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She doesn’t have a bed frame yet so she puts an old blanket under her mattress and pushes it up against the wall adjacent to the window for the time being.
Her new place is a one-bedroom with a cutesy balcony and the most gorgeous merola tiling in the kitchen—and by some miracle, although said miracle can mostly be attributed to a good fucking credit score, finally , she somehow managed to sign a lease and snag the place for a beautiful fifteen-hundred a month.
It’s ten blocks down from The Bear, and funnily enough, two blocks up from Carmy’s place.
Funny .
Not that the latter half of that observation is pertinent information.
But it’s different—having her own place again, feeling like an actual adult again, because despite everything, after living with her father, sometimes she forgets that she’s an actual fucking adult. In control of her own life, making her own decisions—all the good stuff.
It will always be an exciting thought but it’s scary how dreadful of a thought it becomes when she thinks about it for too long.
Picture that: Adulthood .
Sydney doesn’t even have a couch.
What the fuck is she even doing.
Her mother was twenty-five when she died.
This is always a sobering realization that makes her feel both grateful for the life she's lived so far and acutely, uncomfortably aware of the fragility of it all .
Like how she’ll always be older than her mother, now and forever, for as long as the sun stretches into the sky during the day and gives way for the moon at night—and isn’t that something?
Sometimes Sydney tries to think back to twenty-one, hazy and foggy, trying to compare whatever she doesn’t remember doing to what her parents were doing when they were that age; life giving way to new life versus her working herself into an ulcer every other week because she chose to pursue a nearly-impossible dream—but there’s a beauty to that too. She likes to imagine the life they had, the decisions they made, and how different, but no less meaningful it all must have been from hers.
When her dad was teaching her how to tie her shoelaces, he’d carefully walk her through how to loop the lace and make a simple knot. He was surprised one day to see that she had started tying them with two loops instead. When he asked her why she changed it up, she simply shrugged and said it felt right.
He takes a lot of pride in that, and nowadays, he’s always telling her something or the other about choosing what to build with the foundations that were constructed before you.
And she doesn’t not not get it.
Because it makes a lot of sense.
Sydney has done and been through so much—gotten her fair share of building, and breaking , done. Culinary school, a failed catering business, a restaurant that a secret, tiny part of her mind tells her is the equivalent to a baby.
She knew she wanted this life since she was able to hold a ladle correctly.
She’s in a good place right now.
But. well.
In a selfish way, she thinks it all leaves much more to be desired.
Chicago summers are always relentless and suffocating, like a thick, stubborn wool blanket draped over the city during the most inopportune time of the year. It seeps into every crack and crevice—makes being outside feel like being hit on the head with a steel frying pan and being inside feel like being slowly roasted in an oven over the course of a couple hours.
It’s the kind of heat that wrings out clothes before leaving the house and turns skin sticky with sweat within minutes of stepping outdoors.
The worst of it all—the air hangs heavy, fuming with humidity, making each breath feel like inhaling warm soup.
Ninety degrees should be a crime, if anything.
Her apartment did not come with air conditioning but her dad was kind enough to buy her a brand new fan to compensate for it. Right now, however, it’s nothing but hot air.
“ Genuinely ,” Sydney gasps. “I could club someone in the head with a baseball bat right now,”
Carmy side-eyes her and carefully shuffles to the other side of the counter.
They’re working on the summer menu at her place because the kitchen hasn’t been christened with some classic Syd and Carm bonding time —which is a stupid name, but she’s the one that came up with it and she has too much pride to take it back.
Sydney rolls her eyes at him and almost chops through the cutting board while angrily mincing parsley.
“Hey—” he says, defensively. “I just don’t think those fuckin’ cartoonish head bumps would accentuate any of my features.”
It’s a joke she would’ve laughed at if not for the weather-induced near-delirium.
“This heat is actually getting to me on a deeper level right now—like, it’s pissing me the fuck off,” Sydney practically whines, drops her knife to the counter with a dramatic clang. “I can’t fuckin’ —fuck! I can’t get any work done like this.”
Carmy sets his own knife down and pushes a glass of ice water towards her, the condensation already forming a small puddle on the counter. "Drink,”
“No.”
“Syd.”
“What?”
“ Sydney .”
She brings the glass up to her lips. “ Okay — fine . Whatever.”
Sydney takes a long sip of water, feeling the coolness soothe her parched throat.
She sets the glass down and lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. "I hate this," she mutters, wiping dampness from her brow with the back of her hand.
Carmy snorts. "You're preaching to the choir, Syd. This shit is inhumane."
Sydney nods, then walks over to the balcony window. She pushes the glass open entirely, hoping to catch a hint of a breeze. She leans out slightly, trying to catch her breath.
"You okay?" Carmy asks, watching her with concern.
"Yeah, just trying to survive," Sydney replies, leaning back into the room.
She looks around, her eyes falling on the empty space where a couch should be. "I really wish I had a couch," she says wistfully.
Carmy laughs, pulls at and unsticks the collar of his t-shirt from his skin. "What, so you can be hot and uncomfortable in the living room instead of the kitchen?"
Sydney smiles. " Duh ."
Mentally, she’s trying to assess the ethics of stripping down naked in front of her technically boss slash (s he thinks ) best friend. Anything to be less sweaty, gross and sticky, right?
Well. Just. Maybe not that.
Instead, she walks over to the unfurnished shell of the space that should be her living room and flops down onto the hardwood floor, the cool surface providing some relief from the heat. She lets out a contented sigh and closes her eyes.
She hears footsteps, the distinct creaking of weight being put onto floorboards. "Weirdo,"
She opens one eye and looks up at him.
His hair is falling damp and dark over his eyes and she can see the faint twinkle of his gold chain from beneath his t-shirt. And he’s shaking his head at her—the audacity .
" What ? It's cooler down here."
He snorts and sits down next to her. "Fair enough."
Boldly, Sydney reaches out and grabs his hand, pulling him down beside her. He laughs and lets himself be pulled, lying back on the floor next to her.
"This is ridiculous," he says, shaking his head.
Sydney grins at him. "But it feels good, doesn't it?"
Carmy nods, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, it does."
