Chapter Text
“Boss?” Fang appeared at Eddy’s elbow. They were trying to sort out the reservation system that Hornigold had foisted on them last week. It was a fucking mess.
“What?” Eddy snapped.
“There’s an emergency.”
Eddy whirled on Fang, who did have a wild look about him.
“What kind?”
“Ivan already called 911. It’s Izzy.”
“Did he stab someone?” Eddy asked with a groan, heading back towards the kitchen.
“No, boss-”
The kitchen was silent. The kitchen was never silent. It was a place of flames, banging pots and yelling. If Hornigold was back there (rarer and rarer these days) then it was even worse, with barks of ‘yes, chef!’ following his shouted orders.
No Hornigold today. But also no banging, no leaping cascades of fire. The rapid ‘clack clack clack’ of knives had fallen off. The entire staff seemed frozen, eyes glued to the floor. Eddy looked down and there was Izzy, sitting on an overturned bucket. Izzy, who rarely let anyone touch him, had Ivan’s hand on his back as he tried to draw in air.
“Iz.” Eddy dropped into a squat, fear seizing her. Israel Hands didn’t sit during meal prep. He was a shark from 4pm until midnight, moving from spot to spot to ward off death.
Izzy didn’t look up. His hands were planted on his knees and his breath was staggered. The hands were covered in furious red bumps.
“Did he get burned?” Eddy demanded.
“No, boss,” Blue Toby was looming over them. “All of a sudden he started wheezing.”
“Ambulance is on its way,” Ivan provided.
“Fuck.” Eddy closed their eyes, sucked in a breath, then nodded sharply. “Ivan, stay on the phone. The rest of you, get the fuck back to work. Dinner service is still dinner service. Iz...Izzy, can you hear me?”
A slow faint nod.
“Fang, tell Dan he's on front-of-house until I get this figured out.”
“Yes, boss.”
Industry sounds started up again, but not nearly as loud as usual. Ivan went on talking to the operator.
Eddy put a hand over Izzy’s shoulder. Listened to the way his breath strained.
“Don’t you dare die, you motherfucker,” she hissed. “I will dig you out of your grave and make sure you never have a moment’s peace if you die.”
Izzy’s horribly broken out hand groped for hers. He held it tightly, eyes pressed closed.
Eddy could hear her pulse in her ears.
Cooking was not Eddy’s thing, really. Eating was fun though. When she’d been offered a gratis summer class on cooking at some underprivileged kids' bullshit school, Eddy had taken it figuring that at least there’d be some extra meals. It had been a condescending, terrible fucking experience, except for two things: 1. She’d met Hornigold, celebrity chef, who frequented the school to find young, cheap labor and 2. She’d met Izzy, who actually liked all the ridiculous culinary stuff and had attached himself to her like an angry limpet.
It had only taken two years of doing Hornigold’s bidding until Eddy realized that maybe only one of those two things had actually been good. Not that Eddy wasn’t fucking aces at her job. Restaurant management was made for her. Three years in, she ran the Ranger almost single-handedly. Hornigold’s flagship restaurant only turned profit because Eddy was at the helm. But it was miserable work. Hornigold would never unclench his fist fully from around the place, swooping in to make a mess of what Eddy had finally cleaned up and taking them to task for things that no one could control for.
No...no. The only goddamn thing worth having that she’d gotten out of that ridiculous class was Izzy. Reliable, loyal, workaholic Izzy, who turned all of Hornigold’s tired old recipes into something at least palatable. Izzy, who terrorized the kitchen staff into peak efficiency, uncaring of what they said about him on smoke breaks. Izzy, who, no matter how late he’d been up the night before, was awake before Eddy and handing them coffee when they stumbled out of the bedroom.
Her roommate, her partner, her sometimes-fuck that let her choke him in the pantry while he made such sweet sounds around her fingers. There were no moans today, no penetrating eye contact. Izzy was fighting for his breath against the world instead of her and that was fucking unacceptable.
“Don’t die,” they ordered again and he squeezed her hand harder.
“Back here!” Ivan guided in the EMTs. Eddy was shoved back, but that never stopped them from staying where they needed to be. When they loaded Izzy into the ambulance, Eddy was right there beside him.
The phone in their pocket was already buzzing with recriminations from Hornigold, some asshole probably tattled. Eddy didn’t give a single fuck. It was a restaurant, fully-staffed. Everyone would survive one night without peak service.
Whatever they gave to Izzy in the ambulance seemed to start working. His breathing became a little less labored, though nowhere close to normal. In the E.R., they got him laid out and an I.V. hooked up, but there were no rooms available, so they were just in the hallway. Eventually, Izzy groaned and sat up, head in hands.
“What the fuck?” Eddy demanded of him, even as she rested her hand on the back of his head, brought him in close enough to kiss his stupidly over-gelled hair.
“Peanut butter,” Izzy muttered.
Eddy froze. They knew Izzy had some shit about nuts. He wouldn’t eat them. Wouldn’t cook with them, either. Seemed like one of his many weird tics and Eddy had let it alone. What did she care if there were nuts on the menu? But Hornigold had insisted that his latest ‘innovation’ (a dish he’d served twenty years ago and was hoping everyone had forgotten about) needed a dollop of peanut butter in it.
