#chef luca

Every expletive you could think of leaves your lips. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s been four years since you saw him last. Four years since he left Chicago and never looked back. Maybe he’s only here for a few days. What’s a few days of hiding the biggest secret of your life from a very observant man who cares way too much about you?

“Shit,” you groan as you stare at the blinking line where your reply should be.

“Shit.”

The echo has you jerking up. Amelia stands in the doorway, grinning cheekily up at you.

“You can’t say that word. It’s a bad word.”

“But you said it.”

“Yes, but I’m an adult.”

“So just because you’re older, you can say it but I can’t? That’s not fair. Kids can do anything adults can too.” Her r’s aren’t even fully formed yet so her challenge just sounds endearing. You have a smart kid. Too smart. 

Sighing, you scoop her up, which earns you giggles. She knows she’s won the battle. “Maybe when kids start paying taxes, we’ll talk. Ask me again in a few years. I don’t want you getting in trouble with Miss Glinda.” 

Amelia grins down at you with those big green eyes. An exact replica of her father’s. She also picked up a lot of his kindness and patience, his tenacity. Thank goodness, because if she picked up any of those from you, you don’t think she would have made any friends. God knows your stubbornness has gotten you into more messes than your parents would like.

Said father is the man whose text you still haven’t responded to. Whose text led you to curse in front of your daughter. Your daughter who said father has zero awareness of.

This is going to be fantastic.

When you tuck Amelia back into bed, she peers up at you curiously. Sometimes, it’s like staring right at Luca. Her inquisitive eyes. The ones that could see right through you.

“Why were you saying a bad word, Mommy?” 

You tug the blanket up to her chin as she sinks back into the mattress. “Sometimes, when I feel really strongly about something, I say a bad word. It’s not really a bad thing, but it might not be a good thing either. It’s just when I feel so emotional that I have to use a word that you’re not supposed to use.”

Amelia quietly considers this. You can see the gears turning in her head. “So was it a good thing or a bad thing that made you say it?”

Honestly, you’re still not sure. While you’re more than thrilled at the idea of reconnecting with a good friend and a former co-worker, his arrival in Chicago means that your current situation – in other words, you having a daughter – complicates things. For the duration of time that he is here in the city, you have to figure out how to ensure he never finds out about Amelia. It would be difficult to explain. Even harder now that she’s four. 

Plus, it’s not like you have to. He has a life of his own in Copenhagen now, working for the best of the best. He hasn’t been back in Chicago since he left and he likely will leave again to never return. He doesn’t need to know about her. You’ve been just fine on your own. 

“A little bit of both,” you smile. “Now, sleep. This is the second time I’m putting you to bed. If I reach a third time, the ogre underneath your bed is going to wake up and eat you.”

She frowns, “There’s no ogre under my bed. You told me this last year.”

Curse your good parenting. “It’s the ogre’s other friend.”

Amelia offers you a sympathetic smile. It’s a sad day when your daughter begins to pity you and your weak attempt to be stern. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight.”

God knows you won’t be doing that tonight.

–

Perhaps the situation merits some context. For starters, Amelia is your four-year-old. She’s bright and optimistic, but she’s also quick and snappy. She’s the type to challenge teachers at school as evidenced by the number of times she – and you – have been summoned to the principal’s office due to a teacher’s bruised ego. However, she’s a good student and she makes friends. She’s never been too much of a handful. 

Raising her has been relatively easy, particularly with the help of your parents and Rebecca, your other and current best friend, who adore her. 

When you had gotten pregnant, your parents were unsurprisingly upset. They weren’t happy that their only child was knocked up without the father around. No matter how many times they asked who it was, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them. You dodged the question multiple times, claiming that the father had nothing to do with the baby because it was your call. 

It wasn’t Luca’s responsibility. He didn’t know. 

Still, Amelia has been winning hearts left and right since the day she was born. With her bright green eyes and mischievous nature, she quickly captured your parents’ love. 

With regards to Luca, she does ask about it from time to time. The father she never knew. 

It isn’t as if you and Luca ended on bad terms; you clearly didn’t given that you still consider him one of your closest friends. Close friends with a massive secret between you. 

It was just – there was nothing between you to begin with. 

A drunken one-night stand. That’s all it was. The two of you were tight at Ever, the entire staff knew that. He had been the one to pull you out of your cold shell, introduce you to the rest, and ensured you fit in with the group. Ever wouldn’t have been the same without him. 

So after a particularly tough day and a particularly long night of downing two bottles of wine, it happened. The next morning is something your wine-addled brain had really thought about. 

“Last night…” he starts.

“I know,” you clear your throat, covering your naked chest with your duvet. The last thing you want is to lose your friendship with him. No matter how much you love this man. “We don’t have to— I mean, I get it. We had both been drinking.”

Luca nods slowly. “Yeah, of course.” He’s still shirtless from waist up as far as you could see. His broad shoulders even more prominent in the daylight. Golden skin through and through. You can see why your brain thought it was a good idea last night. 

You’re not blind. You’ve always known your best friend is attractive. You’ve seen the looks some of the servers give him, and even the customers when he takes the occasional step out of the kitchen and into the limelight.

But you can’t lose him. Not to this.

You look up at him. “We’re good right?”

“We’re good.”

And the two of you never spoke of it again. A couple of weeks later, Luca hears that he received the opportunity to stage at Noma. No chef would pass that up. So within a week, he packs his bag and, with tearful goodbyes to the rest of the Ever crew, he is on a flight to Denmark. What was supposed to be a two-month stint turned into four then a full-time gig. Before long, he was bouncing around every fine dining establishment in Copenhagen and making a name for himself as a pastry chef. He eventually returned to Noma to take over pastry work there. 

A week after his departure, you land with your face in your toilet to hurl your guts out. Then came the nausea and the odd food cravings. Working at Ever became unbearable with the mix of smells and your constant fatigue. When all the symptoms finally sink in, you decide to take a pregnancy test.

Lo and behold, two pink lines.

The shock electrocutes you. You’re slumped against your bathroom dresser when Rebecca finds you the first time, panicking since you weren’t exactly moving. Or breathing. It took a lot of crying and ginger ale (no more wine for you) on the floor before she managed to help you move to the bed where you proceeded to repeat the cycle. 

Telling your parents was the easy part. Getting through the pregnancy was rough. Late nights of being sore all over, the constant trips to the bathroom, fielding concerned calls from your parents. 

Some of the worst parts were Luca reaching out. Between calling you at times most convenient for you (he would be up until dawn trying to call you) and sending you check-in texts, you were consumed with guilt. You constantly skipped his calls, claiming you were too busy even as you stared at his name lighting up your phone in the quiet of your room. You told people at Ever that you were leaving to pursue another career path. When your body started to change, you took video calls with him with only the top half of your face visible. 

You never told him. You knew what he would’ve done. He would’ve given up his dream and, knowing him, he wouldn’t have even resented you for it. He would have taken responsibility. But that’s not what you wanted for him. Luca was – is – meant to do great things. 

His career so far is proof of it. 

So you sucked it up. You had the chance to get rid of this unborn, nameless, faceless baby, but it didn’t feel right. You could feel her growing inside you and, once you had that first ultrasound with your mom by your side, it was decided. You were keeping her. 

Amelia came in wailing, kicking, and screaming at three in the morning. 

The greatest gift you could ever imagine. 

She’s been the lighthouse of your life ever since. She is the reason you get up in the morning. 

That’s the gist of it. Now, here you are at the age of thirty, staring at your phone dreading typing a mere response. 

You look down at yourself. Despite the frumpy clothes being all you find comfortable these days outside of work, you don’t look that much different than you did before, so you could definitely pass as a woman who has never gone through pregnancy. You can do this. One meeting. Then he’ll be back on a plane and gone again for good. No big. 

You: Coffee? I could do weekdays afternoon

Luca: Sounds good. I’ll lock in a time with you closer to the date. Looking forward to seeing you again :) 

The urge to bang your head against a wall grows stronger by the moment. 

Two weeks to prepare for his visit. Two weeks to come up with a believable story for how your life has been going for the past four years as if you never had your beautiful, smart, amazing daughter. You could do that. 

Your only concern is whether you’re able to lie to Luca. He’s always been good at making an honest woman out of you. Keeping the truth from him when he’s thousands of miles from you is easy. But when you’re looking into those earnest green eyes, your integrity and skills will be tested.

This will be fun. 

The café is busy particularly this time of day. You’ve got office workers making their late afternoon coffee runs, tourists popping in for a midday snack, and regulars trying to shoulder past people to get through to the exit. You manage to put in your order – and his, hoping it’s still the same – and snag a seat in the back corner of the shop. Work is relatively slow today so you called in a half day, which your manager only waves off unconcerned. It also works out because you can pick up Amelia right after this.

You can’t help the way your fingers wring together fearfully. It’s a nervous tic. Your espresso sits steaming across from Luca’s mocha latte. You could use the extra dose of caffeine to get through this conversation.

Hey, how’s it going? What’s new with you? Me? Nothing much, just raising the daughter I’ve been keeping from you and I’m working in a boring office now. How’s the life of your dreams? 

A groan escapes your lips. You need to stop throwing this pathetic pity party for yourself. Now that Amelia is four, there’s really no excuse. You could go back to the kitchen and chase that lifelong dream again. There’s nothing stopping you. Your parents are fully retired and would be more than happy to take her off your hands on long days. 