They lie there in silence for a moment, enjoying the rare reprieve from the stifling heat. The fan whirs distantly in the background. She can hear her neighbors bickering in the hallway. The food they were preparing lies forgotten on the kitchen counter—strawberry lime and shrimp ceviche. Entree? Side? Something to think about.
"Hey, you wanna hear a story?"
Sydney turns her head to look at him. "Sure, why not?"
Carmy smiles, a distant look in his eyes. "When I was a kid—probably around, like, twelve or thirteen, Mikey, Richie, and I were so hot one summer that one morning, we woke up and just straight up decided we had to shave all our hair off."
“Like, buzzcut kind of shave or…”
He raises his eyebrows.
She gasps.
“Holy shit—no way, really?” she laughs. “Shiny head bald at thirteen is kinda crazy, dude. You must’ve looked like you were in juvie or something,”
“God, Syd, you have no idea. We thought it would help us stay cool, and it did , but we ended up looking like a bunch of bald weirdos—which. Mikey actually had a really long head? Which was a weird discovery but.”
Sydney laughs even harder. She’s happy that he’s able to talk to her about Mikey like this. “Do you have pictures?”
“Probably. Nat took a shit ton for blackmail.”
“I would’ve done the same, honestly,”
Carmy looks at her, eyes rolling. “Traitor.”
Sydney reaches out and squeezes his hand, warm and soft and simultaneously calloused.
Carmy blows a curl of hair out of his face, smiles, squeezing her hand back.
“Objectively, this just looks bad ,” Sydney says, looking at a silver lamp with a square lamp shade. She wrinkles her nose, shaking her head as if to ward off the lamp’s inherent tackiness.
Pete laughs, shaking his head in agreement. He’s got his suit jacket tied up around his waist, unbothered, a pair of sunglasses perched on his head. “Yeah, that one’s a hard pass. Looks like something straight outta the fuckin’ Battlefield Earth set.”
“Holy shit—that movie was so bad ,”
“Right?”
“Those white people with the dreads always pissed me the fuck off,”
“Tell me about it, dude,”
A week ago, when Pete and Nat had her and Carmy over for dinner, she’d mentioned to Pete about how she’s been trying to figure out a specific aesthetic for her apartment in terms of decor. Of course, overlooking the fact that she barely has any furniture. So now they’re at HomeGoods at one p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon, thirty minutes into their respective lunch breaks when the store is miraculously not bustling and the air conditioning is a welcome relief from the stifling heat outside.
They move to the next aisle, where a variety of floor lamps stand in a neat row.
“When I got my first big boy apartment,” Pete starts, “I went a little nuts with decorating. Bought this giant green bean bag chair that took up half the living room. Thought it was the coolest thing ever.”
“Okay but a bean bag chair is cool as fuck,”
“ Obviously ,” Pete says, grinning. “but I was convinced it was, like, the ultimate symbol of adulthood. Of doing whatever the fuck I wanted, y’know? I had this whole ‘ chill bachelor pad ’ vibe in my head. Then I realized I had no place for a dining table.”
“Shit, dude,”
“Literally.” he leans casually against a shelf. “Ate every meal cross-legged on the floor. Like—fancy, huh?”
Sydney snorts. “ Very fancy. Painfully so,”
“The whole place was honestly just kind of a huge mess. But it was nice ‘cause it was my mess? I don’t know where I’m going with this,”
“No, I think I get what you mean,” she pats him on the shoulder. “I think I feel the same way, honestly. ‘Cause it’s my second time doing this? And I feel like the first time around I was so caught up in my own big expectations for my life that I never chilled the fuck out and let things be how they were, I guess.”
“Sometimes you just gotta bask in the madness, man,”
“That’s what I’m saying!”
Sydney looks around, spots a simple, elegant lamp with a long, shiny red base and a white linen shade. “What about this one?”
Pete steps closer, examining it. “Now that’s nice. Classic, not too flashy. That red is gorgeous—is it painted or is it just the metal?”
“I think it’s painted.” she says, brushing her finger over the shade. “Yeah, I think this could work. Plus, I feel like it’s not something I’ll hate looking at in a few months.”
Pete smiles, giving her a thumbs up. “That’s the spirit. You’re making the right decisions already, Syddie,”
Her cheeks heat up and she punches him lightly in the arm, grinning. “ Shut up ,”
Sundays are their off days.
At ten in the morning, while watering the tiny philodendron plant Nat got her as a housewarming gift, Sydney sends a text to Carmy.
Sydney: hey what are u doing 2day?
She rolls her eyes when he responds not even ten seconds later.
Carm: Nothing of importance.
Carm: Warding off the horrors, maybe.
Sydney: ???
Carm: Resisting the urge to go to the restaurant. I need to chill out.
She bites a hangnail off her thumb. Her windows are open and she can hear a few pedestrians down on the sidewalk in front of her building arguing about a parking meter.
Sydney: i have a proposition, a business model if you will
Carm: Oh yeah?
Sydney: oh yeah
Sydney: the dilemma? it’s hot as balls outside. the solution? beach. benefits? cooling the fuck off AND chilling the fuck out, and your pale ass can finally get a tan
Carm: Fuck you, Syd. I don’t even own a swimsuit.
Sydney: you say that like that isn’t an easy problem to solve
An hour and a half and a trip to Quiksilver later, Ohio Street Beach is swimming with parents and little kids when they arrive. Sydney leads the way, her beach bag slung over her shoulder and the beach umbrella she borrowed from her dad under her arm. They find a spot near the water and lay out their towels.
She’s about to pull her shirt over her head when she finds herself hesitating, her fingers hovering over the hem of her t-shirt, her gaze flickering shyly to Carmy. She's never been very self-conscious about her body, but Carmy has also never seen her in anything less than a t-shirt, and the thought makes her want to start tweaking the fuck out trying not to go about this through an HR angle.
But then she remembers that not only are they actively not at work right now, but it is quite literally eighty-eight degrees—evident by the way her skin feels like it’s broiling off, and so she realizes she really doesn't give a fuck.
Sydney pulls her shirt over her head, revealing a black bikini top underneath.
“Hey, do you want some sunscreen?”
Carmy glances up at her, sunglasses reflecting the sun. She can see a warped version of herself in the lenses. “Nah, I don’t burn.”
Sydney scoffs, shaking her head. “Of course you don’t. Must be nice.”