Izzy hadn’t said a word as the instructions had been rattled off. But he had been wearing latex gloves all week.
“Are you fucking allergic?” they bit off, furious they hadn’t realized before.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Did,” Izzy’s voice was raw. “He didn’t give a shit. Hadn’t had a reaction in years, figured maybe I’d gotten over it.”
“Well, you didn’t,” she growled.
“Yeah,” Izzy agreed. “Noticed.”
“Should’ve told me. I can’t do shit about what you haven’t told me.”
“You had other things.”
It had been a bitch of a week. Eddy had been furious for most of it. Izzy never minded their temper, seemed even to enjoy it sometimes, but he wouldn’t have brought them a problem when they were like that.
“You could’ve died, moron,” Eddy snapped. “Then what would I do? Out half the rent and a head chef? I’d have to find like ten new people to replace you.”
“Sorry.”
“Fuck. Hornigold legit almost killed you because he doesn’t know how to flavor something,” Eddy realized. “You probably had like three alternatives, right?”
“Four,” Izzy agreed.
“Shit.”
It took some time, but eventually Eddy was allowed to take Izzy and his shiny new Epi-Pen home. The apartment was a disaster, as it usually was Tuesday through Sunday. Mondays, Izzy would tidy and Eddy would do laundry for them both. Sometimes, if Eddy was lucky, those cleaning sessions would end in Izzy cooking something just for the two of them. Something new he’d thought of while churning out ancient classics of someone else’s cookbook that would be spectacular.
Tonight, Eddy ate cold mac and cheese from a box, watching Izzy sleep in her bed. She had steered him in here when they got home and he hadn’t asked a question, just kicked off his shoes and fallen against the sheets.
It was one thing for Hornigold to treat Izzy like shit. Hornigold treated them all like shit. But it was another to almost kill the man. Izzy belonged to Eddy. No one got to take him from her.
After they were done eating, they got into bed and curled around him, listening to him breathe.
“Eddy,” Izzy pushed at them. They startled awake.
“What?”
“I need to piss.”
“Come back after,” she demanded.
To their surprise, he did come back and let himself be reeled in close. They didn’t cuddle usually. They didn’t ever actually sleep together, but Eddy wasn’t letting him out of her sight if she could help it.
“We have to get out of there,” she whispered in his ear and Izzy didn’t argue.
It took two years. Two more painful years to scratch up what they needed, to do it quietly. To find the place, to shake money out of investors that weren’t keen on handing over cash to two people in their twenties with thin resumes. In the end, all they were able to secure was a hole-in-the-wall place in a rundown neighborhood.
“It’s gorgeous,” Eddy determined.
“It’s a shithole,” Izzy contended, but he was smiling. Not the feral one with too many teeth that some staffers saw right before they were fired. Just the real one that he got sometimes when Eddy complimented his food.
“We’ll make it gorgeous,” Eddy allowed.
“You will.” Izzy walked straight back into the kitchen with a pile of cleaning supplies and a gleam in his eye.
It took weeks of elbow grease and a clever manipulation of funds to get the place into opening shape. Eddy sourced tables and chairs from curbsides, bringing them back to clean and paint until everything was black, purple and blue. On a whim, she even painted the horrible linoleum flooring a matte black, sealing it in with satisfaction at 2 AM on a weekday.
“Huh,” Izzy had said as he stumbled in to find them slumped over a rescued table the next morning.
“You like it?” she challenged.
“Should do the ceiling too,” he offered.
They did that. Strung fairy lights up over it so it glistened like the night sky. The walls got covered in bric-a-brac, paintings that Eddy found in Goodwill, seascapes when she could get them.
And in the kitchen, Izzy built a menu like an architect, scaffolding up dishes. Eddy’s stomach had never been fuller as she happily tucked into his ‘failures’.
“Need a name,” Eddy said one night as they both chewed through egg-free pasta noodles drenched in garlic, oil, and oregano.
“Choose whatever,” Izzy gestured loosely with a fork. “You’re good at that shit.”
“You’re the executive chef,” Eddy grinned. “Just call it Hands.”
“Fuck that,” he snorted.
“How about Nutless?”
“Yeah, that’ll go over.”
“Dizzy Izzy’s?” she suggested and then cackled as he threw a noodle at her head.
In the end, the white on black lettering on the sign says ‘ Freedom , a fine dining experience ’ in Eddy’s loopy handwriting and underneath, in Izzy’s spiky letters, ‘nut-free, egg-free, soy-free, full of flavor’.
Running a restaurant together, without Hornigold’s interference, was both easier and harder. Eddy had complete control, but there was also no one else to blame when things went wrong. Izzy stayed in the kitchen like someone had chained him to the stove, despite having a half-decent kitchen crew. He’d even gone back to that fucking horrible school and plucked a sous-chef from their ranks. Roach swore even more than Izzy, had a pathological attachment to his meat cleaver and made the world’s most gorgeous waffles. Thanks to Roach, they expanded into brunch service on the weekends.