But you’re not entirely sure you’re ready. You’re much older than when you left. The stamina of these new and rising chefs is stronger than yours. Then again, you’ve been through hell and back with Amelia’s toddler years – god knows you barely got any sleep and became an expert on multi-tasking. 

With Amelia, you also don’t know if being a chef is even your dream anymore. You still cook at home, it gives you a chance to experiment and be creative. There’s no one breathing down your neck on how to properly prepare a plate – aside from your mom who makes sure Amelia gets her main food groups every day. 

It’s not as if you spite him for it. It’s not his fault. You just need to hold yourself accountable for your decisions. That includes having your wonderful daughter and keeping her a secret from her father. 

The sound of your name rolling off his tongue is all too familiar. It’s almost like a caress. A ghost of a touch. You resist the shiver that snakes up your spine and look up to see him. 

Fuck.

All those video calls did not do him justice. It’s been a couple of days since he landed in Chicago and clearly vacation suits him. There is a slight dusting of stubble along his jaw and his hair is a little unruly, far from the poised and elegant styling he usually has in the kitchen. He looks older. Better. You didn’t think it was possible for Luca to grow more into himself but he proves you wrong. 

“Luca.” You stand, bumping into the table slightly. Curse your lack of cool. 

The smile that spreads across his face is blinding. Familiar. Warm. “God, it’s so good to see you,” he says first, voice dripping with honey. He wraps you in a tight hug. It’s been a while since you’ve been this close to him, since you’ve been able to smell his cologne mixed with that unceasing scent of pastries. “You look… wow. You look amazing.”

“Now you’re just being mean,” you laugh. “Look at you. All grown up. You weren’t scrawny the last time I saw you, but I didn’t think you’d be so… big?”

Something flickers across his eyes, but it’s gone the moment you blink. “Well, all that dough kneading had to go somewhere. Thankfully, that means I don’t really have to hit the gym as much.”

“Life isn’t fair,” you tease. “What are you doing back in Chicago? I thought someone would have to drag you here kicking and screaming.”

While Chicago had been home for Luca for a while, you knew it wasn’t entirely easy. There is a lot of history in the city that he wants to let go, people he chooses to eschew if he can. 

Luca looks a little confused by your question. “Ever is closing. Funeral dinner is tomorrow.”

It’s been years since you’ve been involved in the restaurant scene in the city. Admittedly, it’s too painful to be reminded of the past that had once been your dream. So you nod slowly. “Right, of course.”

“Are you not going?”

You hadn’t been invited, which also isn’t surprising. You weren’t a star like Luca or Carmy. You had been a line cook at the time and blended into the other chefs doing menial work in the kitchen. “No, I don’t really talk to anyone there anymore.”

“Oh, where are you working now? You’ve never told me that actually.”

You’re still not entirely sure how you managed to do it but, in the four years since he left, you did not tell him how you pivoted from cooking to an office job. It was more stable, better pay, and the hours were better. God bless company-sponsored healthcare. It was more conducive to raising a child. 

“I work a finance role now. Boutique tech firm in the city.”

If anyone else knew Luca as well as you did, they would see the metaphorical jaw drop. “What? Since when?”

“Two, three years.” Four. 

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You mean since I left? What happened? Why did you switch?”

The lump in your throat refuses to go down. “I couldn’t handle the hours anymore. I wanted to get home at a good time, make more money.” It isn’t a lie per se. You just had bigger responsibilities that had you prioritizing reality over idealism. 

Luca leans back, seeming to appraise you carefully. There are certainly more lines on your face now, weariness clinging to your skin. While life hasn’t been too tough on you, it hasn’t been particularly kind either. 

“I didn’t know that,” he mutters, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Your lips quirk up in a small smile. “I didn’t want you to worry. Knowing you, you’d be on the first flight back here to drag me back into a kitchen.”

A charming snort escapes him. You didn’t know snorts could be charming until him. God, it’s stupid how fast your heart still races with him. “You’re not wrong. I just never thought this would happen. I heard that you left Ever but since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to touch on a sore subject.”

“Not too sore, I promise. It’s been good. I like it. It’s straightforward and nobody’s constantly yelling at me. There is functioning air conditioning instead of constantly sweating by grills,” you grin. 

“That’s definitely appealing.” 

“Enough about me. Tell me all about Copenhagen.”

And that gets Luca going. While you’ve heard bits and pieces on your short calls with him, it’s another thing entirely to have him narrate this live in front of you. His hands gesture wildly to describe the chaos of the kitchens he’s been in. He swipes through photographs of menu items he worked on recently. Each piece is more impressive than the next. You truly understand how much he’s grown then. How talented he is. 

Somehow, his being here and all these stories reassure you in your decision not to tell him about your pregnancy. This is Luca’s dream. This is what he is meant to do. 

“So when are you heading back? Seems like you have a lot in the works,” you ask as you take a sip of your now-cold coffee. 

“I’m actually here for a few months.”

Your blood runs cold. If this were a movie, you would do a spit-take. “W-why are you here for a few months? What about Noma? Are you taking a sabbatical? Do they even let you take sabbaticals?”

“I left.”

He says it so simply. Like a thing he does so casually. Leaving Noma of all places – arguably the best restaurant in the world and every chef’s dream. His dream. “You’re going to have to elaborate here. What do you mean you left?”

Luca takes a deep breath and looks at you. Really looks at you. He looks contemplative, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve learned a lot there but I think I’m ready to move on.”

One doesn’t just move on. “So what’s your plan now? Are you starting your own place?”

“Someday. I still want to learn. There are a lot of great places here that I can bring my experience to. I’ve started asking around.”

Fuck. Here. “So you’re staying in Chicago?” Your voice comes out as a squeak.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I’m excited. I mean, there’s a lot I have to do still. I have to find a place to live. And my sister…”

Luca’s relationship with his sister is rocky at best. With his parents divorced – not amicably at that, the two barely interacted. Even when the two were living in the same city, Luca buried himself in his pursuit of becoming a chef. You hear slices of her from him, but you know it’s a painful topic, so you don’t try to push. 

“I’m trying to rebuild the relationship there. It’s going to take a while.”

“Right, yeah. I’m glad to hear. I’m sure it’s not easy so I’m proud of you for taking that step.”

“Right,” he clears his throat, eyes dropping to his hand on the table where he fiddles with his napkin. “And you’re here.”

His eyes flick back up to you. Sharp green. Your breath hitches in your throat. 

Fuck. 

You cannot do this. All that hope that you’ve quashed from your years knowing him, it’s coming back up. It’s engulfing you in this warm, tingly feeling that should definitely not be there. The you that he knows, she’s gone. She has changed so much that you can’t even see her in your reflection anymore. 

So no, you can’t start this with Luca. Not when he doesn’t know you. Not anymore, at least. “So Ever funeral, are you excited to see everyone again?”

A brief look of disappointment blankets his features for a moment and you refuse to succumb to the urge to smooth out the creases on his face. “Yes, Carm’s going to be there too so I’m excited to see him. All the greats, of course. Chef Terry is still a legend.”

You hadn’t even thought about Carmy Berzatto in years. The man terrified you back at Ever, and he still terrifies you today. Last you heard, he started his own place. He’s always been intense, so you can imagine that he runs that place with an iron fist. 

“Have you been to his new spot, The Bear?”

“No, I haven’t.” You haven’t been anywhere fancy in a while. It’s been a mix of Chuck E. Cheese’s, Cheesecake Factory, and anywhere that has mozzarella sticks. Amelia is a big fan of cheese, apparently. 

“We should go,” Luca beams. “I’d love to take you there.”

On a date? You cannot even begin to hope that’s what he meant. Again, you deflect. “What kind of cuisine is it?”

Luca doesn’t miss that attempt, but smartly chooses not to address it. “Contemporary American, I suppose, but you can imagine the Italian and French influences just given where Carmy has been.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Yeah, shall we go maybe next week? I’m seeing Carm and his CDC Sydney tomorrow, I can ask them for a reservation spot. I heard it’s tough to get. What time works for you?”

Luca is moving incredibly fast for someone who just arrived, and who plans to be there for a long time. 

“We don’t have to rush it,” you laugh awkwardly, “you’re going to be here for a while right?”

“Yes, but I have a feeling you’ll try and get out of this dinner with me if I didn’t get you to agree today,” he says, his voice tinged with humor, but the arrow still sticks painfully in you.

He isn’t wrong. You probably would use work as an excuse, despite talking about the better hours. But you have other responsibilities like picking up Amelia from school, feeding her dinner, and making sure she does her homework: 

None of which he knows about.

“Weekdays can be a bit tricky with my schedule.”

“The weekend perhaps? How about Saturday?”

Amelia has French lessons in the morning (her request, not yours) and then Rebecca is coming over so the three of you can do a quick painting session. Rebecca is insistent on nurturing her artistic skills from an early age. 

The Bear is only open for dinner service which you can’t escape without Amelia asking questions; the girl is too smart for her own good and you haven’t been out with plans that she doesn’t know about. Ever. 

The dating scene changes a little for single moms. You haven’t been on a date in a very long time. It’s tough to get into a committed relationship with a child when you've just completed your twenties. 

“Let me think about it?”

He studies you for a moment. “Are you seeing anyone?”

You make the mistake of taking a swig of your coffee when you cough, sputtering embarrassingly. Luca flails before offering you a napkin. 