He grins, propping himself up on an elbow. “It is.”
Rolling her eyes, Sydney shakes her head again before grabbing her bottle from her bag, applying sunscreen to her arms and legs and face with practiced efficiency. Carmy watches her for a moment before curiosity seems to get the better of him.
“I didn’t know you had ink,” he remarks, nodding towards her back.
Sydney glances over her shoulder, following his gaze to the tattoos peeking out from under her bikini straps. She shrugs, setting the sunscreen down.
“Yeah, I’ve got a few,” she says casually.
“Can I see them?” Carmy asks tentatively.
Sydney hesitates, purses her lips, nods and brushes her braids over her shoulder. “Sure.”
Carmy moves closer, and she feels the warmth of his body as he sits beside her. He reaches out a hand, his fingers lightly tracing her expanse of her skin.
“These are really good.” he says—“I like the car. Clean lines.”
“Thanks. It was my mom’s car. Shitty fuckin’ Volvo but she really loved it.” Sydney says. “My dad still has most of the parts in storage.”
“The Mom Mobile,”
“Yeah—the fuckin’ Mom Mobile, dude.”
Carmy smiles, his fingers moving up to her right shoulder blade—probably the can of anchovies. His thumb rolls circles into her skin.
“Anchovies?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Sydney pulls her knees to her chest. “I honestly just like anchovies. And, y’know, they’re bomb as an ingredient. Plus, they remind me of my dad. He used to cook—still does, honestly—with them all the time. I guess they’re just a staple for me now.”
He continues to brush over her back, his touch gentle, almost reverent. The tips of his fingers pause over where she knows the three of swords heart is. She hears him open his mouth to ask about it, but she shifts slightly, closing herself off.
And luckily he gets the hint—he doesn’t press for more, moving on to the next tattoo.
“ C’est pas grave ,” he says with, surprisingly, near-perfect pronunciation.
Sydney makes a reminder to ask him about that later.
She sighs, looking back at him. "That was my first tattoo. It’s a reminder, I guess. When things get too intense or overwhelming, I try to tell myself that not everything is as bad as it seems. It's a way to keep myself grounded."
"Makes sense. I like that." Carmy nods thoughtfully, those ridiculous fucking sunglasses still plastered on his face. “My first tattoo was that stupid fuckin’ snail on my arm—hurt like a bitch. I think I was probably the fourth person that guy ever tattooed.”
“Damn you were really in your guinea pig era,”
“Unfortunately,” he sighs. “This one is a broken wishbone, right?”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s about luck—or maybe the lack of it. My parents and I used to break wishbones together when I was a kid. It was our little tradition. My dad and I still do it. It’s just the whole ‘you can’t always get what you wish for’ thing. Which is kinda corny but—”
“That’s not corny,” he tells her.
Sydney looks at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “You think so?”
“Syd. I have the Chicago area code tattooed on my fuckin’ arm.”
“That.” she raises her eyebrows, trying to stifle her laughter. “That is very true.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the waves and the distant noise of other beachgoers filling the space between them. Sydney digs her feet into the warm sand, feeling the grains shift and slip between her toes. She glances at Carmy, who's lying back on his towel, sunglasses now perched on his nose, looking every bit the picture of relaxation.
Warding off the horrors , her ass.
Then, he gives her a sidelong glance. "You want to go for a swim?"
Sydney looks out at the water, squinting at the sun’s reflection dancing on the waves. There’s a group of kids pushing each other’s heads below the surface, trying to drown each other it seems like. "The water looks kinda weird," she remarks, grimacing.
“First of all, it’s Lake Michigan . Of course it looks weird.” Carmy says. "Second of all, did you really drag us to the beach just to look at the water? You gotta commit to it, Syd,"
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Fair point."
They both stand, and she shimmies out of her jorts while Carmy tugs his shirt over his head—and it’s no one’s business but her own if she stares at his abs for a few seconds, his muscles defined and glistening in the sunlight. Fuck him , honestly.
"Ready?" he asks, holding out his hand—since when do they hold hands ?
But Sydney takes it anyway, and together they childishly run towards the water, their laughter mingling with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. They splash into the water, the coolness a sharp and welcome contrast to the heat of the sun.
On their way back they stop by Whole Foods. Sydney gets an eight pack of passion fruit popsicles and two large aloe cuttings that she scrapes into a bowl and carefully rubs into Carmy’s bright-red and peeling skin while he sits on his bathroom floor, moaning and groaning in pain.
She fondly tells him to shut up whenever he winces.
One fateful day in middle school Sydney’s dad was called in from work over to the principal’s office on account of his daughter’s behavior. He found her sitting in a chair at the front desk, backpack at her feet with her arms crossed and a sour twitch in her eyebrows. They walked into the office together.
“She got into an argument with a substitute teacher in the middle of class,” the principal explained—all the while Sydney could not stop looking at his more than obvious, poorly placed toupee. “which is incredibly inappropriate given the fact that she is a student and should respect the authority of her teachers, substitute or not.”
It took so much not to roll her eyes at that moment.
Her dad didn’t look any more pleased than she was.
“I encourage Sydney to take the rest of the day off to reflect on her behavior and the steps she can take to make amends to Mrs. Drummond.” the principal said. “She’s too headstrong. She needs to learn how to calm down and trust that the people around her know what’s really best for her.”
After the meeting, they walked to the car in silence. As they drove home in one p.m. Chicago traffic, Sydney fumed, staring out the window, arms still crossed. For some reason, the fact that her dad seemed to be more chill about the whole situation pissed her off even more.
“She didn’t even know the difference between a linear and quadratic function!” she mumbled. “Like, this is eighth grade math. That’s common knowledge!”
Her only dad glanced over at her and smiled gently. "You stood your ground and made your concerns known, Sydney. I'm glad you did that. It's good that you're confident and that you know what you're doing."
Sydney's frown began to soften, though her arms remained crossed.
"But it's not okay to argue with an adult like that, especially in front of your classmates," he continued. "There are better ways to handle things, and sometimes you need to pick your battles."
Sydney sighed, uncrossing her arms slightly. "I know, Dad. It's just... she was so wrong, and it felt so unfair. I didn’t want to listen to her talk for thirty minutes about something that’s wrong .”