“You don’t have to go in,” Eddy would remind Izzy on Sundays. “Roach has it. Meant to be your day off.”
“Busy today,” was all Izzy would say and then disappear.
The hookups in the pantry were off the table once it became their pantry and was no longer a rebellion, but a liability to the rickety shelving. Nights in one of their beds fell off as they both came home too tired to do anything more than sleep.
And Eddy.... they found they didn’t miss it much. It was easier to be Izzy’s business partner than his life partner.
So they didn’t talk about it, and that part of their lives died on the vine. Withered up and went cold.
“I found a place,” Izzy told them, not making eye contact. They were eating their own dinners hurriedly over the sink as the kitchen buzzed around them. It was one of Eddy’s favorites, seared scallops, which they rarely served. That should’ve made them suspicious.
“What do you mean?”
“To live,” Izzy stared harder at his plate. “Closer to here.”
“Iz...”
“I can’t stay,” he muttered. “I can’t- we can do this. Here. But I can’t be in your space all the time if we’re not...”
“Yeah,” Eddy choked. Fuck. “Yeah, okay.”
****
Izzy hadn’t lived alone for more than a few days in his entire life. Gone from home to his shared apartment with Eddy. At first, he relished the quiet. The control. No one else's things cluttering up his precious few hours of free time. But it quickly dulled. He missed Eddy desperately some days, even, maybe especially, when he was around them for hours.
If it hadn’t been for the restaurant, maybe Izzy wouldn’t have had the balls to go. Maybe he would’ve hung around the apartment for the rest of his life, waiting for Eddy to want him again.
But there was Freedom . There was the kitchen where he ruled with an iron fist and could spend the day elbow deep in food prep. And yes, there was still Eddy swanning in and out, poking and teasing him while they made sure the money flowed in.
And it did. Reviews came out and Izzy read them late at night, memorizing criticism and recalling it at horrible moments, but they were generally good. People liked the food, like the atmosphere Eddy had curated with their inane knick-knacks and charisma. They were good at being partners on the steady black floors of their tiny kingdom.
So Izzy poured himself into the restaurant, made that his life partner instead. They hired more staff. Oluwande, who was a good host, came with Jim, who wandered into the kitchen one night and never went back out on the floor again and Frenchie, who made divine pastries light as air.
“Iz,” Eddy circled up around him one night, their eyes alight. “The place next store closed.”
“The pharmacy or the antiques place?” Izzy glanced up.
“Antiques.” Eddy reached down, plucked up one of the bits of beef dancing around the pan that Izzy had been cooking. Izzy had given up even pretending to threaten them about that a long time ago. Eddy had asbestos fingers and no sense of kitchen hygiene, it just was what it was. Anyway, the appreciative noise she made when she had a bite of his food had always been his favorite compliment.
“Good,” he determined. “Hated that dusty window display.”
“Yeah, but...” Eddy hooked her chin over his shoulder. A few years of working together but living apart had left her physically affectionate again, maybe more than she had been before, and he never shook her off. “Iz. Next door.”
“Yeah?”
“Space, Iz. Two stoves. More tables. The walk-in freezer I know you jerk off to.”
Izzy’s eyes went wide. “We can’t afford it...can we?”
“We can,” Eddy said, delighted. “We fucking will.”
It required meeting with some rich dude that owned the building, but Eddy came back from that meeting very merry and with an agreement in hand.
“You’d like him.” Eddy declared, then wrinkled her nose. “Actually, you’d probably hate him, but I like him. Anyway, he gave us a sweetheart deal.”
They had to close for an entire month, which was heart-stopping, but Izzy didn’t have time to obsess over it because he was handed a sledgehammer. To cut costs, they did a lot of the labor themselves, and it was like the beginning all over again. The whole staff pitched in and the wall came down.
“What if we didn’t don’t make the floors black?” Eddy floated as they stood between the two spaces, only the demarcation of paint to say where one had once ended and the other began.
Izzy crossed his arms over his chest. He loved the black floors, Eddy’s first tender foray into making their mark on their space. But whatever they chose, it would still be Eddy’s. That’s what mattered. Eddy out front, facing the world, Izzy in the back, making it taste better.
“Do what you want,” he said, and it wasn’t dismissive. He hoped Eddy knew that.
The way they caught his eye suggested that they did, so he left it there. He had a walk-in freezer to stock anyway.
He didn’t count on the chandelier.
“What the fuck?”
“It was Stede’s idea,” Eddy said gleefully from beneath the actually very tasteful fall of crystal. Izzy let it go.
With a bigger space, they finally put in a decent sized bar. It was made of mismatched reclaimed wood, homage to their now retired mismatched furniture. Eddy hired a bartender and then informed Izzy,
“No allergies, omnivore. He suggested you guys do a tasting so he can build out a cocktail menu to match. Told him you’re shit at wine pairings.”
“Thanks,” Izzy rolled his eyes. “Cocktails, though?”