“Sorry, shite, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you wheeze, “it just caught me off guard.” 

“Sorry,” he repeats awkwardly, “is that a bad question to ask?”

You shake your head, urging your skyrocketing heart rate to let up. “No, um, it’s fine. I’m not— I’m not seeing anyone.” 

“Right, cool.”

The faint pink painted on his cheeks is noticeable but it’s better not to comment. 

“I’m not either,” he adds, “seeing anyone, that is.” 

You fight the amused smile on your lips. He’s already scratching his cheek, a nervous habit that he hasn’t lost. “Cool.” 

“Cool,” Luca echoes in a chuckle.

For a minute, the two of you sit there in silence. All those years apart seem to evaporate, vanishing into the crowd. The comfort that you’ve always felt around him sinks into your bones. 

“I should get back to work, can’t have my boss thinking I’ve disappeared on her.” 

“Right, of course. No rest for the weary.” Luca smiles. When the two of you are outside, Luca turns to you and immediately pulls you in for another embrace. “It was really good seeing you.”

It’s too easy to burrow your face into his broad chest. That nostalgic ache persists inside your heart. You don’t feel like you’re thirty. You’re twenty-two again in that kitchen, standing next to Luca. Both of you are young and carefree. The aroma of freshly baked goods that clings onto his skin and the sweat that dots his brows. 

But when a car honks in the distance, reality settles back into your gut. 

“You too,” is all you can muster. “See you around.”

By the look on Rebecca’s face, you can’t exactly pinpoint what emotion she’s feeling. It started off with surprise and then confusion and more surprise. “So he’s just back now?”

“Uh-huh,” you say from your spot in the kitchen as you’re preparing dinner. Mushroom risotto, one of Amelia’s favorites. This one is a labor of love but it’s always rewarding when you see the look on her face when it’s plated in front of her. 

Thankfully, she had fallen asleep right after she and Rebecca spent the afternoon playing a game of water tag in the backyard so now it’s just you and Rebecca in the kitchen as you recount The Meeting with Luca. 

Rebecca pops another olive into her mouth. “So are you going to hook up with him again?”

“Bec!” You gasp. “Absolutely not.”

“Clearly he was good enough the first time to give you a child.”

An exasperated sigh of disbelief leaves your lips, which only amuses her more than anything. “I will not be hooking up with him again. It was one time. We’re friends now.”

“Honey, friends don’t fuck.”

“Friends can fuck once.”

“If you finish twice in one night, does that count as once still?”

You wave a hand in front of her. “I’m not debating the technicality of this. Point is, I’ve seen him once and I will not be seeing him again.”

“Why not? He’s clearly interested. He asked you if you were single.”

“So?”

“And then he tells you – unprompted – that he’s single too.”

“I get it, maybe he’s interested. But I’m not.”

Even your words sound unconvincing in your ears.

“I’m—” fuck. “—not. I’m not. Anyways, I didn’t make plans and I hope he doesn’t follow up—”

As if on cue, your phone begins vibrating on the table. Both your eyes drop to it as Luca’s face and name pop up on screen. Rebecca’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Superpowers. Good in bed and reading minds.”

“I’m not going to deal with that.”

“You have to.” 

“I won’t.”

“Are you five? Why are you avoiding him? You claim he’s your best friend – which I take full offense to by the way – but you can’t even talk to him.”

Groaning, you stare at the device still circling the surface of your counter. “I don’t want to risk him meeting Amelia, especially if he’s going to be here a while.”

“He’s definitely going to meet her eventually. It’s a matter of when. Are you never going to invite him over?”

“What possible reason would I have to invite him over?” Rebecca opens her mouth and you quickly interject, “Don’t answer that.”

Her gaze falls back to the device, then flicks up to you, then back to the device. Before you can stop her, she’s swiping to pick up the call and putting it on speaker. You want to slap the proud grin off her face. 

“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Luca’s gravelly voice carries over the speakers. 

“No, no. Just making dinner,” you respond, ignoring the way Rebecca keeps mouthing at you about his British accent. 

“What’s on the menu?”

“Mushroom risotto,” you say as you look over the boiling pan again. 

“I remember that one. One of my favorites of yours.” You can practically hear his smile. Your heart skips a little too fast at the thought. “If you’re willing, I’d love to have that again sometime.”

Rebecca mutes it quickly just to say, “Fucking Jesus, he wants in your pants again.” Then unmutes. 

With a glare her way, you direct your attention back to Luca. “Yes, maybe.” Noncommittal. Safe. 

“Listen, I was with Carm and Syd at Ever and they invited us to come for dinner at The Bear. Wondering what your schedule looks like next week and if you’d be interested.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s a little— oh fuck.”

“You okay?”

You shoot Rebecca a dirty look after she launched a fucking olive at your head. “Yeah, fine, sorry.”

“Go,” she whispers. 

“Um, I’m not sure about my schedule next week.”

“I can be flexible. I know you said weekdays are a little tough but what about after work? Thursday night?”

Fuck. If Luca is one thing, he’s persistent. And he knows how your bad tendency to avoid things you’re scared of – which in this case is dinner with him, so he’s not letting this one go. “It’s a school night so I’m not sure.”

He chuckles. The sound reverberates straight through your core. “And you can’t go out on school nights, can you?”

Crap. His voice is like a siren’s, luring you in to confess your secrets. The way he says it too – Jesus, the delivery of that question has sparks blowing up inside you. More importantly, you almost let it slip that school nights are usually a no-go because you need to get Amelia ready for the next day. “Still have to work the next day,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Friday then?”

“Friday is better…”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment. You know he’s still there but he’s in deep thought. This happens sometimes. You’ve grown attuned to notice these moments even without seeing his face on the call. 

“I just want to say there’s no pressure. If you’re not interested, please feel free to say no. I don’t want to force you to spend time with me if you don’t want to. You’ve got your own life, I completely understand. I apologize, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

Fuck. Of course, he would be a complete gentleman in this situation. It’s not that you don’t want to. Everything is just complicated. Pushing aside those worrying thoughts, you say, “No, I’d love to. Sorry. I just have a lot on my plate right now so I don’t want to make plans I can’t commit to.”

“Do it,” Rebecca mouths. For someone who’s supposed to be a fly on the wall, she is oddly intrusive. “I’ll take Amelia.” You hesitate for a second and she gives you another look before she mutes the call again. “Honey, do it. You deserve to do something nice for yourself okay. And if it’s a nice dinner with a hot British chef, then so be it.”

Sighing, you unmute the call and talk to Luca again. “Friday works. I’ll be coming from work.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. Text me the address. I’ll book for 7:30 to be safe.”

“Alright, sounds good,” you reply weakly. 

“See you then.”

When the line goes cold, you look up to find Rebecca with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I’m so proud of you,” she exhales dreamily. “It’s like seeing a teenage daughter grow up and plan her first date.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the stove. Your cheeks are flushed with warmth. 

This is a date. Luca probably considers this a date. Right? It would be embarrassing if he didn’t and you did. Maybe he’s just being nice and taking out an old friend to a restaurant he has been meaning to try. 

“I can hear you spiraling,” Rebecca singsongs. 

“Why did you let me say yes?”

It is then that Rebecca physically gets up, rounds the counter, and grabs hold of both your arms. “I need to shake some sense into you. You are still a person. You are allowed to go out and have fun. There are people around you who can help you with Amelia. You’re not alone.”

“I know this,” you grumble under your breath.

“But I think sometimes you need a good reminder of it. You’ll have fun at dinner, I just know it. You spent so long pushing away that part of you because you think you’ll never have it again, but – you know what – I think you can. You’ve always loved food and cooking. I can see it in the meals you make for Amelia. Maybe it’s just time for you to go out and explore again.”

Smiling softly, you always knew that Rebecca was your better half. She took you under her wing in college, stood up for you, and gave you the confidence to pursue your dreams. You had graduated with a degree in finance but worried for your life when you had to tell your parents that you were going to be a chef instead. She stood by you through it all. 

“Thanks, Bec.”

“Where would you be without me?”

With a laugh, you nudge her away as you turn off the fire. Right on time, Amelia wanders into the room, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “Hungry.”

Classic. She truly is your daughter. 

When seven rolls around, you’ve already spent the last thirty minutes fretting over your hair and the state of your makeup. The office has cleared out for the day, but you spent the last working hour playing catch-up. It’s been a busy week for Amelia at Pre-K – who knew they could have so much homework even before reaching kindergarten?

You smooth out the wrinkles on your pale blue dress – work appropriate with the blazer, and chic dinner fit without. Since Amelia, you’ve foregone wearing heels, opting instead for flats or sneakers since you’re constantly on your feet. But you pull out your white, open-toed pumps from your closet for this dinner.

Yes, you can readily admit that you are at least trying to look nice for this dinner non-date. 

When you told Amelia earlier this week that you had plans on Friday night to go out for dinner and that she would be staying home with Rebecca, she didn’t blink twice. She only asked what Aunt Rebecca had planned. When she saw you this morning dressed up with a little more blush on your cheeks, she didn’t question it. Instead, she just smiled quietly and complimented you on your dress. 

You can’t believe you’re at a stage where she is making space for you. You nearly get teary just thinking about how quickly she’s growing up. 