“Well, what do you want, darling?”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“What do you want? Come on, tell me.”
Thirteen year old Sydney looked at her dad, a mix of confusion and frustration in her eyes. "I want to get an A on the math test next week," she said, her voice resolute. "I want to prove that I know this stuff."
Her dad nodded, eyes on the road. "Then focus on that. You don't have to go through the extra steps of arguing with the teacher. You already know what you want, so just do it. Show them what you're capable of through your actions, not just your words."
Sydney's frown eased completely now, and she nodded slowly. "Oh."
She hadn’t thought about that before.
It felt stupidly obvious.
At a red light, her dad leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and asked her what she wanted for dinner that night.
On her way into work, she receives several text notifications from Carmy.
She opens it to see a picture—it’s a small sticker of a cutesy cartoon deer stuck onto a rusty stop sign.
Carmy: Out meeting with the Italian Beef supplier right now, BTW.
Carmy: Spotted this on Erie St. Is it bad that I think it kinda looks like you?
Sydney laughs out loud in the middle of the street, ignores a woman that gives her the stink eye, reacts to the picture with a heart and sends him a bunch of exclamation marks back.
“The hell are you smiling about at six in the morning?” Richie asks her as she walks in through the backdoor.
She rolls her eyes at him and makes a beeline for the locker room. “Can a girl not just be in a good mood for the sake of being in a good mood?”
She sees Tina squint at her in passing from the other end of the kitchen.
“That isn’t where the issue lies, Sydney dear.” he explains. “The question centers around what the cause of this supposed good mood is.”
“I actually can’t hear you over this sound of me opening this locker, oh my God what?”
Sydney wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, feeling sweat bead on her skin despite the frenetic pace of the kitchen. The dinner rush has hit its peak, and she’s right in the thick of it, the ticket machine whirring ceaselessly without end.
As much as she loves it all—the heat from the stoves, the sizzle of the pans, the constant movement of people in her peripherals—she can feel that telltale wave of nausea crawling up from the back of her throat.
When a short lull in orders finally presents itself, Carmy appears beside her, holding out a soup container filled with some sort of fizzy liquid, adorned with lemon wedges and fresh mint leaves. His hair was neatly slicked back at the beginning of the night, now it hangs messily around his face in loose curls.
"Here," he says, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "Drink up."
Her eyes widen in gratitude as she takes the container, feeling the coolness seep through her fingers. She takes a long sip, eyebrows furrowed. "Since when do we have Sprite?" she manages to ask.
“We don’t. I—uh, I made it,”
“ Seriously ? You made this?” she takes another sip. “This tastes…scarily similar.”
His hand travels to the dip of her spine, palm rubbing deep circles through her jacket. “How’s the nausea?”
“Better now.” she frowns. “How did you know I—”
“You get this look on your face—like a half smile, kinda. Then you start blinking a lot,” he tells her. “It’s honestly kind of adorable—in a fucked up way, of course.”
“Not you making fun of my pain and suffering— fuck you , dude,”
Carmy snorts and glances around the bustling kitchen, then back at her. "You want to switch with me for a bit? If you're feeling too overwhelmed," he offers, concern pooling in his eyes.
She shakes her head, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "No, I'm good, Carm. But thanks for the offer."
He nods, giving her a reassuring pat on the back before turning back to the line cooks, his voice rising above the clamor as he yells at them to pick up the fucking pace—and God . It’s kind of hot. He’s kind of hot.
She is so fucked.
The bedframe she ordered from IKEA weeks ago finally came in.
She managed to get a nice dining set off of Facebook Marketplace for a decent three hundred dollars and Marcus thought this mother’s old green chenille sofa that he’s been keeping in storage would look nice against her apartment’s cream walls. She initially felt too bad to accept it—to take something that belonged to his mother, but Marcus insisted, saying that she was doing him a favor by taking it off his hands.
She and Nat are currently sitting on said sofa, mugs of tea in their hands.
They’re supposed to be talking about new decor for The Bear—floral arrangements and paintings, all the alike.
“And you can’t laugh or make fun of me because this is very, very embarrassing. And I’m telling you this because you’re one of my best friends and I like telling you things because you give the best advice, so just promise me that you won’t—”
“ Sydney ,” Nat laughs, setting her tea down on the coffee table. “ Whatever it is, I can assure you I’m not going to laugh at you.”
“Promise?” Sydney puts her mug down as well and holds her little finger up between them.
Nat intertwines her pinkie with Sydney's. "I promise, sweetie," she says, a reassuring smile on her face.
Sydney takes a deep breath, gathering her courage. She squeezes her eyes shut. "I like Carmy. Really, really like him. Like in the if-I-could-crumple-him-up-and-squeeze-him-into-my palm-and keep-him-there-forever-I-would kinda way, which is fucked up! But .”
When she opens her eyes again, Nat’s expression has changed, but not in the way Sydney expected it would—no, instead she’s got a smile so big it looks like it hurts glued to her face, teeth and gums and all. And then, in a flash, she’s leaping across the sofa and pulling Sydney into the tightest hug ever.
“Oh my God, Syd! I knew it! I just knew it!” Nat's voice is so full of joy Sydney thinks she might explode. “Fuck—Pete is gonna freak out,”
She hasn’t seen her this excited since baby Mike was born.
Sydney feels heat seeping into her cheeks. "You did ?" she asks, pulling back slightly to look at Nat.
“Are you kidding me?” Of course, I did! It's so obvious. The way you two look at each other, it's like something straight out of fucking a movie." Nat's excitement is palpable as she clutches Sydney's hands. "And you have no idea how thrilled I am to hear this. I've been waiting for this!"
Sydney laughs, a mixture of relief and embarrassment. "I thought I was being subtle."
"Subtle? Oh, sweetie, no . It's hard to miss. And let me tell you, Carmy might be oblivious and, frankly, stupid sometimes, but he definitely likes you too. I can see it in the way he talks about you, the way he looks at you. He just needs a nudge in the right direction."
“But isn’t it kinda weird, though? I mean, he’s like, kind of my boss-slash-coworker and that’s…never a good idea, right? Like, it’s crazy, right?”