“People pay through the nose for specialty cocktails,” Eddy shrugged. “Stede knows the guy, says he’s good. Works rich people parties.”
“Great.” Izzy prepared himself to spend an hour listening to a pretentious peacock pick apart his menu. He made the tasting platter as perfect as he could because that’s just how he was and brought it out to the bar at the appointed time.
The guy was waiting, already seated at the bar, and he was a knockout. Long legs in skinny jeans, shirt so wide-necked it threatened to dip off one shoulder and a creamy bit of fabric wrapped around his neck. His hair looked intentionally mussed, a fucked out look that Izzy hoped was from gel.
“You Spriggs?” Izzy asked, pleased that it came out nearly normal.
“That’s me. You must be Israel.”
“Izzy,” he corrected.
“Izzy,” Lucius repeated with a lingering look. “Lucius, please.”
He set the tray on the bar. “Won’t all stay at the right temperature, but I don’t have my staff in this early in the day to make as we go.”
“That’s fine.” Lucius studied the tray. “This is…this is so beautiful. You didn’t have to make it…wow. Sorry, I feel like I asked you to do a lot of work. I just needed some quick bites.”
“Eat with your eyes, too.” Izzy did not flush. Absolutely not.
“Yeah, I’m devouring,” and that sounded lewd as hell. “Where do I start?”
“There’s the hummus,” Izzy pointed to it. “Has some heat, if you mind that kind of thing.”
“I like a bit of spice.”
Did everything this guy say sound like a double entendre? Lucius dipped pita into the hummus and took a bite. Then he made a low, throaty noise that went straight to Izzy’s dick.
“It’s so creamy! Holy shit, it’s like a mousse.”
“Yeah,” Izzy said vaguely. “That’s the point.”
“Wow, okay, and this is the eggplant stack thing, right? Gotta say, I like that you don’t do any dippy names. Everything is what it says it is.” Lucius took on the mouthful with another one of those noises. It took everything in Izzy not to turn around and look for a camera. This felt like a setup.
“Never liked playing cute. Eddy tried pun names early on, but it didn’t sit right.”
“Mhm.” Lucius picked up his glass of water and took a sip. “There’s another appetizer?”
There were fifteen small plates on the tray. Three appetizers, ten entrees, two desserts. Tight menu for a tight space. Maybe with more room, they’d expand a little more.
Izzy answered Lucius’ questions, watched him basically make out with each dish, and decided he didn’t care if he was being punked, his ego had never been this well stroked without any apparent agenda.
Lucius licked the back of his dessert spoon, then asked, “Mind if I get behind the bar? I think better if I mix as I go. Kind of like sketching.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Izzy said roughly. “Sketching?”
“Uh huh. Okay, so the vibe this gives me is like...summery? Which is pretty cool because you’re mostly using winter vegetables.”
“Yes,” Izzy nodded. “Mostly. The farmer we source things from grows some out of season things in a greenhouse, so it’s still fresh.”
“Into that. So I’m thinking I can keep a base of four cocktails, then rotate two in seasonally to match what you do with the menu.”
“How’d you know that we switch things out?” Izzy hadn’t told him that yet, figuring it was enough to work with the winter menu that they were currently dealing with.
“I read some reviews,” Lucius admitted, taking down various bottles. “Got a favorite liquor?”
“Vodka. I hope you didn’t read that twat from the Sun.”
“Was that the guy who bitched about the ambiance? Came off pretty petty.”
“It was,” Izzy said darkly. “He hit on Eddy and they turned him down. So.”
“Oh ew,” Lucius wrinkled his nose. He dug out a shaker and shoveled ice into it. “Eddy get that a lot?”
“Yeah, it happens.”
“They are pretty hot. Stede is mega into them,” Lucius laughed. “I’ve known the guy for like two years? Never seen him like that. Twitterpated.”
“Yeah.” Izzy shoved down the bile that threatened to rise. “What are you making?”
“Mmm, not sure yet. Eddy said you hate wine.”
“I do,” Izzy sighed, waiting for the judgment.
“Me too.” Lucius plucked something off one of the small plates, too fast to catch. “I never got what the big deal was, it all tastes the same to me. I thought chefs were required to like it, though.”
“It’s got its uses, but I don’t go looking for it. Didn’t go to one of the fancy cooking schools or anything, never ‘refined my palate’, whatever the fuck that means.”
“Must not mean much, because everything I just ate rocked my socks off,” Lucius grinned. “And I’m not just saying that. Like, that lamb changed me on a deep level. I'll never be the same.”
Izzy had made that lamb for Eddy, years ago. Just the two of them in the closed kitchen of Ranger after dinner service one night. It had been too busy for either of them to choke anything down. She leaned against the sink, pulled out a flask, and told him that it was the anniversary of her mother’s death. They’d shared the liquor and Eddy had slumped exhausted while Izzy tried his best to make a dish for heartbreak. There’d only been lamb left over, so he’d added all the warm spices that Eddy loved, layered it in tomatoes and carrots, cooking it all until it was tender.
Eddy ate it without a word, but pressed so close to him that Izzy had to brace himself against the counter to keep from tipping over.