A black sedan pulls up in front of you and Luca is immediately out the door. You’re so used to seeing him in t-shirts, aprons, and sweatshirts that you forgot how delectable he can look when he cleans up. His blonde hair is neatly coiffed and he’s shaved his face clean. You find yourself almost missing that rugged stubble on his face. His navy shirt is freshly pressed with sleeves rolled up close to his elbows to reveal all his tattoos. 

God, he looks good. Too good. Tempting even.

“You look fantastic,” Luca beats you to the punch, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek. His eyes peruse you shamelessly, dragging from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. 

It’s a European thing, you remind yourself. “You do too. Almost didn’t recognize you out of your stained tees.”

His mouth curls into a smirk. “Believe it or not, I do have clean laundry these days.” He swings open the door for you and offers a hand to help you slide inside. 

Once the two of you are settled in, Luca pulls up the restaurant on the navigation system. He fills the silence with small talk, asking you how your day went and how work is going. 

When you finally arrive at The Bear, Luca drops you off at the front and goes to park around the corner. Ever the gentleman. Stepping inside, you’re immediately impressed by how elegant the entire place is. It’s neat with that fine dining touch, but there’s a certain coziness in the air that makes it more welcoming. Luca joins you shortly after, stating his name for the reservation.

A tall man dressed sharply in a black suit comes up and greets Luca first. “Glad you could make it!”

“Thanks for having me,” Luca beams back. He introduces the two of you quickly and you learn that his name is Richie and he is Carmy’s cousin.

“Not real cousin but his brother was my best friend,” Richie corrects easily. “Let me take you to your table.”

The service is impeccable and the ambiance even more so. You’re marveling at how polished everything is. The window strip into the kitchen gives a sneak peek into the work behind the scenes, but your focus is on the main dining room. Beautiful booths against the wall, tables spaced just enough apart. You can’t imagine that this place had been a casual fast food joint just months ago. They’ve truly outdone themselves with the transformation. 

“Impressive bunch,” Luca notes your expression. “Not to mention it’s most of their first time working in fine dining. While there have been some inconsistent reviews, the menu is generally delicious overall.”

“Yeah, I don’t recognize it anymore. I remember visiting this shop back then and it was holding on to its last hinges. Now look at this place.” 

The tasting menu is even more stunning. The bread is crisp on the outside, fluffy and warm on the inside, paired perfectly well with the option of freshly made butter. Appetizers were light, perfect to get you warmed up for the series of main courses. Desserts – don’t even get you started on the desserts. You’re pretty sure you let out an inappropriate moan at some point. 

Your diet these past few years has consisted of whatever is microwavable, preparable with hot water, or whichever dish Amelia is craving. So you’ve had your fair share of ramen, mac and cheese (Amelia’s three-year-old phase), and lunchables (ongoing, on-and-off phase). 

It’s been a while since you’ve had a proper sit-down meal at a fancy restaurant. It’s hard to believe that you used to work in these kitchens. You used to be the person creating these meals. While your parents and Amelia let you take your own spin with the dishes you prepare for them, most of the time you’re too exhausted to do anything experimental and stick to what you know – and have in your cupboards. 

It’s nice to enjoy this kind of meal again. 

You and Luca discuss dinner throughout, talking about the flavor profiles and the potential inspirations, the influences of each dish. Each item was made meticulously with careful thought placed into the flavor. It didn’t feel extremely polished, but that just meant there’s still a lot of heart that went into it. 

“That was just… wow.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Luca chuckles as he wipes with a napkin. “I was already expecting to be blown away but that was out of this world. As expected from Carmy. And Syd.”

Richie comes back around and the two of you gush over how wonderful everything is. “Great to hear it, team. Love the enthusiasm. Carmy and Syd have some time right now by the way, if you wanted to go say hi.”

“That would be perfect. Let me just close out and not walk out on my tab.”

“I can definitely get you that.”

When the bill arrives, Luca is quick to swipe it off the table. “Luc—”

Luca immediately shakes his head, dropping his card on top of the receipt and hands it back to the waiter. “My treat. For putting up with me all these years.”

A frown forms on your face as you watch his hands fold on top of the table. “What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll split. It’s an expensive dinner.”

“Let me do this one thing for you, love,” Luca says. “I wanted to try this place and I invited you so it’s only fair that I cover the bill.”

“Luca, that’s not— come on. I’ll send you the money. This isn’t a—” you bite your tongue, stopping yourself before you can say the word date. 

He catches on anyway, lips tugging into a smile. “If I told you this is a date, would you let me pay for it then?”

Warmth creeps up your cheeks again as you wring your fingers on the napkin on your lap. 

“Folks, are we ready to meet the chefs?” Richie returns, clapping his hands together. 

“Yes, we are.” Luca answers. He’s giving you yet another out. Still the gentleman, he offers a hand to help you to your feet. 

Richie leads you towards the kitchen door, drawing curious eyes from surrounding guests over this special treatment you’re getting. When you step in, your senses are immediately overwhelmed. 

The kitchen is alive. Not just loud. Alive. A symphony of sizzles rises from the skillets as flames dance around the pans, blues and oranges glowing bright. Metal against metal as hot pans hit the stovetop, the scraping of spatulas against the surface. Another chef yells corner as they appear carrying trays of baked meringues. The chef at expo is reading out orders from her list, her voice slicing steady and clear across the cacophony of sounds. 

The light overhead is cold and clinical, sharp fluorescents that bleach the space in blue. But the kitchen burns bright. The heat in this room is significantly higher than the carefully controlled temperature of the dining room. 

It’s nostalgic. It reminds you of all those years working alongside Luca. Your fingers wrapped around a cool piping bag, swirling icing on top of tarts. The aroma of pastries baking — golden crusts, caramelized sugars, berries roasting – was consistent in the air. There is a quiet in the chaos. Controlled chaos. 

A comfort that you’ve longed for. Your kitchen isn’t the same. The people aren’t the same, but there’s a beauty in the newness. In the challenge. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Richie yells, “Yo! Cousin! Chef Syd! Luca’s here.” The brunette woman at expo give him a warning look, which withers him only slightly. 

There is a chorus of greetings when people spot Luca. Clearly he’s a fan favorite. When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking back at you. A gentleness to his gaze that catches you off guard. 

Before you can attempt to decipher that look, two chefs make their way over to you. One you recognize as Carmy. His intensity is palpable, obvious. If there’s anyone who could put these chefs on edge, it would be him. The other woman is calmer. A friendly face but an equally controlled presence. The two make a terrifying pair. 

Carmy’s eyeing you with interest, eyes flicking between you and Luca. “I’ve met you before,” he says simply. 

You laugh and Luca rubs his face. “Mate, you guys worked together.”

“We did?” He asks the same time Syd asks, “You did?”

“Yeah, she was my second for pastry.” 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Syd laughs, crossing her arms over her chest. Carmy still looks completely befuddled, but also distracted by the stream of activity going on behind him. He mutters to give him a second as he deals with the searing steak. “I mean Luca’s great but forgive Carmy, he’s not best at… remembering anything. Or math. Or picking up the phone.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Carm calls out, hands still moving quickly and efficiently to turn the steak and then quickly plate it for service. You can’t help but marvel at how speedy he is. He’s always been good but he’s only gotten better. It’s terrifying knowledge. “Hands!” Then he’s back in front of the two of you. 

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t there for very long—”

Luca chuckles. “You were there for at least two years. You definitely overlapped for a while.”

“Shit, sorry, I’m just bad with – well, like Syd said – most things. But yeah, good to meet you again.”

“You too, the food was delicious. As expected,” you shrug with a smile. “Out of this world.” Luca smiles quietly at the echo of his words.  

“Thanks, it took a while to get the menu to this place,” Syd nods. 

Carmy’s still looking at the two of you. “This is a mess, though. Don’t let us ruin your date.” You see Syd elbow him, leaving him with another look of confusion. 

Before you can correct him, Luca is already responding, “No, this is great, mate. I’ve missed the Chicago food scene a lot. Ever was clean, but this feels very lively.”

“Yeah, it’s been great. Budget’s fucking fucked but it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Luca looks at him in concern but the two chefs wave him off. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt too long. I’m just going to say hi to Marcus and head out.” A hand settles on the small of your back and suddenly you’re being directed towards the back corner of the kitchen where a man who is even taller than Luca stands (you note that there are many tall men in this establishment), his hands working away at these delicate little desserts. 

“Luca, my man,” the man who you assume to be Marcus grins wide, dapping Luca. You’re more bewildered that Luca knows how to dap than anything. “Heard you were on this side of the pond.”

“Yeah, for a little bit actually.”

“Nice,” he nods slow then looks at you. “Marcus.”

You introduce yourself too and add, “Desserts were perfection by the way. Sundae was inspired, love the olive oil.”

“Thank you. I have to give this man right here his flowers. Learned a lot from my time there.”

Luca laughs, scratching his cheek. “No, it was all you, man. Echoing that desserts were superb.”

“Thanks, man. I actually wanted to run some ideas by you if you’ve got time.”

“Time is all I have.”

Marcus grins. “Perfect, I’ll text you.” He turns to you. “Good to meet you. Never thought Luca would have time for a girlfriend.”

This time, you do jump in. Perhaps a little too fast. “I’m not his girlfriend,” you blurt out, “I’m a… friend.”

