

You barely knew the man!

And he barely knew you.

He was also your boss.

That would make things weird… right?

While Carmen bags up the coins, you go back to your dirt pile, sweeping it up and barely catching sight of Carmen’s form as he rushes from the kitchen and out the front door of the shop, your eyes following him in confusion as he runs down the street.

What is he doing?

—

You hear Carmen and Tina talking in the kitchen while you’re mopping, and you silently wonder when he got back. But your focus is taken by how your arms ache from the constant side-to-side motion, taking calculated steps with each stroke of the mop while making sure your endpoint is the door that leads into the kitchen.

When you made it, the floor wasn’t spotless by any means, but it was cleaner than it had been when you first stepped into the shop.

Standing near the door, you observe your work while slightly shaking out the pain in your arms, with a soft huff escaping you. You knew you didn’t have time to dilly-dally.

Grabbing the mop handle from where it rested in the bucket, you steer it into the kitchen and towards the sinks near the back, avoiding Tina and waving towards the others who had arrived while you were busy, greeting them with a good morning as you had done for Tina.

Marcus and Ebraheim give you smiles and their own greetings.

As you get closer to the sinks, you hear Carmen speaking with somebody, a woman you don’t recognize from yesterday. Maybe she was new, too?

Carmen catches a glimpse of you when you stop to let the woman pass in front of you as she heads towards where the lockers were located, his hand pausing in his hair as he calls your name. The sound of it instantly causes your gaze to move over towards him as you give a soft hum in response.

“Yes, sir?”

That makes Carmen pause, a slight sound escaping him as his brain tries to compute your words, his arm falling limp to his side.

They were such simple words, ones that usually flared annoyance in him like many others at the term, but when you paired them with the expectant way you looked at him? It was like you were trying to make his heart race. And just like you had done earlier with the soft groan that escaped him, he had to try to ignore his own tingle that jolted up his spine.

He clears his throat, trying to gain a semblance of control over himself as he gestures between you and the woman walking away, whom he introduces as Sydney, before delving into the reason why he stopped you.

“We do family here. You weren’t able to do it yesterday, and Sydney is doing it today-”

“What’s family?”

Your soft interruption holds confusion, and Carmen has to remind himself that not everyone has the same restaurant experiences as he or Sydney. He brings a hand up to the side of his face, fingers rubbing at the side of his jaw through his explanation, his hand needing something to do after standing still for so long.

“It’s where one person cooks for the rest of the staff, usually meat plus 3 other things.”

Your laughter rings through his ears, a sound that settles deep in his chest. Another thing he quickly ignores.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea.” Your words finish with another soft chuckle, shifting on your feet as you shake your head, “I’m not much of a cook. My parents always kept me out of the kitchen unless it was to bake something. Even then, they kept a good eye on me.”

You can see the way the cogs in Carmen’s head turn, and you smile up at him, something small and soothing.

“I can make a mean peach cobbler, though.”

Carmen’s head slowly nods, his gaze remaining locked on you.

“Okay, yeah, uh, just… check the times with Sydney, and I guess you can both do family today. We eat around 2.”

Your smile brightens into something exciting, nodding to his words as you straighten your posture, as if you couldn’t wait to show off your small skill.

“Thank you, sir.”

You begin to push the mop bucket towards the sink, Carmen’s eyes trailing after you as you walk, shaking his head slightly to try and clear it, mumbling under his breath even though he knows you can’t hear it from how far you’ve already gotten from him.

“Yeah, um… yep.”

—

After dumping the mop water, you quickly rinse out the sink and the bucket before setting it somehow off to the side to dry.

The smell of cooking meat fills your nose as you make your way back through the kitchen to head back towards the front, hearing conversations about systems and Michael and laughter.

You wonder when you’ll get to meet this elusive Michael.

Catching sight of Sydney following after Tina towards the walk-in, you stop your initial mission and weave through the small space, barely catching the conversation between the two before Tina walks off, and Ebraheim says something to Sydney you can’t catch.

You follow her into the walk-in, barely catching the sound of Richie’s voice as you do when he enters the kitchen.

“Sydney?”

Said woman glances over from where she had been looking over the shelves for the ingredients she wants to work with, her hands pause where they had been reaching. You introduce yourself with your lips quirking up into a small smile.

While moving to stand beside her, your own eyes glancing over the shelf for what you would need, you explain what Carmen had talked with you about.

“I hope you don’t mind us doing family together. It’s just that I can’t cook, and it would be such a waste to have it all be me one day, and I just bring a dessert.”

Your lips slightly tug into a small frown as you only seem to find peaches and nothing else.

“My momma tried to teach me how to cook plenty of times, but nothing ever really stuck, ya’ know? I was always either cutting myself or burning something or not cooking something enough.”

Marcus was the pastry guy; maybe he would have what you needed.

“But I can at least bake some simple desserts, nothing too fancy. It’s really just throwing things together and hoping it sticks.”

Crouching down, you use your shirt as a little holder as you count out the peaches in your mind until you get to five.

“But I think it’s fun. Us new people getting to do something together, build camaraderie.”

