gimme more ♡ ̆̈

The Pennsylvania summer was really starting to show. It was a scorcher in Pittsburgh. A beating sun already at 7:35 in the morning. That wasn't even the first thing on Jack's mind today.

It felt like he had been waiting for hours since he arrived at the corner of the street, waiting patiently by the entrance to the farmers market. ‘Hours’ was really 15 minutes. Maybe he should have asked if you wanted a ride, or where you lived. But he thought that might come off a little creepy.

Wearing the same black t-shirt that he basically lived in, he couldn't help but pull at the sleeve when he crossed his arms. Why was he so nervous? The back of his neck was burning up more than he used to, and it's as if all the moisture in his mouth had dried up.

That small little voice caught him in the back of his mind. Is someone nervous to be seen out, alone with a pretty, younger girl?

Jack Abbot is a grown fucking man, he is not nervous out being out with a younger girl. She's just a colleague. Right? Or maybe he’s just a little caught up on the fact this is the first time he’ll be seeing you outside of the restaurant. Ever since that late night in the kitchen, with the cake for Cassie, you had only been near Jack in the presence of others. But that's what work is, you didn't expect to be alone with him constantly. And neither did he. 

"Jack!" you called out.

It was like a siren's song tugged him away from his idea of 'reality'.

There you were, clutching the well-loved tote bag over your shoulder. In those perfect jeans and a green gingham, flowy tank top. He made a mental note, 5, how many times you've worn something green this week.

The corner of his lips bent up in a half smile as he waved over to you, watching as you step your way towards him.

"Finally, had me waiting for hours." Jack teased you. Letting his arms fall out of their cross and his hands slipping into his pocket.

"Now I have to warn you, the rumors are true. I tend to spend a little too long here." Jack prepared himself to hear a groan that he had familiarized himself with from anyone else that had the misfortune to go to the farmers market with him.

"That's not too bad, I've been looking for a reason to stay out of the house longer."

"Really? Even if I spend 20 minutes negotiating the price of a tomato?"

"Even if you spend an hour picking out the best potato!"

And thus started the longest time Jack had spent at the farmers market. What he thought would have been an hour trip, turned into 3 hours.

You rivaled Jack in how much time you could really spend at a farmers market. Bouncing from every stall, even if they were selling the same things, Jack saw how you had to ask the vendors every question under the sun. Prying at the minds of other bakers selling their goods.

“Do your peaches taste different at the beginning and end of the season?”

“Do you add more sugar to all your jams?”

“Is this matcha actually ceremonial grade?”

“What kind of honey did you use for your cakes?”

A bit excessive, he thought. Jack knew deep down it was like looking at a younger version of himself when he first started cooking. Deep into the craft with all the passion one could muster. You’re dedicated, just like he is. 

And he saw that no matter how much you struggled to advocate for your own creativity, you still found ways for it to come out of you naturally. It took his breath away. 

Again, Jack was lost in his own head thinking about you. Not that he was going to admit that to himself. He looked around the crowd, seeing you were not next to him anymore. 

Suddenly appearing at his other side, holding a halved orange up to him. A sweet smile paired with the fruit offering.

“Whoa, where did you run off to?” He looked down to the orange and took it from you, seeing that you had the other half. 

“Oh shit, sorry! I ran away, I couldn’t get that sweet little lady off my mind. She was telling me her life story and it just broke my heart for her. I had to go back and buy these oranges from her, they’re amazing! Who knew they had oranges just as sweet as California oranges out here?” You chirped to him. 

“You’ve been to California?” He asked, peeling the skin away and biting into the fruit.

“That’s where I grew up! Born and raised in Pasadena and went to culinary schoo therel. Pastry and baking arts program for a year.” Jack watched as your lips sucked at the meat of the orange, a little bit dripping on to your chin. “I’ve never told you?” You asked.

“No, I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation outside the topic of cooking and baking.” he admitted. Maybe it was years of conditioning to keep himself in a professional mindset while in the kitchen. 

He raised his thumb to your chin, swiping away the little droplet of orange juice away from your skin. A deep heat coming to your cheeks as you thanked him.

“Is that ok with you?” The question felt a little more changed for Jack than it should have been.

“I think it’s important for me and my staff to have a good connection— bond? That’s probably my fault for not asking you more about yourself.” He admitted.

“It’s kinda on me too then I guess, I never thought to ask you about anything. Everything I hear is just through the grapevine.”

Jack wanted to smile knowing you were asking about him. “As long as it's good things only, I don’t mind you hearing it from other people.” 

“Well, now I wanna get it from the source.” 

“Easy tiger, you’ll know more with time.”

Pursuing your lips, you knew it was now or never to get exclusive Jack Abbot information. “Fine, if I tell you something, you tell me something. Something real, a deep cut!” 

“Ok, I’ll bite. One fun fact since you’re pulling my leg so hard…My good leg.” He pulled his lips into a smirk as his elbow nudged yours. “I was actually pretty bad at cooking until I got into med school.”

“Really? I find that very hard to believe." Arching your eyebrow and side eyeing him. It was hard to believe the owner and creator of one of the hottest restaurants in Pittsburgh used to not know how to cook. 

Jack went on a long tangent about how the stress of med school taught him how to feed himself better. And overtime, it turned him into becoming the best cook and host at gatherings and study sessions. Even Robby was able to school him on some cooking techniques. Both of you got lost in his many, many stories about cooking in a cramped apartment that he almost burnt down one too many times. Neither of you even realized that you had been walking in rounds of the entire market. Not paying attention to anyone but each other.

He finished his stories with a deep sigh. Almost breathless from how much he was talking. “Ok, I fulfilled my end of the deal. Fair is fair.” Looking down at you. Studying those eyes that have been glued on to him for the past 30 or so minutes. 

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you thought hard about what you could tell Jack. Not something flat and obvious. He shared something meaningful to you, you want to do the same.

“I used to own a bakery, Vanilla and Vine. I wanted to open it in California but I was convinced to come out here and start a new life.” you say as your eyes leave his direction. Locking your gaze forward as you keep walking. 

You didn’t think Vanilla and Vine would come up as much as it did this year. Your closed down bakery, every hope and dream you had was born there. Its closing was the last thing you were hoping to tell anyone. Deep down, you felt that Jack would understand what it meant to you. 

“You know what, I heard about Vanilla and Vine. I thought you only opened up at the beginning of last year? What happened?” he asked lightly. Jack saw how your shoulders started to slump at the mention. His body drifted ever so slightly to the side to give you more space, feeling he was in sensitive territory. 

“It was a good year's run, but I had to close at the end of the year. We were pretty popular at the start. But over time, it just wasn’t working out. Maybe I wasn’t good with the money or whatever. I gave that place my everything while it lasted.” A small whimper punctuated the end of your words. You thought you had gone to enough therapy to stop being so emotional about Vanilla and Vine.

“I was able to bake without any red tape. Just make whatever I thought was delicious, what the people wanted. It just wasn’t meant to be.” A single tear gliding down your cheek.

Jack wanted to reach out and wipe it away, just like the orange juice. Almost intrusively, he remembered where he was and who he was to you. As your boss, he shouldn’t be touching you without asking. He let himself stay still next to you, hands deep into the pockets of his pants.

“I’m sorry about that Pumpkin… I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” Was the best that he could muster. What more could he really say without crossing a line?

“It’s ok, it’s in the past now. I’m on to new things, better things! Like The Pitt. I think I’m really finding my footing there.” You bring that smile back to your face, and elbow Jack on his forearm.

He smiles, warming his chest knowing how much you liked working at The Pitt. Hoping that you liked working just as much as he did with you.