Marcus’ gaze darts between Luca and you. Shame sinks quickly into you. The defensiveness in your voice was maybe unnecessary. You can’t see Luca’s face but you can feel his hand shift slightly away from your body. The lack of touch leaves you feeling a little cold in the warm kitchen. “Right, my bad. Anyway, good seeing you both.”

“You too, talk soon,” Luca says. 

With a flurry of goodbyes, the two of you are finally out of the restaurant, standing in the slightly brisk evening air. A wind whips by, leaving you shivering slightly. “Are you cold?” Luca asks. “You can wait inside and I’ll pull the car around.”

“No, don’t worry. I’ll just grab an Uber from here.”

“Nonsense, I have a car. I’m happy to drop you off at home.”

“Luca, you’ve done more than enough. Dinner was wonderful. I can get myself home.”

Luca hesitates, gaze drifting into the street. 

“There’s no meaning behind it. I really just don’t want to trouble you any more than I already have.”

“You could never trouble me,” he says. It’s almost a promise. You blame the heat on your cheeks on the touch of wind outside. “It’ll make me feel better knowing that you’re getting home safely.”

You don’t think he would drop this. Not to mention, it would save you the money on a long drive back home. Finally, you nod in agreement and he tells you to stay put as he grabs the car. 

On the ride home, you quickly shoot a text to Rebecca.

You: Luca’s dropping me off. Can you make sure Amelia’s in bed? Thanks :)

“So you liked dinner?”

You snort, “That’s an understatement. I don’t think I’ve had a meal like that in a long time.”

“I’m surprised. You’ve always been the first to try new restaurants, especially ones by reputable chefs. As intense as Carmy is, he is a fantastic chef. So is Syd, she’s brilliant.”

A weak smile settles on your face as you turn to look out the window. The sparse traffic blurs before you in streaks of red. “Just haven’t had the time, I suppose.”

Luca clears his throat and your glance flies back to him. His grip is tight on the steering wheel, his neck flushed pink. “Well, if you’re interested in exploring more places, I have a lot of catching up to do. We could go together?”

You’ve never been able to tell him no. Not when you want it for yourself as well. “That sounds nice.”

When you get to your home, Luca pulls up along the curb. Just as you’re about to thank him again, he’s already stepping out to get your door. Fuck. “Thank you,” you whisper, slipping your hand into his for the nth time that night. You’re getting used to the feeling. “Thank you again for dinner. I had a great time.”

“Me too,” he smiles. “Hopefully the first of many.”

“I’ll get the bill next time.”

Luca shrugs. “We’ll see.”

When he makes no move to leave, you tilt your head. “Shouldn’t you get going? It’s late.”

“Let me walk you to your door.”

Your heart drops to the ground. You haven’t gotten a response yet from Rebecca which is hopefully a good thing. Maybe they’re both fast asleep, it wouldn’t be the first time. The energy-exerting activities work as well on Rebecca as it does on Amelia. 

“You really don’t have to.”

“I insist. It’s the Brit side of me. I want to make sure you get in okay.”

All you can do is nod and walk up the pathway to your door. Your knees feel a little weak. If it’s the nerves or the proximity to Luca, especially since his hand has returned to your lower back, you’re not entirely sure. 

When you reach for your keys, Luca shoves his hands into his pants pockets. His hair is a touch mussed up now, a strand falling attractively across his forehead. He’s looking at you with that calm gaze, one that has your body all too aware of his presence. 

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“Pretty sure you already said I looked fantastic earlier, beautiful feels like a downgrade.”

Luca laughs, the sound low and familiar. Your chest warms as you look at him. 

“Thanks again, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m just grateful you agreed to go with me.”

“We’re friends, Luca. We can hang out.”

He hums, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Something about the act has your heart rate picking up. “Didn’t seem like you really wanted to.”

“It’s just been a while since I’ve been… out.”

“Well, if you’re not opposed, then I’d be honored to take you out again.”

Oh boy. This is venturing into dangerous territory. 

“I should head in,” you say, teeth catching your bottom lip before you can say something stupid like would you like to come in? 

However, before Luca can respond, the front door swings open and you hear—

“Mommy!” 

Shit.

Amelia stands in the doorway in her purple unicorn pajamas. She’s looking up at you with bright eyes but then her curious gaze wanders over to the blonde man in front of you. 

Double shit. 

Her hair isn’t an exact replica of Luca’s, but the eyes are unmistakable. All three of you seem to freeze in time. 

Amelia is staring at Luca, Luca is staring at Amelia, and you’re trying to figure out how to dig yourself out of this hole. First things first, you crouch down to Amelia’s height. “Baby, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Aunt Rebecca fell asleep but I wasn’t tired yet.”

You purse your lips. “Let’s get you inside, it’s chilly out.”

“Who’s that?” Amelia peeks around you to look at Luca again. 

The thought of even looking at him right now is terrifying. “He is my friend.”

“You’re not going to introduce me?” Amelia asks, eyes widening. You know exactly what she’s doing. Manipulative. The guilt-trip, puppy-dog eyes. 

So you grit your teeth and plaster on a smile as you straighten back up and turn to Luca. He’s still rooted to your porch, mouth pressed into a thin line and his brows puckered in confusion. “Luca, this is Amelia. Amelia, Luca.”

“Hi, Uncle Luca.”

Polite, you taught her well. 

It is then that Luca seems to snap out of it, clearing his throat awkwardly as he crouches to her level. He sticks out a hand, which she immediately accepts. “Hi, Amelia. It’s very nice to meet you. Though, it seems like it’s way past your bedtime.”

Amelia disregards his comment and instead responds with “You have a cool accent. Where are you from?”

“I grew up in London but I’ve lived here in Chicago and also spent the last few years in Copenhagen. In Denmark.”

“That’s so cool, I’ve never been,” Amelia beams, eyes sparkling in delight. 

“Well, if you ever decide to go, I could take you around.”

“Do you live there now?”

His eyes snap up to you briefly, the movement surprising you, before they return to the little girl before him. “No, I’m moving back here to Chicago.”

“Why?”

Luca is quiet as he pulls together his words. “Because there are a lot of people I care about here.”

“Is my mommy one of them?”

The lump in your throat has only grown. The word mommy usually warms your heart but you can feel it stuttering instead. Your mind is running awry, wondering if he’s connected the dots yet, what answers you should give him if he asks. He doesn’t need to know, you remind yourself. He’ll be here a few months and then he’ll be gone again – and you and Amelia can go back to the life you’ve always lived. Just the two of you. 

“Yes, your mum is definitely one of them,” Luca softly says, “Speaking of, she’s very sleepy. Maybe it’s best that you tuck her in for the night.”

Amelia giggles, “That’s a great idea. She always tucks me in so it’s my turn.”

“Mhmm, then you can go to sleep knowing your mum’s tucked away safely in bed.” Luca reaches out to ruffle her hair, which pleases her as she preens to the touch. His eyes widen for a second before they melt again and he strokes her head. “Have a good night, Amelia.”

Amelia remains by the door when he finally turns to you. There’s a storm clouding his usually bright eyes as he looks at you. You’re not even sure what words are caught on the tip of your tongue, but they never come out. 

“Have a good night, love,” Luca murmurs and leans forward to press a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes slide shut. God, you’ve missed this intimacy with someone. Nothing could compare to his touch. The loneliness that has ebbed and flowed over the years seeps back into your lungs. 

But your heart is still rattled by what just happened. You can barely move, let alone respond. 

Then he’s gone, the roar of his engine echoing down the quiet street as he drives away. 

Your mind is numb as you prepare Amelia for bed. She’s chattering about how nice Luca seems to be and how she’s excited to see you making friends again. The only thing you can offer her is a weak smile as you press a kiss to her temple. She slides under the covers and is out cold in minutes. You leave her room quietly to drape a blanket over Rebecca, who’s sleeping on the couch. 

Only then do you head to your own room, weary from a long day.

The last thing you see before sleep pulls you under is your phone lighting up.

Luca: We need to talk.

Luca sighed as he entered the apartment, his bones aching with exhaustion. Damn, it felt good to be home.

For lack of a better term, work fucking sucked. He'd worked on a new dessert recipe that didn't turn out the way he wanted it to, work was slammed today, and to top it all off, he managed to fuck up a creme brulee—something he'd made about a thousand times—and had to lock in and remake the dessert for a customer.

Luca changed into more comfortable clothes—a ratty old Arsenal T-shirt and some gray sweatpants. He rummaged in the pantry, grabbing a loaf of sourdough bread, along with a jar of mayonnaise, butter, some onions, and some sharp cheddar and Havarti cheese from the fridge. The workday stress was still weighing him down hard, and he needed to keep his hands busy and his mind on something else.

He focused on prepping for the grilled cheese, so lost in thought that he didn't notice you getting off the living room couch and sidling up to him.

"Luca! Welcome home, baby," you said, pecking his cheek.

"Hey there." Luca greeted you with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

You frowned, taking in how visibly stressed and exhausted your boyfriend looked. "Rough day at work?" you asked sympathetically. Luca focused on your lips, so pouty and kissable.

Luca groaned, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "Pretty fuckin' sure I had the day from hell today. Never been so glad to be home."

"I'm sorry, babe. Let me know if I have to fight anybody," you joked, coming behind your boyfriend and rubbing his shoulders. Luca sighed, relaxing into the massage. Fucking hell, he hadn't realized how tense he'd been.