He’d made it for them both on the regular after that night. It was the only thing on the menu that had stayed the same from day one of Freedom .
“Yeah?” Izzy choked.
“Uh huh.” Lucius picked up the shaker and gave it a vicious rattle. His hands were big, fingers almost circling the fat metal cylinder. “You already have a house red and white. Add a few more slightly more expensive options and that’ll be that.”
“People like a long wine list.”
“Fuck ‘em,” Lucius said merrily, then paused. “Should I not swear? Am I going to lose a job I’ve had for ten minutes?”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Izzy snorted.
“Great.” Lucius poured a clear drink into a martini glass, then searched the bar, coming up with a sad looking lime. He wrinkled his nose at it, but got a peeler and, with a flick of the wrist, had a perfect curly string of green that he set along the edge of the glass. Then he put it in front of Izzy. “Try that.”
“Hmm,” Izzy picked it up and, by long habit, smelled it first. It smelled mostly of lime and...basil? Could that be right? He took a small sip. It exploded over his tongue. Fresh and clean, not too sweet, but with a good edge of it and definitely alcoholic as hell.
“Basil and lime vodka gimlet,” Lucius explained. “It’s not quite right, really need to let the basil sit for longer. Pair that with the lamb and it’ll cut the richness and compliment all the ginger and stuff. Right?”
The question seemed in earnest, so Izzy took another sip and then dragged a finger through the remaining dregs of the lamb plate and sucked it off thoughtfully. Yeah, it did do that, especially with the vodka keeping the drink warmer.
“It works,” Izzy confirmed. “Keep that one.”
“Yeah.” Lucius was watching him with such intent that Izzy wondered if he wanted him to say more.
“It’s good," he allowed.
“Thanks.” A soft laugh as Lucius re-focused himself. “Okay, probably want something gin based too. Gin is really hot right now.”
They talked through the rest of the drinks, Lucius trying a few more things and Izzy approving all of them with only minor adjustments. By the end, Izzy was getting well into tipsy and was starting to suspect that Lucius might be flirting with him. Which was ridiculous. Probably just his way or whatever. Bartenders made good tips by being flirtatious, probably.
“Should I send you the finalized list?” Lucius asked as he tidied up.
“Just to Eddy. She’ll get it printed up.”
“Do you have a graphic designer? I do that sometimes on the side."
“Eddy question,” Izzy dismissed.
“What’s an Izzy question, then?”
“Food stuff. Inventory stuff. Don’t give a fuck about the rest.”
“Yeah? You don’t come out and shake hands?”
“Hell no. If I wanted to talk to people, I wouldn’t have gone into cooking.”
“Yeah, bet you hide in the kitchen at parties,” Lucius winked. “Me too. That’s where all the best people are.”
Hard to argue that. A few minutes later Lucius had cleared out. Izzy cleaned up, then walked home. The smell of basil lingered in his nose until he fell asleep that night.
Over the next few weeks, Izzy’s hunch about flirtatious bartenders was proven correct. Lucius wasn’t the fastest worker Izzy had ever seen (understatement, but that was Eddy’s problem), but everyone who sat at the bar didn’t seem to care. He flirted, he gently teased, sometimes less gently insulted everyone in the vicinity. Apparently, there was a boyfriend (of course there was) named Pete, who came in once a week like clockwork and sat at the bar, apparently not at all ruffled by the flirtations. Not that Izzy got to witness any of that first hand, just got word from the waiters as they breezed in and out, and Eddy’s own tickled report.
“I think he’s a fucking terror,” she confided as they shared one of their now rare cigarettes out back.
“Yeah? We need to dump him?”
“We run on terror. He fits right in,” they laughed. “Hey, we should do a thing for the re-opening.”
“We’ve been open for a month,” Izzy pointed out, taking a drag and then passing it back to her.
“Gotta celebrate, though. Maybe do a staff thing. Invite a few people. You know, music and whatever.”
Izzy gave them the side-eye. “What’s this about?”
“Celebrating,” Eddy said firmly. “We made it, Iz. Got to stop and enjoy that at some point or what are we even doing, you know?”
Izzy didn’t know. Every day that he stepped into the kitchen and knew it was his was a goddamn celebration. But fine. Party it was.
They were usually closed on Mondays, but Izzy came in at noon and made finger foods, set them up around the place so no one would have to run back and forth to serve. When he brought out the last tray, he was surprised to see Lucius behind the bar.
“Eddy mentioned what you’d be up to,” Lucius waved when he spotted him. “It’s smart. Figured I’d make some pitchers of things now. By the time those are gone, people will be happy with shots. Like, we’re all definitely getting obliterated, right?”
“Most likely,” Izzy agreed. “Made things that won’t rip out your throat if you puke.”
“How thoughtful,” Lucius grinned. “You’re a real gentleman.”
“Take that back, motherfucker.”
Lucius’ laugh was deep and rippled over Izzy’s skin. “Sorry, chef. You’re a raging asshole.”
“Damn right,” Izzy nodded. “My prep is done. You need anything?”
“Want to show off your insane knife skills and do some orange slices? Thinner the better.”