Nat's smile softens, and she squeezes Sydney's hands reassuringly. "Sydney, listen to me. Look at where we work—in the nicest way possible, The Bear is an HR violation in of itself. There are so many deep seated, emotionally… baggaged interpersonal relationships there. You and Carm? That’s just another notch in the fencepost.”
“You think so?”
“I know so, dude.” she says confidently, with her chest. “And you know what? Even if there are bumps along the way, that's okay. Relationships are messy and complicated, but that's what makes them so beautiful. You just have to take that leap and go for it because clearly, there’s something there.”
“No, obviously, I know that.” Sydney says. “But it’s just so frustrating because—I don’t know. Like, is that really something that I want?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I don’t know—I mean, what if it goes wrong? What if we end up hating each other? I can’t lose this job. I can’t lose him, or any of you guys, for that matter.”
Nat squeezes Sydney’s hand again, her eyes filled with empathy. “You’re not going to lose him, Sydney. Or anyone. You two have something real, something special. And you deserve to have the things you want. You’re smart, you’re intuitive, and you know what you’re doing. Trust yourself.”
Sydney sighs, leaning back against the sofa. “It just feels like there’s so much at stake.”
“There is,” Nat agrees, nodding. “But that’s the nature of life and, y’know, relationships . You have to risk something to gain something. And you’re not in this alone. Carmy cares about you just as much. You both want the best for each other, and that’s a solid foundation.”
Sydney thinks, chewing on her bottom lip. “I guess you’re right. It’s just hard to see it that way sometimes.”
Nat smiles warmly. “That’s why you have amazing friends like me to remind you. And I’m here to tell you that you’re capable of handling whatever comes your way. You’ve been through so much already and look at where you are. You’re amazing, Syd.”
“Thank you, Nat," she says softly. “you’re really good at this.”
"Always," Nat replies, pulls Sydney into another hug and kisses the side of her head. "And you wanna know something else? I'm so excited for us to be sisters. Because I truly believe that, no matter what, we were all meant to be family."
Sydney smiles against Nat's shoulder, feeling a warmth spread through her chest, she says—“I think that we already are, honestly.”
Sydney wakes up to the soft haze of morning light and the quiet hum of Elvis Costello being played on a phone. The couch beneath her is surprisingly comfortable, considering she spent most of the night curled up, wrapped in one of Carmy’s blankets.
Blinking sleepily, she takes in her surroundings. They had been working on the menu yesterday until late, papers and scribbled notes still scattered everywhere. Too lazy to walk the two blocks that it takes to get back to her own apartment, she had crashed here instead.
She remembers Carmy insisting that she take his bed but that had felt like too personal of an offer.
As she sits up, she looks over the back of the couch her eyes land on Carmy’s silhouette moving about in the small kitchen. He’s making breakfast—the nutty smell of browned butter and sweet cinnamon floating about in the air.
Sydney smiles to herself.
She hopes he’s making french toast.
Carmy looks different in the morning light. His hair is even more of a mess than it usually is, tousled from sleep, and his skin has a warm, pinkish hue. There’s something endearing about seeing him like this, still in his element but also in a much softer, serene and picturesque scene. She watches him in silence for a few seconds, taking in the way he moves around the kitchen with a kind of fluidity that comes naturally to him.
Sliding off the couch, she walks over to the kitchen and hops onto the counter, drawing her knees up to her chest. The cool surface against her legs makes her shiver slightly, but she doesn't mind.
She's wearing one of Carmy's white shirts, borrowed for the night, and it hangs loosely on her body. The plaid boxers she also borrowed from him are unusually soft and comfortable.
Carmy looks up from the stove, catching her eye.
He offers a small, sleepy smile. "Morning," he says softly.
"Morning," she replies, her voice still raspy from sleep.
She watches as he flip what looks to be— score !—French toast with expert precision, the crackle-pop of them being pressed against the pan sounds almost comforting.
For a while, they don't speak.
The silence is easy, filled only with the quiet sounds of food being made.
Sydney finds herself entranced by the way Carmy works, how even in this small, homely kitchen, he’s every bit the chef she admires. His focus is intense, but there’s a softness to it this morning. She thinks to herself—he looks very cute right now, with his hair all over the place and his skin flushed. She kinda wants to swallow him whole.
As he moves to make the French toast, Carmy breaks the silence. "You sleep okay?"
Sydney nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. Your couch is really good."
He chuckles, a low sound that makes her heart flutter. "That is true. But I’m just saying—nothing hits like sleeping in a bed."
“Okay Carmy,” she scoffs.
She watches as he finishes up, plating the French toast, golden and crispy, with the same care he puts into every dish. When he hands her her plate, she takes it with a murmured thanks, sliding off the counter to sit at the small kitchen table.
“Do you have orange juice by any chance?” she asks.
“Yeah, I think so—with pulp, right?”
“You know me so well,”
Carmy grins, grabbing a chilled carton of orange juice from the fridge.
He pours her a glass, making sure to give it a gentle shake to mix the pulp evenly. As he hands it to her, his fingers briefly brush against hers, a warm and familiar touch.
"Thanks," she says softly, taking a sip. The tangy sweetness refreshes her instantly.
He reaches out, giving her head a light pat.
Carmy grunts as he tightens the screws on the final leg of Sydney's dining table.
A few days ago she noticed it had a slight wobble and mentioned it to Carmy, who asked her if she wanted him to check it out for her. She said no, initially, but called him with her tail between her legs a few days later when she just about had it to the point where she had to physically restrain herself from flipping the table over in a fit of anger.
The afternoon sun filters through the balcony window, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. Sydney sits nearby, scrolling through Instagram Reels on her phone as Carmy does the brunt of the work as God intended.
"You know, now that I think about it," Sydney begins, scrolling past a Reel of a guy trying to do a kickflip on one of the red Target balls, "I really could've done this myself."
He looks up at her incredulously, wiping sweat from his brow with the tips of his fingers. "Yeah, sure. And then you'd call me two hours later because the table collapsed when you tried to put a book or something down on it."
" Please , I'm not that hopeless. I just thought you'd be bored today and could use some manual labor to feel useful."
Carmy chuckles, setting the screwdriver he brought—along with his toolkit—down. He falls flat against the floor, completely splayed out. "Oh, so this is charity work now? I see how it is, Syd. I see you."