Luca smirked. "You think you can take on everyone in London who decided that tonight was a perfect night to eat out?"

You kissed Luca's neck. "I'd fight the entire city for you, babe," you said with mock solemnity. Luca snorted. "Is there anything I can do to help you relax?"

Luca's dick twitched at your words. Honestly, the way you could get him horny without even trying is a skill that needs to be studied. He wouldn't be opposed to a little stress relief right now—the grilled cheese could wait.

He lazily smirked at you, pretending to be lost in thought. "Well, I guess there is something you could do..."

You sank to your knees, easily sliding down his gray sweatpants—you loved when he wore those—and his boxers, letting his thick cock spring free. You gave a little kitten lick to the tip, already leaking a bead of precum, and used your tongue to spread the wetness

Luca threw his head back, closing his eyes. "Ah, fuckin' hell, sweetheart. I love that mouth of yours."

You enveloped his length with your mouth, sucking him off while one of your hands massaged his balls. Luca grunted, grasping some of your hair as he gently pushed you further down on his cock.

"Oh, love—taking me so fucking well," Luca hissed.

You lifted your head up, gently sucking at his balls and leaving a kiss on his tip before taking his dick back in your mouth, covering him. That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back—he released himself in your mouth, and you dutifully swallowed his salty cum.

Luca gazed at you, the pupils of his eyes blown out with lust. "Need more of you," he muttered. "Take your clothes off."

You rushed to get undressed, leaving your clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor. Luca pulled his jersey off and bent you over the kitchen island, sliding two of his fingers inside you. He pumped his fingers in and out of you, gathering up your arousal and causing you to whimper.

"Cum for me, my love," Luca gently ordered, and your pussy responded accordingly, clamping down on his fingers as you orgasmed.

Luca pulled his fingers out, savoring the taste of you like a fine dessert. "You're so perfect, sweetheart," he said reverently, and you smiled shyly back at him, feeling filled with warmth and affection for your lovely British boyfriend.

Normally, Luca loved to take his time with you, teasing you and pleasuring you until you fell apart for him. But tonight? He couldn't wait. Once you'd become nice and wet from his fingers, Luca pumped his cock, thrusting into you.

Both of you groaned from the impact, and Luca grabbed your hips as he began fucking in and out of you, relishing the squelching sound of your pussy echoing throughout the kitchen. He growled, using you to fuck out all the frustrations and stress from work. Luca enjoyed the pitchy, breathy sound of your moans as he rutted into you, his balls slapping against your clit as he went deeper inside you.

"Feels like fuckin' heaven inside ya," Luca marveled as your tight, wet, warm pussy squeezed around his cock. "Can't get enough of this pussy—my pussy."

You felt something hot and familiar coil inside of you, and suddenly you were falling apart again, cumming all over Luca's cock. He moaned, burying his face into the side of your neck as he shot ropes of cum inside of you, watching intently as some of it dribbled down your thighs.

Luca held you close, kissing your neck. "Thank you, sweetheart. Really needed that."

You turned around in Luca's grip, looking at him fondly. "I'm glad. It hurts my heart to see you coming home so stressed out—I know how hard you work."

"Honestly, I fucked up today," Luca admitted, clenching his jaw. "I was rushing and managed to screw up a creme brulee. Got so pissed at myself for not doin' my best work."

You squeezed Luca's hand, rubbing his knuckles. "It's okay! Mistakes happen, Luc," you assured him. "That doesn't mean you're any less of a chef. You just had one bad day."

Luca sighed, pulling you into a deep kiss. "I don't know what the hell I did to deserve you," he murmured.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your stomach grumbled loudly, causing your cheeks to grow warm. Way to ruin the moment.

Luca chuckled, shaking his head at you. "All right, let's get you cleaned up. Then I suppose I could make grilled cheese for both of us," he teased.

Seven minutes ago, you were sipping champagne, laughing with your cousins, letting the band’s cover of Sugar by Maroon 5 carry you into that familiar warmth weddings are supposed to have. Then Sydney just had to lean in, casual enough to pretend she wasn’t stirring the pot, and mention that Luca was definitely going to be the new stage at The Bear.

Now?

Your back is against the cold porcelain countertop, heels slipping against the tile as Luca’s frame crowds yours. Somewhere between your third “you’re better than this!” and his clipped “you don’t get to tell me that!” his hands had found the hem of your dress, and silk is now pooled around your hips. 

You’re both glaring, eyes locked, daring the other to blink first.

“I thought you were joking, but you’re serious — you’re really going to be a stage? At his restaurant?” Your voice echoes through the tiled room, sharp and incredulous. 

Luca doesn’t say anything, mouth screwed shut. His hand is braced beside your hip, the other grazing black lace — the panty he insisted you wear tonight. His fingertips slide the flimsy fabric to the side, letting the cool air hit your most sensitive area.

Your fingers curl against the counter, nails biting the surface, holding onto your anger to keep you steady. To keep you anchored. It’s your cousin’s wedding, for fucksakes. It’s practically a family reunion after years spent in Copenhagen with Luca while he chased, and caught, his dream of being a chef. You’re supposed to be mingling, drinking champagne, catching up, delivering a speech in about twenty minutes…

Not pinned in a bathroom with a needy cunt.

“It’s humiliation, Luca. You’re better than Carmen, and you know it.”

The more you poke, the more you prod, the heavier his silence grows. And Luca just stares at you in a flat, bored way. He’s done with the argument. Your words mean nothing to him, yet you’re still dragging it out. You grit your teeth, pulse thrumming.

It’s impossible to look away. He’s dressed too well for this fight. Black slacks, black collared shirt, hair styled to perfection. Fabric clinging and cutting in all the right places.

Luca looks untouchable.

Every inch of him screams control — making it harder to resist, and even harder to remember why you’re supposed to be angry when he looks like this, and smells like smoke and spice and something so distinctly him. 

Then, Luca lifts two fingers to his mouth. 

The wet sound of him coating them in saliva is obscenely loud in the tiny bathroom. Your stomach twists, heat rushing even lower, because he doesn’t look away. 

Not once. 

The connection is so palpable it makes your skin prickle — Luca is doing this on purpose. All because you picked a fight with him, because you dared to tell him he’s better than your cousin. 

“This is about you proving something to him, not to yourself." you murmur, your voice faltering.

His fingers pop out of his mouth. Your chest stutters.

He drops them to your slit, peeling you apart. He starts just below your clit, gliding in an endless give and take motion — nothing about the way Luca touches you is careless. It’s dedication. Years spent mapping your body, so of course he knows the exact pressure it takes to make you gasp.

Your hand closes around his wrist, meaning to stop him, to push him away. 

But you can’t. 

Because you’re not in control. Luca is.

And he knows it. 

The glint in his eyes tells you he feels the shift, feels as you lean into it. Into him.

“And if it is? What then?” He finally speaks, voice low enough that it scrapes over your skin.

His thumb ghosts over your clit, never makes contact. He knows your reaction by heart: a sharp inhale through your nose followed by a ragged exhale, squeezed through clenched teeth.

But he’s taken back by your harsh words.

“Then you’re not the Luca I thought you were.”

The real insult? 

His pupils don’t even dilate. Just that same bored, ‘are you done?’ stare before muttering, “Mmm, wrong answer. Try again.”

Then, he circles your clit, just once. 

Your body jolts, and you try to cover it with a useless scoff, “Well, the Luca I know wouldn’t go back to be a fucking stage.” 

A muscle feathers in his jaw. Not anger. Not even annoyance. Just tired. So fucking tired of your persistent inability to understand him. One by one, Luca plucks his fingers away, leaving behind a glistening trail of ache.

Then, he moves.

Clutching your waist. Hauling you up. Setting you on the counter. Slotting his body between your knees. Cold porcelain biting your ass. Breath rushing out of your lungs. Hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

The bathroom is suddenly too small, and too hot. Music and laughter filter in through the walls, muffled but close. You vaguely register the risk of being caught, but none of it tears you away from Luca. 

He tips your chin up, inspecting your flustered defiance at being manhandled.

“Go on, then. Define me some more, baby,” Luca orders, voice dark, hand dropping to his belt, flicking it open before working on his zipper. “You know how I hate half-assed prep work.” 

Your throat bobs once. No words come. You’re still, silent, trapped by the certainty in his eyes that he has you right where he wants you. Every thought you had is gone, wiped out by the weight of his cock resting on your plush cunt, panty still shoved to the side.

“Let me guess… ‘Too proud to stage’ but just humble enough to fuck you in a bathroom?”

There’s no slow build, no easing in. Just a deep, hungry thrust. Nails digging into his arms. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, clamping around a gasp. Walls squeezing, adjusting. Every exhale comes out as a thin, nasally whine. Brows furrowing together, each line a whisper of it hurts. 

Luca lifts a hand, fingertips slowly tracing them. His touch is light, teasing, and infuriatingly intimate. You flinch, slapping him away. 

He smirks a little, daring you to try again.

“Luca, you can’t just—nngh, fuck—”

He shoves deeper, forcing your gummy walls to expand for him. Luca loves how your cheeks puff out, round and straining, fighting to stay quiet. Even after all these years, you still can’t handle his stupidly fat cock.

It’s cute. 

Your hand drops to his stomach, trying to signal that you need him to stop, that he can’t just take what he wants. He halts, pulls out a little, lets your cunt flutter around his tip instead.