It wasn’t hard to slice them fine, nearly translucent. Lucius moved around him to grab something at one point and reached out, gripping Izzy’s shoulder for just a second for balance. The touch seared through him.
“You know, I was kidding about the knife skills, but holy shit!” Lucius plucked up one of the slices. “That’s amazing.”
“What’re you putting it in?”
“Rum punch.” But that slice went right into Lucius’ mouth as he set down the glass. “Uses up some of the fruit we’d have to toss otherwise, and it tastes better the longer it sits. Time is the best ingredient. If you didn’t go to culinary school, where’d you learn to cut like that?”
“Worked in a fancy ass kitchen for a couple of years. Picked up things there. Rest is just time and practice.”
“Guess you do practically live back there. Jim says you’re the last to leave, always there when they get in.”
“There’s a lot to do,” he said vaguely. “You...settling in?”
“Sure, it’s great here,” Lucius said with apparent sincerity. “Way better than catering gigs.”
The back door opened, Jim and Oluwande’s voices spilling through the space, and that was the end of any quiet. The main room was soon heaving with staff, a few regulars, and some people Izzy wasn’t sure he’d ever met before. Eddy was presiding over all of it with an enormous smile that fully reached her eyes. Music poured out of the speakers and a cleared space in the middle of the room had enticed some people to dance. Or maybe that was Lucius’ punch.
Izzy had had a glass or two, but stopped there, unwilling to unwind so much in that large a group. So he was the only one with a clear enough mind to notice someone knocking on the door.
A tall guy with a shock of blond waves and a fancy suit was fidgeting a little outside. Izzy opened the door reluctantly.
“We’re closed. Private party.”
“Oh, you must be Iggy!” the guy said with a fumbling smile.
“Izzy,” he corrected.
“I’m Stede! Eddy invited me.”
This was Stede? The guy that Eddy had mentioned like he was a mad genius? Izzy stared blankly at him, then took a step back to let him in.
“Stede!” Eddy called out delightedly. “Come here and dance with me.”
“Coming!” Stede’s face transformed with a brilliant smile. He left Izzy behind, still holding the door open like a fool. He locked it back up with a grimace.
When he got close enough, he could see Eddy clinging to Stede in a messy attempt at ballroom dancing to a song that was far too fast while nearly crashing into Frenchie and his enormous friend. For about a minute, Izzy watched them. Then he stalked off into the kitchen and gave some serious consideration to locking himself into the walk-in freezer and letting the night go where it would.
Instead he poured himself a glass of water and drank it slowly. The door creaked open just as he finished. Another body slipped inside and pressed back up against it, expelling a long breath.
“You okay?” Lucius asked, stepping towards him.
“Are you?”
“Busy out there,” he shrugged. “And the best people hang out in the kitchen.”
“Don’t have to keep me company.”
“You ran away pretty fast. Did Stede say something stupid to you? He does that sometimes. His mouth and brain aren’t always synced up.”
“No.” Izzy watched him warily. “Just done, I think. I don’t do parties.”
“This is my shocked face,” Lucius said dryly and extended his hand. Izzy registered he was holding two glasses. “Take it.”
“What is it?”
“Just a vodka tonic. Well, I did put a little ginger simple syrup in it. You’ve got a thing for ginger, I noticed.”
“...What?” Izzy took it and had a sip. The ginger was very present, sizzling pleasantly on his tongue.
“I like that you don’t over use it, but it’s obviously your favorite. Especially when you’re in a good mood.”
“I don’t have good moods.”
“Lies.” Lucius leaned against the counter next to him. “You know Eddy kind of threw this party for you?”
“I know.” He took another sip. It was really fucking good, goddammit.
“So...”
“So what?” Izzy sighed.
“Just saying. It’s your party and you can cry if you want to,” Lucius sing-songed.
“Fuck off,” Izzy barked a laugh. “I’m not crying.”
“But you’re not thrilled.”
“Eddy and me...it’s old news. But it’s hard sometimes, seeing them with someone else.”
“Oh. Oh shit, really?” Lucius’ eyes went wide. “You and Eddy? But you guys are like siblings most of the time....or. Or old marrieds. Oh my fucking god, that makes so much more sense.”
“We weren’t married,” Izzy denied. “And it’s not like that anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. But yeah. Once.”
“Fuck. You know she and Stede aren’t actually together.”
“Yet,” he said tiredly.
“Yet,” Lucius conceded. “Are you guys going to like...implode or something? Because I was serious about liking this job.”
“No. It was going to happen. Surprised it took this long. Eddy’s magic.” Izzy stared into the drink. He should be angrier, he realized. Or worse somehow. Certainly he shouldn’t be talking this way. Maybe Lucius could mix truth potions. “Been waiting for someone else to come along and notice.”
“And you’ve been looking for someone?” Lucius asked like the question might detonate.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Freedom is what I want. I don’t have room for anything else.”
“Yikes. I don’t think that’s true. Plenty of fish in the sea who wouldn’t mind swimming around a grim workaholic, you know.”
