#practically married

When you’re a chef, the most personal item you touch all day long, is your knife.

Your set of knives, curated by you, molded to your hand, sharpened again and again with your own will to keep going. To keep pushing. To be the best.

A chef’s knives are their coveted tools, the only armor between them and the strangers outside waiting to judge whatever you prepare them, combing through it with their eyes, with their mouths.

One chef does not simply ‘borrow’ another chef’s knife roll. It’s unheard of. It’s extremely risky.

Tuesday night, Sydney Adamu took her set home to cook dinner for she and her dad, which she seldom had the opportunity to do.

Because it was such a rare occurrence and because she overslept Wednesday morning, she forgot the knives on her sprint out the front door.

The realization didn’t dawn on Sydney until she was standing in front of her locker at The Bear, a loud groan leaving her as she pressed the heels of her hand into her eyes, to relieve some of the pressure.

Not only was she an hour late (which was still an hour earlier than anyone else arrived), but she’d forgotten her knives. Arguably the most important utensil in the kitchen.

“Syd?” She heard over her shoulder, approaching closer with light footsteps. “What’s wrong? You alright?” When he finally rounded the corner, concern was etched into his searing blue eyes, bright and warm like mid-July afternoon.

Her stomach flipped the way it always did when he looked at her, stupidly, unprofessionally.

Sydney shook her head to clear those thoughts away, he was too close, he might overhear her.

“I’m good, Chef. Sorry I’m late, slept past the alarm and the shower curtain fell right as I was stepping out and then I get all the way here and I left my fucking knives at home, like an idiot! And I just-“

“Hey, hey.” His tone was soft, pleading. As were his eyes. Unbearably soft.

Suddenly, as if it were his natural instinct, he reached out and touched her. Gently latching his warm hand onto her forearm, caressing it with his thumb.

Sydney stared at him hand for longer than necessary before finally looking up into his gaze. Getting the wind knocked out of her.

“You’re not late. Everything’s okay. I got the paperwork done early, anyway. And if you need help putting your shower curtain back up, I would be happy to help.” He smiled at her, dimples and all, but Sydney knew he was being genuine.

Carmen Berzatto didn’t really do empty words.

She chuckled at him, despite herself, shaking her head.

“I got it back up on my own but thank you, anyway.”

Carmen chewed on his lip, just looking at her before he turned and said,

“Come with me.”

Silently, he lead them into the kitchen, up to expo.

She sent him a question with her eyes

Carmy responded by smiling and placing something heavy and smooth in her palm.

“Here.” He whispered.

She looked down, and gasped.

Damn near dropped the object to the ground. She wound never. That was blasphemous.

Her eyebrows furrowed, surely he couldn’t mean…

“Carm, what-“

“Use them today. I’m used to shitty kitchen knives.” He said this with a shrug, as if this wasn’t something sacred she was holding. As if it wasn’t a part of his being, the way she knew that it was.

Carmen had just placed two tons of trust into her hands, and while she was freaking out and probably not breathing, Sydney was also basking in it.

He trusts me. He trusts me not to fuck up. He trusts me to handle it with care. He doesn’t just trust me with his restaurant, he trusts me with his heart.

She can’t continue this train of thought or she will cry. Right there in front of her EC.