His calloused hand cradles your jaw, grip just shy of painful. His thumb traces your bottom lip, admiring how lightly it quivers beneath his touch. 

“Can’t what, baby?” His gaze lingers, all honeyed and sweet.

You fix him with a glare that’s not really a glare. It’s heady, full of heat and frustration, trying to regain control over the situation you created. 

“Is it too much?” His head tilts, just enough for the bathroom light to crown him. Gold-lit hair, sharp angles, and that permanent, teasing smirk. 

Luca looks impossibly perfect. Entirely in control.

You nod, a little. A soft mewl escaping.

“Oh, that’s too bad…” He rocks forward, cock devouring the space inside you again. You wince, breath hitching. It’s too much. The friction. The burn. You feel dizzy. Lightheaded. Invaded beyond comprehension. 

But it's also everything you ever wanted.

Luca watches, mesmerized, as your face reddens. His finger taps your swollen cheek, pressing just enough to make your lips part in a gasp. 

“Adorable,” he murmurs, “But I’m going to need you to breathe, baby.” 

He holds your gaze, waiting for your lungs to cooperate again. When they finally sort of work, he whispers, “Good girl.” 

His praise liquifies your bones.

Then, you feel the slick drag, inch by inch, of him withdrawing. Leaving nothing to clench. Your face twists into panic — is Luca just going to leave you like this — cunt empty. Sticky. Drooling.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at him. Your eyes start to water, trying to reason with him, “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have said anything. I just don’t want your talent to go to waste working as a stage again.”

You whimper. It’s sad, and pathetic. 

“Luca, please—”

“Mmhm, gonna have to cover that pretty little mouth,” Luca places his palm firmly over your mouth, the heel of his hand pressing against your cheek while the other hand locks onto your waist, holding you in place, “Or the entire wedding is going to hear you.”

With a single thrust, he splits you open. You writhe beneath him, grunting words that get caught between your lips and his palm. 

Wait. Please. S’fucking big.

He doesn’t stop, giving you every fucking inch, burning through your limits until there's no room left, until he's completely buried at the hilt. Luca licks the tear spilling down your cheek, and lets out a low hum of pleasure, “Fuck—tight little thing still can’t take me, huh?” 

You don’t answer him. You can’t. He’s knocked any and all sense out of you. Your chest just arches into his, neck tipping back. Luca uses his weight and strength to cage your body against his, and, he fucks you. 

Each thrust is a reminder that he’s the one who’s spent hours plating dishes you can’t even pronounce. That he’s the one who lifted, endured, broken his body into muscle and precision until it became second nature. 

“Tell me, was it the 16-hour days where you watched me bleed that makes you think I’m too good to get my hands dirty as a stage again? Or are you just going to miss being the only one who gets to taste my best work?” His fingers dig into the soft yielding flesh of your hip, body angling impossibly closer.

“Be honest, baby. I know you hate sharing.” Luca growls, tearing into the resistance like it's nothing, cock hitting that spot now — your eyes roll back, and your moans vibrate against his hand. He works it over and over and over. Showing no mercy as a hot, insistent pressure builds that's too tight. Too much.

You’re right there, walls pulsating with the promise of release that never comes. Because Luca has pulled away, leaving you a shattered, ruined thing of almost.

A wet, broken sound crawls up your throat. It’s half-gasp, half-sob.

It makes him laugh, a soft, disbelieving sound. 

“Oh, did you want something?”

You nod, a bit too desperately. Maybe even a little bit humiliated too. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have picked a fight over nothing.”

His hand that seals your mouth is a brand, a reminder you can’t shake. Each slow flex of his fingers tells you that he’s the one who’s spent years perfecting pressure, and restraint. 

He shakes his head, tsking, “Some insignificant bullshit just to hear yourself talk.”

Your stifled disagreement earns you a hard grind of his hips. It’s just enough to make your toes curl, but not enough to send you over the edge.

This is where Luca keeps you, teetering on the edge, denied.

Because he likes this part.

Like the way your hips jerk, desperate, when he pulls back. Likes the way your lashes flutter, the furrow of your brows, the tension in your neck. He sees it all. Feeds on it. He could end this anytime. But why would he? Watching your thighs quake with the need he refuses to satisfy is half the fun.

And just to prove how practiced he is, how effortless his control is, Luca eases up. Penetration becomes shallow. Only giving you an inch, maybe two. Taking his fucking time, making every second count — again, again, again — until your nearly wrecked cunt starts making lewd, squelching noises and you’re clawing at him, whining in frustration.

A bead of sweat traces down the sharp angle of Luca’s jaw. He doesn’t wipe it away, doesn’t even flinch. Too busy holding the line, too busy forcing you to stay in this dizzy, aching place a heartbeat longer. 

The sweat is the only thing that gives him away. The only crack in his control. And you’d worship it, if he’d let you. 

“I know how to stage. I know how to be a chef.” Luca leans in, close enough for you to feel the heat of his words. “And I know I’m fucking good at it.”

He drags your hand to your stomach, covering it with his own, and presses down. Then, his hips snap forward. And you can feel the faint outline of his cock as it spears your cunt, owning you.

It makes you shudder.

“I’m not doing this to prove myself to Carmen — I’m doing this because he needs a chef like me in his kitchen.” Luca’s throat moves like he’s forcing down glass, tendons standing rigid under his skin. A swallow that’s too loud, too telling. But his eyes are worse. They’re bright with something feverish, pupils swallowing the light. 

“I know I’m better than him in every way that matters.”

His hand stays firm as he kisses the corner of your mouth — a mockery of tenderness. 

“Do you understand, baby?”

Only then does Luca lift his palm.

“—yes, chef—”

A knock rattles at the bathroom door.

You practically choke on your answer, eyes going wide with panic. Luca doesn’t seem to care, smoothing his hand over your mouth again, steady and calm, as if he’d been expecting it. 

“Hey, you in there?” It’s your cousin. Carmen. “Your speech is coming up...”

You twist, a muffled sound pressing into Luca's skin, but he just looks at you. Totally unbothered. Then, without missing a beat, his voice lifts, casual and lazy, “No, she’s not in here…”

Luca smiles. It’s not sharp or cruel, but boyish. Soft in a way that completely disarms you, like he’s not the same man whose throbbing cock is still buried inside your cunt. He lingers, eyes sweeping your face before finally easing out. The loss is immediate, the ache cutting into the space just below your navel.

“Luca?” It slips out as a plea, a question you don't even know how to finish. You're half-undone, wound so tight. Head buzzing, blood thrumming hot in your ears. Desperate for the rest of him.

Luca just steadies you, patient, hands firm as he helps you down from the counter. Your legs wobble when your feet hit the ground, knees nearly give, and it makes him smile again — quiet, and infuriating. He knows exactly how wrecked you are.

With one hand lingering at your hip to keep you up right, Luca crouches low, helping to slip your heels back on, fixing the straps with sure fingers, like he’s dressing a doll he isn’t finished playing with yet. As Luca rises, he sweetly adjusts your black lace panty before smoothing your dress down over your thighs with those sure, capable hands. Tugging at the fabric until it lies flat, until there’s no evidence of what he just did, of what he almost finished.

“You’re fine,” Luca says softly, though you know he's lying.

You're ruined.

Luca’s chuckling against you, sliding his calloused hand up the back of your thigh while you stay lying on your stomach. He looks down at the sight of you illuminated in the moonlight from his apartment window, soaking in every inch. His hand cups under the bottom of your behind, giving it a little jiggle for his own entertainment. 

“All’s fine, my love. Didn’t mean to wake you so early.”

You turn your head towards the nightstand and it takes a few blinks for your eyes to finally focus on the dim clock. 3:30 AM. Early enough for him to get up to shower, make tea, and leave out a small note of affection on the counter for when you wake up at a much more reasonable time. He typically doesn’t wake you, opting to shimmy out of the bed but not this morning. 

There’s lips on your neck now. “Was dreaming about you and had to make sure you were real.” His hand is sliding in between your thighs now, pulling them apart. Inches away from where you’re starting to crave him. You’re whining in the pillow now while arching your hips up towards his touch. He’s grinning against your skin and rocking himself towards your side. Luca’s hard and heavy against you. “Gonna go take care of this in the bathroom. Just needed a little touch of you before I go.” 

You’re shaking your head now, trying to unpin your arm that’s trapped between the two of you so you can find the waistband of his sweats slung low on his waist. “No, no. Don’t go.” The elastic is tight against your fingers as you slip your hand into his pants, fingertips brushing along his growing length which rewards you with a moan from your boyfriend. His hand gently slaps down on the flesh of your ass before he starts to pull away. You murmur out protests as you stretch your arms out straight ahead of you, fingers curling around the edge of the bed. There’s a rush of cold air as he pulls the blanket from your frame and tosses it to the empty side of the bed. 

He’s grabbing a pillow next and tapping his fingers against your side, grinning as you take the hint and lift your hips for him. “Just lay there, Darling. Let me take care of you.” Luca makes sure you’re comfortable. Taking his time to fluff the pillow just right. Running his wide hands down your back while still lazily waking up. The bed creaks under the two of you as he moves to kneel between your spread legs. He admires your stretched out form. The curve of your ass propped up and his for the taking. You’re wearing an oversized cliche t-shirt from the last trip you took together and this old pair of underwear with a half worn off print. Not the sexiest outfit to ever grace this bedroom to say the least and yet Luca doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

His thumbs slide along the seam of your underwear that’s stretched across your cheeks, warm hands sliding up your backside to your lower back to gently work on your relaxed body. He leans forward to reach up towards your shoulders, the length of him sliding against your ass and eliciting a moan from you. Luca’s taking advantage of this position to rut himself against you, the feeling of your soft body under him working him up even more than he thought was possible. 