Sydney puts her phone down and plops onto the floor across from him, their shoulders touching. "Yep, just doing my good deed for the day."
They both laugh, the sound echoing softly in the small room. She thinks she’s going to ask him to stay for dinner. They can make pasta and maybe watch a movie after.
"You know," Carmy says after a moment, his tone more serious, "you could've called anyone to help with this. Why me?"
Sydney shrugs. "Maybe because you're the only one who wouldn't charge me a ridiculous fee."
Carmy raises an eyebrow. "Or maybe because you know I'd drop everything to help you."
And what a way to call her out.
Sydney's eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. The air between them feels charged, heavy almost. She looks away first, focusing on a spot on the floor.
“Okay.” she says.
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, maybe I like that you drop everything for me. Maybe I just like having you around,” Sydney admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
Carmy’s eyes soften. He drags his body closer to hers. “I like having you around, too, Syd. A lot. I like being around you so much.”
Sydney’s heart skips a beat. “You know, you’re my best friend,” she says, the words coming out in a rush as if she’s afraid they might lose their weight if she doesn’t say them fast enough.
Carmy’s lips curve into a small smile. “Yeah, you’re my best friend too. And, uh, honestly? Maybe more.”
She feels her face heat up, and it’s not just from the afternoon sun seeping through the balcony window. She looks up at him, her eyes searching his. “More, huh?”
Carmy nods, his gaze steady as he scratches his chin. “Yeah, more. Is that—is that okay?”
Sydney’s breath catches in her throat. She feels a mix of relief and exhilaration, the words she’s wanted to hear for so long now hanging in the air. “Yeah, I think…I think that’s okay. More than okay, honestly.”
They both laugh nervously, the reality of the moment hanging between them like a fragile, precious thing. Carmy reaches out, taking her hand in his. His touch is warm, grounding.
This time, he squeezes first.
She squeezes back.
“So, what do we do now?” Sydney asks.
Carmy rubs a thumb against the side of her palm. “Well, maybe—can I, um,” he says, sitting up and leaning towards her slowly. “Can I kiss you?”
And Sydney mirrors him instinctively, meets him halfway, their lips brushing together in a tentative, gentle kiss. It’s like a dam breaking—and it’s been a long time coming and it feels so, so, so good. The kiss deepens, their bodies moving closer and closer and closer together until, with a sudden, sharp thunk, her head bumps against the bottom of the table.
“ Ow !” she yelps.
“ Jesus , Sydney, are you okay?” he asks, eyes wide.
Sydney laughs, rubbing the top of her head. “Yeah, just my luck to get a concussion the first time we kiss.”
Carmy chuckles, gently cradles her face between his palms. “Maybe we should stop having important conversations while we’re under tables.”
“Yeah,” she agrees happily. “Maybe we should.”
Carmy helps her up, his hands steadying her shoulders as they crawl out from under the table. He pulls her close, and they stand there for a moment, breathing each other in. His hands drift down her back, and she loops her arms around his neck, bringing their faces close again. Their lips meet, and the kiss quickly becomes more urgent, more demanding.
Sydney feels the tension melt away as she straddles his hips, sinking down until she’s sitting on his lap. Carmy’s hands find their way to her waist, gripping her firmly. She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, feeling the world narrow down to just the two of them.
Carmy’s fingers dig into her skin, and she moans softly into his mouth, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. She pulls back slightly, their breaths mingling, eyes locked. The intensity in his gaze makes her pulse race, and she feels a rush of courage.
“Do you wanna see my room?” she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation.
Carmy’s eyes darken with desire as he nods. “Yes,” he replies, his voice low and rough.
They disentangle themselves, and get up off the floor. Sydney takes his hand, leading him down the hallway to her room. She pushes the door open, and they step inside. The room is bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, casting a soft, golden hue over everything.
Carmy looks around, taking in the details.
The neatly made bed, the books stacked on the nightstand, the small potted plant by the window. It feels intimate, personal, a glimpse into her world. He turns to her, and she’s already watching him, her expression a mix of nervousness and excitement.
He steps closer, and she meets him halfway, their lips colliding once more. The kiss is fierce, hungry, their hands roaming each other’s bodies. Carmy pushes her gently toward the bed, the back of her shins hitting the mattress. They continue kissing, their movements becoming more frenzied, more desperate. His hands slide under her shirt, caressing the smooth skin of her back, while her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
Sydney's fingers fumble with the hem of Carmy’s shirt, her hands trembling with a mix of excitement and urgency. She manages to pull the fabric off his body, and it falls to the floor in a heap. Her own shirt quickly follows, and Carmy undoes the clasp of her bra with quick efficiency. He pulls the straps down and off her arms and his hands find her breasts, thumbs grazing against her nipples, his touch eliciting a sudden gasp from her.
“Fuck—your tits are so pretty,” Carmy murmurs, his voice thick and hoarse.
Sydney's cheeks warm up at his words, her breath catching quietly in her throat. “Shut the fuck up,” she laughs shyly, brushes a wheaty curl of hair behind his ear.
“What? I’m not lying,” he replies, his hands squeezing gently, sending tiny jolts of pleasure up her spine.
She arches into his touch, hands traveling down to the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers deftly work to undo his button, then the zipper, before she starts pushing them down his thighs. He kicks them off, along with his underwear, his hands already working on her shorts.
Sydney mirrors him—hooks her fingers under her panties and slides them down her legs, stepping out of them as they fall onto her bedroom floor.
They both laugh as they awkwardly as their bare bodies finally press against each other, warm and soft—it feels impossibly, painfully right. Carmy leans into her, capturing her lips in a heated kiss, his hands roaming her body with newfound freedom.
“When I called you about the table,” Sydney says between kisses, “I didn’t expect for this to be included in the ‘Carmy fixes it all’ package.”
Carmy grins against her lips. “Well, I aim to cover all my bases,” he quips, his tone light despite the heavy and evident arousal between them.
Sydney laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as Carmy’s hand trails down her stomach, fingers crawling between her thighs. “God—fuck. That feels really good,” she breathes, her hips bucking up to meet his touch. “keep doing that,”
“Yeah? You like that?” he murmurs as his fingers dip between her folds and she’s already so wet, dripping and dripping.