“Endorsement like that, I should let you write my dating profile.”
“Would you let me?”
“Fuck no.”
“Aw,” Lucius elbowed him. “C’mon, give me another chance. How about ‘talented and chiseled chef with a phone-sex hotline voice seeks flexible in the schedule and in the bedroom partner’?”
“Lucius...”
“Oh! How about ‘killer forearms, wicked knife skills, and probably not a serial killer’?”
“What?” Izzy blinked. “I’m not a serial killer.”
“You have a lot of knives. Just saying.”
“I’m a chef, we all have a lot of knives. You should...stop. Whatever this is.”
“Having a conversation?”
“I don’t need a consolation flirt, or whatever you think you’re doing.”
“It’s a pretty honest flirt,” Lucius said calmly.
“I’m not...I don’t do that.”
“Have fun?”
“Flirt.” Izzy clung to the drink. “I don’t mess around. I don’t play.”
“Okay, but I’m not playing.” Lucius turned, catching his gaze. “I’d go home with you if you asked.”
“What about the boyfriend?”
“What about him? We’re open. Pete knows I’m interested in you.”
“We work together.”
“We do,” Lucius agreed. “But Eddy is my boss, right?”
“Technically.” Definitely. Izzy never messed with the front-facing staff, just like Eddy never did shit about his people.
“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” Lucius even took a slight step back. “And if you tell me to fuck off, that’s fine. But I figured I’d let you know that I’m an interested and flexible fish.”
Izzy backed off an insane desire to ask what kind of fish. That was an Eddy question, her voice loud in his ear right now. Mostly screaming ‘for the love of god, man, jump on that’. But he spent a lot of time saying ‘no’ to the very real Eddy. He could certainly do the imaginary version for her.
“Fine.” He took a sip of his drink. “You told me. Go back to the party and leave me alone.”
For some reason, Lucius smiled like Izzy had offered him a compliment.
“Leaving,” he said cheerily.
It was only once he was actually gone that Izzy realized he hadn’t actually rejected the interest. He should probably go fix that. Instead, he finished his drink, cleaned the glass, and walked back into the party. He didn’t join in the dancing, but he sat along the perimeter. Let Jim sit next to him and strike up a conversation about mushroom varieties that they got through with remarkable clarity considering they were clearly drunk as a skunk.
After that night, two things started happening.
The first was that Eddy actually took her day off. Used to be it was more of a theoretical thing where she’d wind up at the restaurant anyway, holed up in her office and working because she’d gotten bored at home. Now, he’d go in to ask her something and find the room empty. It was unsettling, but her general demeanor was unarguably better the rest of the week. Like someone had re-lit the flame in her that he hadn’t noticed had gone out.
The second was that Lucius started finding reasons to be in the kitchen. He wasn’t helping, wasn’t actually bartending for all that was his excuse (‘Ran out of cocktail onions!’ ‘Do you have any cinnamon sticks?’). He just seemed to buzz around for a few minutes, then go back out with whatever item he claimed to be fetching. When he used to say he didn’t need the staff dinner, he was suddenly hungry every night.
Reasonably, Izzy should never be making staff dinner, a job for a more junior person, but the reality was that he worked efficiently and his people were well-trained enough these days that it was easy to break for a few minutes and put together something for himself and the rest of them.
“What happened to ‘I ate at home’?” Izzy demanded after the fourth day in a row that Lucius appeared to scoop up some honey-coated chicken thighs.
“That was when I was under the impression that the staff meal was leftovers, not first dibs Izzy originals.” Lucius grabbed a fork and stabbed into his plate with vigor. “On catering jobs it was always like, dried out and cold stuff.”
“And you just suddenly realized that I wouldn’t feed anyone cold shit?” Izzy asked, affronted.
“Eddy mentioned you were making that sausage stuffing the other night and it clicked.” Lucius made one of his obscene noises at the chicken. “I’m never eating a twinkie before work again.”
“Those aren't actual food,” Izzy informed him. "They're barely edible."
“Yeah, but they are delicious. Not as good as this, though. Fuck me running.”
“He does burgers on Friday nights,” Jim informed him, edging Izzy out of the way to get their own dinner. “Onion jam.”
“You can make onion jam,” Izzy contended.
“It’s boring to make, good to eat,” Jim volleyed back.
“I’m working this Friday,” Lucius said giddily.
So now Izzy had to deal with Lucius invading his kitchen, and eating his food with lavish compliments and all his little sounds, almost every night. It was enough to drive a man to the brink.
“Are you complaining that he likes your food?” Eddy asked incredulously, when Izzy finally had to tell someone about it. The dumpster out back absolutely reeked in the summer sun.
“He makes sex noises at it!”
“Yeah, some people do that out front. I never tell you about it because it’s fucking weird.”
“Wait, really?” Izzy narrowed his eyes at them.
“Yeah, man. Not a lot, but every few months or so, there’s a real table slapper. Didn’t figure Lucius for a moaner, but there you have it.”
“I have a tall annoyance is what I have,” Izzy grumbled.
“He’s just eating dinner.”
“And talking to me. Asking questions. Being nosy.”