“Always so good for me, aren’t you?” You’re nodding against the pillow, turning your head to the side to press a kiss against the hands that are now on your shoulders. “Only yours, Luca.” He’s groaning above you and there’s warm, open mouth kisses being pressed along your spine now. 

There’s a shuffling coming from behind you as Luca makes quick work of kicking his sweatpants off. You feel the warmth of his skin directly on the inside of your thighs now as he sits back up. He’s crooking fingers in the waistband of your underwear and finally, finally pulling them down your thighs and leaving you exposed to him. They’re stuck right above your knees - Both Luca kneeling between your legs and how far spread open you are making it impossible for them to go any lower. “Are you passionate about these?”

You barely shake your head no, because again they’re old and worn and you find it endearing he even asked, before the sound of them being ripped off of you fills the room causing you to gasp out. Luca haphazardly tosses them towards the trash can in the corner and gets to work pulling his own boxes down. You’re needy. Wiggling your hips through the air in slow movements to entice him. As if he needed anymore motivation. You follow his guidance and haphazardly make work taking off your shirt, balling it up and throwing it on his now empty side of the bed.

Since Luca’s doing all the work you allow yourself to stay, essentially, half asleep. Your eyes are still heavy and hooded and your body lax against the bed. He’s delivering one more small smack to the roundest part of your ass before his fingers find their way between your thighs. Normally he’d take more time teasing you, building you up. As much as he yearns to spend the whole day tangled in you, he does have to get to work soon. For now he’s going to be quick but he plans on taking his time with you again tonight. 

There’s fingers sliding up either side of your folds, a slow languid motion to get you used to his touch before his middle fingers slips in. You’re slackjaw against the pillow, letting out a stream of breathy whimpers you can’t control. Luca knows you. Knows every inch of you. So he’s using that knowledge to get you ready for him. His pointer finger slides into you while his thumb finds your clit at the same time. You’re wet, the scissoring and dragging motions Luca’s making causing a slick sound to come from between your thighs. 

“Luca, please.” He grins down at your backside, enjoying the view of his fingers working deep inside of you. “Always so greedy, aren’t you?” You respond by rocking your hips back against his hand and clenching down against his fingers which causes him to chuckle. “Alright, alright.” His hand slides out of you and smacks down against the back of your thigh. Your left behind wetness from his fingers attracts the cold air and causes goosebumps to rise. 

You secretly like when Luca spends a little less time stretching you out then he probably should. The way your boyfriend stretches you out as he first pushes in you has become a piece of heaven. There are nights he spends as long as you’ll allow eating you out and fingering you, toying with your pussy for his own enjoyment. Leaving his chin wet with you and a darken spot on the sheets until he fucks through how sloppy he’s turned you. 

Not tonight. You’re wet, yes. But you know there’s going to be a heavenly burning feeling coming your way. The amount of care your boyfriend puts into you making you comfortable enough to open yourself in that way. Knowing he’d stop the second you asked if needed. 

The head of his cock sits heavy against your entrance and you feel yourself desperately clenching around nothing. He’s pulling you from your train of thought and your body is buzzing in anticipation. The slap of the tip of him against your clit causes your body to jerk which prompts Luca to use his free hand to grip your hip, holding you in place. “Be good, yeah? Let me get us off before I gotta go. Can’t have you wet all day waiting for me to come back home to take care of you.” Luca lines himself up with your hole, sliding just the tip of himself in which pulls a moan from both of you. 

“Baby, please.” Pride swells in Luca’s chest as you start to beg. If he hadn’t been gripping your hips then you would have rolled them back to take more of his length in you. Instead he goes slow, allowing you to adjust to his girth inch by inch. Even after dating for this long, you still weren’t used to him yet. 

There’s a bit of drool coming from the corner of your still parted lips as Luca works his length in. Your boyfriend was well endowed to say the least. A good length, something you could still take to the back of your throat but not so long you couldn’t sink all the way down it. But his girth? That was unmatched. Thick, heavy, and all yours. 

“Feel so amazing, Darling. Was dreaming about this pussy spreading around me.” Luca jerks another inch in without warning, a squelching sound coming from you as the movement causes some wetness to drip out. You can’t form a thought when he’s got you like this. Your body is still relaxed against the bed as Luca stretches you out. 

It takes a moment for him to bottom out and all your mind can focus on is just how deep he feels inside of you. The sensation causes your breath to catch, pathetically letting out whatever whimper you can muster and allowing him to use you to his heart’s content. Luca gives your hip a little squeeze as a warning he’s going to start moving, giving you a second to accept what’s to come before the first roll of his hips hits. 

You’re a mess. Groggy still, already becoming cock drunk. It’s easy to do with him. “S’full, Luc. So, so full.” Even with his brows knitted in concentration as he tries not to instantly cum at the sight of your pussy stretched around him, he’s proud to get you this way. 

But God does the sight of you already have him close. 

Stretched out around him, filled to the max you could be. You look so beautiful like that. Luca fucks through all the wetness you give him, hips building a steady rhythm easily. His eyes flash over towards the clock and something about the pressure of a time constraint is making him a bit more feral than he expected. 

His pace quickens and you’re back to being reduced to a drooling mess under him. Moaning out an incoherent string of pleas, praise, and curses. You couldn’t repeat what’s coming from your mouth even if you tried. His heavy balls slap against your clit which each thrust and Luca’s grabbing your hips with both hands now to get a better grip on you. Fingertips digging in enough that bruises will be left as he starts to fuck into with a firm pace. 

“Such a perfect fuckin’ pussy. So wet for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna be sore all day now but you don’t care. Every step’s gonna remind you how good I fuck you.” 

Your head is spinning. 

You allow yourself to be fucked by Luca, hands gripping the edge of the bed as you desperately clutch anything within reach to keep yourself grounded. He’s… Brutal. Fucking you for his own pleasure in a way. He needed to get off and get off quick before work - But arrogantly knew how good you were for him. Knew that him using you like this would get you off too. 

One of his hands gripping your hip loses his grip and there’s another smack being delivered to the fat of your ass. He groans at the sight of you bouncing, the red mark already blooming from his hand. The burning of being stretched out is fading away and being replaced by the pure pleasure of your boyfriend wrecking your body. 

His hand is sliding up from your ass to press down on the small of your back, a comforting touch compared to the brutal pace of his hips. Long forgotten is the sleepy mask of morning, Luca just chasing after pleasure for the both of you now. You purposely flutter yourself around his length, trying to pull him closer as well. 

“Can you come for me, Darling? You can do that, can’t you? Wanna feel this pretty little pussy finish before I do.” You’re squeezing yourself tighter around him now, the soft pillowcase feeling rougher as your face continues to bounce against it. The room is getting hotter by the second around you two. 

Something about the combination of circumstances has you getting close to finishing far faster than normal. You catch yourself biting down on the pillow as Luca drags his nails down the soft skin of your back, his hips not losing pace as the all too familiar sensation starts to coil up deep inside of you. 

You’re crying out at the sensation, pussy tightening around him as your orgasm rocks through your body. Toe curling, back arching, clit throbbing orgasm. You collapse even further into the bed, a mess of breathless whimpers as Luca continues to fuck through your sensitive body. God you sound lewd with how wet you ended up. 

Luca’s quick to follow after watching you come undone around him.  

He’s moaning out your name, giving a few more pumps through your wetness before quickly pulling out. Stroking his soaked length to keep the sensation and then you feel warmth splattering along your ass and back as he cums on you. He’s breathless and whiney, teasing his own overstimulated cock behind you. Thumb swiping along his tip to collect the last droplets before wiping it in-between your folds and pressing it into you. 

As much as he loved cumming in you, he wanted to make sure he had time to get you cleaned up before he had to leave but he still couldn’t leave you without anything left inside of you. 

Luca drags you to the bathroom after he gives you a moment to collect yourself. Normally he’d take his time with aftercare but sadly he’s lacking just that - time. You use the restroom while he draws the two of you a shower and take a good look at yourself in the mirror while he corrects the water temperature. Healing hickies low on your chest, your hair looking crazy from the combination of sleeping and being wrecked. He’s got twenty minutes left before he runs out of time to make his breakfast but he refuses to leave you in a pile in the bed. 

He makes quick work of washing off your over sensitive body, letting you stand there and run your fingers along his chest, his arms, whatever inch of skin you can reach. “You’re so pretty.” 

Now after what just happened in the bedroom? You’d think nothing would phase him. 

But Luca’s cheeks are going bright red at the compliment. He cups your face with his soapy hands, bringing you two together for a kiss as a silent thank you. 

Luca gets you dried off and sends you back to bed with a pat on your ass. He’s rushing to get ready for work while you lay down in a lump on the bed. Towel tight around your body and the covers long forgotten. It takes a few minutes for him to emerge from the bathroom clothed and hair gelled but he can’t help laughing at the sight of you. You feel the towel being tugged away from your body, the previously discarded blanket being tucked around you and a kiss pressed to the top of your head. 

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