Impatient, she pushes him down onto the bed, their bodies pressing together as they kiss feverishly. Carmy’s thigh slips between her legs, and she takes the hint and starts grinding against him, the friction deliciously intense. His hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, grabbing, and she’s lost in the sensation—her body has never felt so alive.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” she moans, her head falling into the heated crook of his neck.
“You too,” he replies, his voice strained with need. He thrusts his thigh up into her, and she picks up the pace. “You’re so fucking good, Syd, so good.”
Their bodies move together, a rhythm that feels both urgent and unhurried.
Carmy grabs onto her hips, fingernails digging into her skin. She licks a stripe up his neck, biting onto the hinge of his jaw.
“Next time,” Sydney gasps, her fingers latching onto his shoulders, “you’re doing all the heavy lifting.”
“Deal,” Carmy groans, his lips trailing down her neck. “Anything for you.”
She laughs breathlessly, the sound quickly turning into a moan as he thrusts against her, the pressure building to a fever pitch. “God, Carmy, I’m so close.”
But suddenly, he stops, pushing her off in him and onto the bed in a way that leaves her aching with frustration. She whines, a desperate and embarrassing , quite frankly, pleading sound escaping her lips. "Carmy, please," she gasps, her arms reaching out for him, her body trembling with need.
Carmy hovers above her, looking down into her eyes. He bends down to kiss her, biting on her bottom lip. “Can I go down on you?”
And Sydney’s breath hitches, her heart rate picking up at the thought. She nods vigorously, unable to find her voice.
Carmy’s eyes darken with what she can only assume is desire as he trails light kisses down her body, his hands gently parting her thighs. He settles between her legs, his breath hot against her skin. He looks up at her, his gaze intense. “Can you keep playing with my hair?” he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I really like when you do that.”
Sydney obliges, fingers tangling in his hair, her grip tightening as his mouth makes contact with her pussy. The first swipe of his tongue against her clit sends a violent shock wave of pleasure through her, and she gasps, her back arching off the bed.
“ Fuck , Carmy,” she moans, her voice shaking. “What the fuck—”
He hums against her, the vibrations adding to her pleasure. His tongue moves with skill and precision, each flick and swirl driving her closer to the edge. He presses a finger against her clit, rubbing it in smooth circles, licking and lapping up the slick and wetness around her labia.
“You taste so fuckin’ good, Syd, Jesus Christ,” he muffles. “so good for me, baby,”
Sydney’s twists a tuft of his hair around her fingers, pulling hard, her hips bucking against his mouth as he continues his assault on her clit.
“God, you’re amazing,” she gasps, her body trembling. “Don’t stop, please.”
Carmy’s hands grip her hips, holding her steady as he works his tongue against her, the pressure building with each movement. He alternates between flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue and sucking gently, occasionally bumping the tip of his nose into her.
Sydney’s breaths come in short, ragged gasps, her body straining towards him, desperate for release.
“ Carmy ,” she moans, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so close.”
“Yeah? You gonna come?”
“Yes—fuck. Please ,”
He responds by increasing his pace, his tongue moving faster, more insistently. Sydney’s body wrings up, the sensation of his tongue working itself into her building to an almost unbearable intensity. She tugs harder on his hair, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.
“Don’t stop, fuck, fuck ,” she pleads, her voice trembling. “ Please , don’t stop.”
Carmy’s mouth works her clit with relentless precision, his hand crawling up her body and latching onto her breast, rolling and pinching her nipple between his thumb and pointer. Sydney feels herself teetering on the edge, the pleasure overwhelming, her body jittering with anticipation.
With one final, purposeful flick of his tongue, she’s sent over the edge, her orgasm hitting her like a lightning thrashing down onto the ground.
She cries out, her body arching off the bed—“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Oh my God —” her grip on Carmy’s hair almost painfully tight as she grinds down onto his face, riding out the waves of intense pleasure.
Carmy holds her through it, his mouth never leaving her clit, drawing out her orgasm until she’s left breathless and shaking, licking and licking and licking at everything she has to offer. When she finally comes down, when her legs stop shaking a few minutes later, her body spent and her mind blissfully hazy, she looks down at him, a smile tugging at her lips.
Carmy kisses the inside of her thigh and he crawls up to her his lips trailing from her neck up to her lips. “Syd,” he murmurs, tongue slipping into her mouth, and she can taste herself—tangy and slightly bitter.
“Syd,” he says again—“can I fuck you?”
Sydney wraps her legs around his middle, fingers lightly grazing at his cheeks. “Yes, please” she whispers, her voice starchy with need. “I want you to.”
He looks into her eyes, sharp blue meeting soft brown, one hand gently cupping her face while the other slips between them to palm at his dick. “Yeah? You want me to?” he asks, mocking.
“ Asshole ,” Sydney laughs.
Carmy kisses the tip of her nose in retaliation, then asks—“Do you have a condom?” his voice is gentle but urgent.
Sydney nods slowly, her fingers tracing the contours of his face. “Yes, but I’m also on birth control,” she replies, her voice soft but sure. “and I’m also clean, so.”
“I’m clean too,” he says earnestly, blushing. “um. Do you want—”
“I’m okay without it. Are you?”
And it’s a bit funny how quickly he nods in response. “Yeah, yeah, for sure, that’s—that’s awesome,”
“Did you just say awesome ? You’re such a fucking dork ,”
The blush on his cheeks grows darker. “ Shut up ,”
Sydney briefly laughs at him, then her expression turns serious as she reaches down, her fingers brushing his hand away and wrapping around his cock, stroking him gently. He groans, hips bucking slightly into her hand, his breath hitching.
“Just shut up and kiss me,” she murmurs, pulling him closer as she continues to stroke him, feeling him grow harder in her hand.
He kisses her deeply, their tongues sliding against each other, and seconds later, he’s positioning himself at her cunt’s entrance, hot and heavy. Slowly, carefully, he pushes into her, both of them gasping at the sensation. Sydney screws her eyes shut as she tries to relax while he bottoms out, her fingers gripping onto his shoulders.
Carmy stills, his forehead resting against hers. “You okay?” he whispers, hands holding her thighs apart.
“Yeah, I just need a minute,” she breathes, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You feel so fucking good, so big inside me,”
“Fuck, Syd,” Carmy groans, his voice deliciously strained. “you can’t just say shit like that.”