“Like...he’s trying to get to know you?” Eddy’s lips twitched. “Be friendly? Oh no. Run, Iz, run.”
“He told me he was interested in me,” Izzy confessed.
“Oh, shit,” Eddy’s eyebrows flew up. “Is he bothering you or something?”
“No, not like that. He told me the night of the party. Now he’s just chattering at me all the time.”
“Uh huh. What are we complaining about?” Eddy rolled her eyes. “Hot cute guy propositions you. You say no. He pulls back, but tries to stay friendly because you work together?”
“I maybe didn’t say yes or no,” Izzy told the ground. Fuck, he should’ve grabbed the cigarettes before dragging Eddy out there. Would’ve been something to do with his hands.
Eddy didn’t say anything and finally, Izzy looked up to find her staring at him. There was a wry twist to her mouth, something contemplative in her eyes. He waited her out until she finally said,
“Plenty of reasons to say no, but....if you said yes, it’d be okay, you know that, right?”
Because Eddy had Stede now. Or was close to having him. Or close to telling Izzy that she had him, anyway. Eddy took days off now. Eddy whistled again while she did orders. Eddy wore lipstick sometimes in a way she hadn’t in years.
“What if it isn’t? He’ll still work here.”
“Then it’ll be awkward for a while. We’ve survived worse than awkward.”
“It’s not appropriate.”
“Since when has that stopped us? Hearing a lot of reasons for you to say no that have nothing to do with Lucius, so probably you want to say yes, huh?”
“Shit.”
“Time to put on your big boy pants,” Eddy slapped his shoulder. “Tell me how it goes!”
“I will absolutely not.”
The words don’t come to Izzy though. Partially because every time Lucius was in the kitchen, everyone else was there too. Partially because they were genuinely busy, news of their expanded dining area finally catching fire.
One night, Lucius doesn’t come back for staff dinner.
“Slammed out there!” Oluwande came in for his own serving. “You’d think we’re giving it away. I don’t think I can take more than five minutes, please tell me there’s a plate already.”
Izzy handed it to him. If the tables were that busy, the bar would be packed in deep and Eddy was probably snowed under. Some of the waitstaff had passed around a cold and called out on top of that. They all had to keep moving, but Izzy started to assemble something in his head.
Even as busy as he was, he could take up one burner on the stove, tossing in this and that and letting it cook low. It would keep as long as it needed to, and would be better for sitting. After all, one of Lucius’ favorite ingredients was time.
At ten, Lucius burst into the kitchen, eyes wild.
“Someone feed me,” he begged. “I almost gnawed off a customer’s arm.”
“That’d be good for business,” Roach cackled. “At least put some garnish on it first.”
“I’ve got a plate,” Izzy gestured him over and Lucius crossed to him quickly. “Just needs a minute.”
“Might not have a minute,” Lucius told him mournfully. “I might die.”
“You want pasta or not?”
“Wait, the handmade stuff?”
“What else do we have here?”
He tossed the pasta into the waiting boiling water. No timer required but the one that ran in his head. Drained it off, centered it on the plate, then carefully ladled the ragù over it. It was the right color, dark and rich. Perfect if you’d gone hungry for a few hours.
“Here,” Izzy handed it over. “Go sit in the corner. We’re still winding down.”
“Yeah, fine.” Lucius all but grabbed it and got out of the way as the kitchen ticked onward into the last few plates. It was only when the very final one went out the door that Izzy turned back to the tiny table they kept crammed by the back door for breaks. Lucius was still eating, but he wasn’t looking at his food. He was looking at Izzy.
With a deep breath and long exhalation, Izzy crossed over and sat in the other chair.
“Oluwande said dinner was meatloaf tonight,” Lucius said quietly.
“It was.” Izzy rubbed the back of his neck.
“This isn’t meatloaf. This is...it’s fucking amazing. Why isn’t it on the menu?”
“First time making it. Made ragù before, but not like this specifically,” he mumbled.
“What makes it specific?” Lucius asked, twirling his fork through the noodles.
“Heavy on the basil, used vodka instead of wine. Added some heat.”
Lucius ate his next bite slowly, eyes never leaving Izzy’s face. He swallowed and finally said, “You made this for me. Specifically.”
“Yeah.”
“Because....”
“Because I like to cook for someone. Specific. For one person, sometimes.” Izzy wished he’d thought of the words as carefully as the dish.
“Why?”
Izzy forced himself to meet Lucius’ eyes. They were beautiful, those warm pools of brown. There was no smile on his face, wry, playful or otherwise. Izzy sucked in a breath and summoned his courage.
“So you’ll let me do it again for breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“Chef,” Lucius reached across the table and took his hand. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
It had been a long time since Izzy served someone wearing only a knowing grin, but he thought he could easily get used to it again. Especially when the review came in the form of a long hot kiss, hand tangling in his hair and a return to the rumpled bed they’d barely managed to vacate.
Eddy: you coming in today?
Izzy: no, it’s my fucking day off, isn’t it?
Eddy: hell yeah it is. details later
Izzy: absolutely not.