Might Expand On This Dynamic - Tumblr Posts
carmy and his girlfriend who’s a celebrity chef
maybe you won one of those reality cooking shows and skyrocketed in popularity. a steady social media following, featuring on ads, before eventually getting your own daytime television show. it’s something cute, where you where a nice little outfit and apron, showing the viewers how to make restaurant quality dishes from home.
of course carmy knows who you are. it’s his job to know the local talent, and yeah, maybe you being so fucking pretty certainly helps. it’s a stupid crush, really. just someone attractive on his instagram feed, someone who also happens to be an amazing chef, and just has the sweetest, most welcoming smile.
your face has been printed out and taped next to a list of names to be aware of, different people of importance who’s opinion of the bear would be crucial. all the wait staff has been heavily trained for such an occasion.
but that doesn’t mean they’ll behave.
because when richie spots you? it’s over. he knows about carmy’s little crush, thinks it’s fucking adorable. plus, eva likes watching those cooking shows, you’re pretty good.
you’ve had a lovely meal, some wine, and find the conversation with him to be pleasant. it’s always flattering when the staff knows who you are, makes you feel a little less weird for dining alone. but richie being richie invites you back into the kitchen, and you being you, absolutely fucking loved that idea.
and you do try to stay out of the way, coat wrapped tight around your body as you step through the pass, making sure to look over the staff’s shoulders and not distract them. but carmen? oh, he has lost it. any sense of coherence has gone out the window, because what? you’re in his restaurant, in HIS kitchen?
you be polite and introduce yourself, offering out a nicely manicured hand for a handshake. carmen stares at it for a moment, before kicking into action, frantically wiping his palm on his apron to accept it.
and when you tell him your name? he says:
“i know.”
it takes you aback for a moment, brows raised in surprise at how blunt he’d been. carmy has enough sense to clock that his reply was strange, for he’s backtracking, trying to save the interaction.
“no, no, i mean— i mean, yeah, i know. you’re on, um, those ads, yeah? for the fucking.. the fuckin’, uh, french cookware.” he practically rambles.
it’s cute, so, so utterly cute. you save the conversation by complimenting the meal and how lovely the experience here has been, which has carmy flustered and red in the face. you decide not to torment him anymore, allowing him to get back to work and the kitchen return to its usual pace.
which, for the record, does not happen. carmy’s flow has been ruined for the night, unable to stop thinking about his embarrassing word-vomit.
it’s okay, though.
on the bill you leave a generous tip.. and your phone number, addressed to “that cute chef.”