Your rambling finally stops as you stand while making sure the peaches don’t spill out from the little holder you had made with the front of your shirt, your eyes looking over towards Sydeney with that same smile on her lips.

Her eyes were just staring at you, body frozen as if it was trying to catch up with all of the words that had just spilled from your mouth, and when it did, she just gave a slight nod of her head, her lips parting to answer.

But she’s interrupted as the door to the walk-in opens, revealing Carmen and Richie, the former instantly going to look on a shelf with an empty container in his hands.

“Whoa. Fuck is this?”

Carefully adjusting your hold on your shirt, you raise one of your hands towards Richie, wishing him a good morning just like you had done with everyone so far.

“Good morning, Mr. Richie.”

“Just call me fuckin’ Richie, don’t do the weird ‘Mr’ shit, but mornin’, Angel.”

The nickname slips into the conversation easily, Carmen’s eyes widening slightly as a hot surge of unknown feelings jolts through him, and he quickly glances towards Richie, the words ‘fuckin’ weirdo’ starting to leave his lips, but Sydney begins talking, causing the attention to drift over to her.

“This is Sydney. I’m staging today.”

“You’re what-ing today?”

The walk-in felt extremely small now that four people were standing in it, your eyes glancing at Richie as you gave a slight shrug of your shoulders when he looked at you with a confused gaze at Sydney’s word, also having no idea what the word meant.

“That’s Sydney. She’s helping us out today.”

Carmen explains while continuing to look over the different shelves, grabbing a few things and placing them into the container, and you maneuver your body slightly closer towards the door to get out of the way when Carmen steps further inside.

Richie and Sydney quickly begin to talk over each other at the same time, your eyes glancing between the two as Sydney holds up a banana towards Carmen.

You kind of tune out their conversations, glancing between all three of them as you scoot your way even closer towards the door, avoiding nudging anyone as you open it and sneak your way out. Their conversations become muffled once the door shuts.

Weaving through the kitchen and its staff, you make your way towards where Marcus’ station was, keeping a grip on your shirt to make sure none of the peaches fall out as you walk.

“Marcus, do you mind if I use part of your station?”

The man looks up from where he had been kneading small bits of dough, staring at you and the peaches held in your shirt with a raised eyebrow before giving a shake of his head.

“Nah, go ahead. Just clean up after yourself.”

His words were simple before he headed off in the direction of the walk-in. You barely take the time to follow him with your eyes before you carefully dump the peaches onto the station and fix your shirt.

You wheel the trash can closer to you, peeling the peaches above it so the skin can fall straight into it, setting the peeled peaches onto the cutting board once you’re done.

Once all five have been peeled, you place the dirtied peeler into a bucket you would use to carry your dirty dishes and grab a nearby knife, duller than you’re used to back home, but it’ll work as you cut all of the peaches in half, tossing the pits into the trash.

While you’re slicing the peaches, you hear Carmen call out, frustration bleeding into every syllable of his words.

“Where’s my knife?!”

You don’t hear anybody respond. You definitely hadn’t seen his knives, but you glance over towards where he’s standing with a slight frown.

“Chefs, we gotta sharpen our knives when we get a sec.”

Once again, nobody responds aside from Richie, who sarcastically responds.

“You gotta sharpen your brain when we get a sec.”

Tina laughs at that, while you just glance back down at your hands and continue carefully slicing your peaches, not wanting to accidentally cut yourself.

Richie continues.

“You've been here for two weeks; we've been having money problems for two weeks. One plus one equals you're an asshole, Bobby Flay-”

“Don’t call me Bobby Flay- Sydney, stir that pot for me, please, chef.”

“Yes, chef.”

The words become muffled as you keep your focus on the peaches, trying to ignore the chaos beginning to unfold around you as your hands reach for ingredients scattered about Marcus’ station.

The main voices you can make out are Carmen’s and Richie’s as they speak to one another.

Sugar, salt, butter, flour, baking powder, milk, cinnamon.

You focus on the ingredients.

Your shoulders twitch slightly when you hear a barked ‘Fuck!’ from Carmen and the slight banging of a pot, but you keep your focus on placing little squares of butter onto the bottom of a baking dish you had found, setting it off to the side and grabbing a bowl.

Flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, milk.

It all goes into the bowl with perfect measurements.

You stir and stir and stir, until-

“I thought this was your house!”

The kitchen goes quiet at Carmen’s words; your hands stop their stirring as your eyes finally flick over towards where the commotion had started, watching as Richie stares down at Carmen before looking around the kitchen.

Just like when you had first walked into the shop, the tension between the two men was thick, suffocating.

“Fuck all this.” Richie finally gets out when he looks back at Carmen, “Announcement! Listen up! Bread stays the same! Gravy stays the same!”

Richie brings his hands up to his chin and flicks them out at Carmen before storming out towards the back door.

Your eyes follow until the door shuts behind him, and then your gaze slowly travels back to Carmen, finding him silently standing there. Your lips tug into a small frown as you take him in, the way he just… stood there.

Before your eyes move back down to the batter in front of you, releasing a small sigh.

Reaching over towards the pan, you turn to place it into the oven for just a few minutes to melt the butter, carefully shutting the oven door to not add any noise to the strained atmosphere.