She smiles, hooks her foot around his waist. “You can move now.”
Carmy pulls back slightly before thrusting forward, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has Sydney moaning softly. His grip on her thighs tightens, pulling her closer with every stroke, their breaths sync, like a shared rhythm of desire and need.
“Oh my fucking God,” she pants, the pressure of his dick pushing in and out of her overwhelming.
He responds with a growl, increasing his pace, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. It’s powerful, and all consuming, and each thrust is everything she’s ever dreamed of.
Sydney’s nails scrape against the skin of his back, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. “ Fuck ,” she gasps, her hand hovering down to her pussy, rolling and pressing at her clit.
Carmy’s pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder and more insistent. Each movement sends shockwaves of pleasure through her veins, and she clings to him, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
“Harder,” she moans, her voice broken, in complete shambles. “Fuck me harder, Carmy.”
His eyes somehow grow darker, and he grips her hips tighter, driving into her with renewed intensity. The bed shifts beneath them, their bodies moving so, so, so perfectly together, the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin.
“Oh, fuck—God, Syd ,” Carmy groans, his voice raw with need. “You feel so fucking good.”
Sydney’s body arches off the bed, her back bowing as she meets each of his powerful thrusts. “Carmy,” she gasps, her fingers digging into his back. “I’m so close—I’m gonna fucking come,”
“Fuck—what a good fucking girl, gonna come on my cock?”
“Yes, yes please , fuck—please,”
Carmy’s movements become even more urgent, his hips slamming into hers with a relentless rhythm. “Me too,” he grunts, his voice strained. “gonna come so fucking hard. Jesus Christ, you’re so tight,”
Carmy’s grip on her tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips Sydney onto her hands and knees, his cock slipping out only to be thrust back in with a rough urgency that has her crying out. He leans over her, his chest pressing against her back as he grabs a fistful of her braids, pulling her head back to whisper in her ear.
“You like that, don’t you?” he says, his breath hot and damp against her skin. “being fucked like this?”
“Yes, fuck, yes ,” Sydney moans, her voice shaking with each forceful thrust, so good that she can feel it in her throat. Her hands grip the sheets, knuckles trembling as she pushes back against him, meeting his rhythm.
Carmy’s hand slides down her back, brushing up against her tattoos, a possessive touch that makes her shiver. He leans down, kisses the shoulder blade with the broken wishbone, grips her hip with one hand, the other snaking around to rub her clit, his fingers working in sync with his rough thrusts. The dual sensation of his dick inside of her and his hand between her thighs has her teetering on the sharp edge of bliss, her body jittering.
“You’re so fucking good,” Carmy groans, his voice rough and desperate. “I feel so good around me. Fuck, Syd, you’re perfect.”
“ Harder ,” she gasps, her head dropping as she braces herself. “Fuck me harder, Carmy. Make me come,”
He doesn’t need more encouragement, his pace becoming brutal, each thrust driving into her with an intensity that has her seeing stars. The sound of their bodies colliding, the slick, wet noises of his cock sliding in and out of her, fills the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and intense groans.
“Such a good girl,” he mutters, his voice strained. “taking my cock so well. You gonna come for me?”
“Yes, fuck, yes,” she cries out, her body tightening around him, every nerve ending on fire. “I’m so close, Carmy. Please , don’t stop.”
He rocks into her with relentless force, his fingers circling her clit faster. “Come for me, Syd. Come on my cock.”
That pushes her over the edge, her body convulsing as her second orgasm crashes through her, ears ringing, vision blurring. She screams his name, clenching around him, milking his cock as wave after wave of pleasure pulses through her.
“Fuck, Syd,” Carmy groans, his movements becoming erratic. He thrusts into her a few more times, each one harder than the last, before he comes, burying himself deep inside her. His hips jerk as he spills into her, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
And then he collapses against her, their bodies still sheeny and slick with sweat, both of them panting. He stays inside her, his forehead resting against her shoulder as they catch their breath.
It takes her a minute to come down from it all—heart thrashing so hard she can feel it beat in her ears. Sydney thinks she almost blacked out—which is insane. He did that to her.
Sydney’s fingers gently stroke Carmy’s back, tracing random patterns into his skin. She smiles, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over her. “Dude, you’re still very sunburned,” she says, her voice soft and teasing.
Carmy lifts his head slightly, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his eyes. “Sydney, I’m still inside of you. Can we not talk about sunburns right now?”
Sydney laughs, the sound light and joyful. “Sorry, sorry,” she giggles, brushes the hair out of his face. “You’re just… really red.”
Carmy rolls his eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “Glad to know my suffering amuses you.”
She grins, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of his head. “Well you wouldn’t suffer if you fucking used sunscreen like a normal fucking person! Like you’ll live without it, but you won’t live comfortably.”
“Fine, heard.” He chuckles, the sound vibrating through her. “But let’s focus on cuddling right now. I want to be cuddling with my girlfriend.”
And the word doesn’t shock her as much as she thought it would’ve. “Am I your girlfriend, Carmy?”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
She thinks.
It’s pretty straightforward.
He’s literally still inside of her.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Cool.”
“Cool cool cool.”
“Case closed.”
“Jury adjourned.” she yawns. “Now sleep. I’m exhausted.”
Carmy scoffs. “How do you think I feel? That shit was a whole ass workout,”
They get up just as the sun is setting, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. Sydney complains about them being sticky and gross so they get up and shuffle into the shower, warm water cascading over them and soothing every bit of soreness away. Sydney gently washes Carmy's hair with her shampoo, her fingers massaging his scalp in slow, careful circles.
After drying off, she makes him put on moisturizer and gives him her pink Hello Kitty pajama pants and her old CIA sweater, fighting the sudden urge to jump his bones again because he looks so cute.
He asks her what she’d like for dinner and she tells him to surprise her.
Sydney watches him work—rolling out pasta dough, sautéing mushrooms, mincing garlic. Two unopened tins of anchovies from her cupboard sit on the counter. She sneaks up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his back and breathing him in.
Carmy glances over his shoulder, smiling. "Almost ready."
She closes her eyes, feeling the warmth of his body against hers.
And it’s perfect just like this.