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Chris Morocco was enjoying a rare moment of peace in the BA Test Kitchen. No cameras, no chaos, just himself and a few trays of almost perfect gourgeres. His serenity was ruined when one of the puppies ran in. The new girl. Puppies- that’s how Christ privately thought of them- Molly and Andy and y/n. Laughing together and sniping at each other. Silly nicknames for one another, always teasing just a little closer to sore spots than they’d let anyone else. Thick as thieves. It didn’t escape his notice that they were younger than him too. He didn’t think of himself as old, but sometimes it was a little awkward being the eldest in his group of work mates. Even Carla had pulled an “Ok Boomer” on him earlier in the week. He was good with instagram! He knew better than to protest the incorrect label but he wanted to. He loved emojis! What more did they want from him- Tik Tok?
“Hey!” You awarded him a bright smile.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Delany’s pouring cocktails upstairs. Some of that fancy amaretto liquor he likes. Not bad. You should go get some.”
“Oh, I’m… I’m good.” The test kitchen was quiet and Chris needed that sometimes. He liked coming in early, preparing his ten step pour over coffee, getting his station all set up before everyone came in and ruined his peace.
“Yeah,” you continued. “They aren’t really my thing either. But you know Delany.”
He nodded not entirely sure which attribute of the man you were referring to but he got the gist. Alex was charming. Not pushy but the type that got everyone to have a good time. It seemed you’d had a few drinks pressed onto you.
“I needed something non-alcoholic. Something…” your voice muffled as you dug into the recesses of the Fermentation Station. “The ‘buch! I needed the ‘buch.”
Of course. Brad’s Kombucha. Chris nodded and attended to the oven pulling out a pan of perfectly golden cheese puffs.
You boosted yourself up to sit on the counter of station 1, facing him. Why weren’t you going back to the party upstairs, he wondered.
“What are you making?” You asked, sipping your stolen ‘buch.
“Twist on gourgeres,” he told you. “Got some cooling if you want one.”
“I do! I do!” He handed you one and leaned against his station, having one for himself. You take a bite experimentally and moan involuntarily before shoving the rest of the cheesy flakey confection into your mouth. Your eyes close, savoring it. “So. Good.” You opened your eyes in time to witness him taking the tiniest of bites. “How are you not just eating the whole tray?” you asked in disbelief.
He shrugged wordlessly.
“Wait,” you said, struck with inspiration. The taste could be better. “I know what they need.”
Chris frowned. “What do they need? They’re fine. Priya suggested black sesame on top but I don’t think that would give— what are you looking for?” He broke off his train of thought watching you dig through one of the lower cabinets. “So help me you better not be getting furikake. Or sumac. These do not need sumac.”
“No, no,” you cooed. “Heat. They need heat. Gouchujang you think? Or… ooh what if we dipped them in the Calabrian chili liquid?”
Chris shook his head and stood back, watching you tipsy, ransacking the dry goods in search of the perfect spice.
You liked Chris. He was friendly, if a bit reserved, always there with an extra spoon or a plan to save your recipe, more than willing to go with your weird ideas that didn’t always work out. In the short time you’d been at BA you’d made friends (good friends in the case of Molly and Andy) and had developed an epic crush on the man at the station next to yours. Maybe it was the way he was always buttoned up from collar to cuff all the time or the flush of joy that came when he awarded you a hard earned rave review after tasting something you made. He was tough but not mean. You liked that he made you better. However, he seemed immune to your flirting, like he didn’t even notice when you threw vibes his way- teasing friendly or actual hardcore flirting. A thing that hadn’t escaped the notice of your friends.
Earlier that week Molly had witnessed you flirting with the brick wall of obliviousness that was Chris Morocco. Molly swished her eyes, comically large, between you and Chris, who had turned back to the food processor.
“You getting friendly with Morocs?” She whispered.
You rolled your eyes. “Sure. He’s a friendly guy.” You knock her shoulder with your own. “Mols. Come on.”
Chris wandered away from his station in search of a better wok and your friends switched out of whisper mode.
“Such a friendly guy,” Andy mocked. “You mention him all the time. Chris said this, Chris told me to add white miso and it is the best thing I’ve ever tasted, have you seen the way Chris tastes Starbursts?” Andy did a falsetto to imitate your voice.
“I admire him,” you told your friends, stiffly.
“You admire dat ass,” Molly said.
“That flat, flat ass,” Andy said under his breath.
“Okay, sure. Maybe I find him attractive but he’s not into me. It’s fine.”
“Is it though,” Andy said.
Delany swept through the test kitchen on his way upstairs and pulled you after him by the hand. You gave an apologetic shrug to your friends.
“Forget Chris, girl is in over her head with Delany,” Andy observed.
“At least she’s getting some, even if it isn’t the some she actually wants,” Molly said.
“Do you think… we should tell him right?”
“Morocco?” Molly turned her blue eyes on her coworker. “Tell him what? Y/n’s got it bad, let her down easy or mercy fuck her in the walk in?”
“No. I mean, just… you know, get the lay of land. Put out some feelers on her behalf. See where his head’s at.”
Chris returned to the test kitchen with his wok and the pair slid over in front of his station.
“Heyyyyy, Moroccoooo,” Andy trilled. “What’s up?”
Chris eyed them suspiciously. “Still working on the cocktail party recipes for the magazine,” he told them.
“Great. Cool,” Molly said. “You go to any good cocktail parties? You seeing anyone these days? You still doing the monk thing?” Andy elbowed her in the side.
Chris had no idea what they were angling at but he knew it was something. “Have a canapé,” he said passing them a plate. “Stop being weird.” He paused. “But, yeah, no I’m still unattached.”
“Good talk, thanks Morocs,” Molly said grabbing a handful of canapés.
Andy sighed deeply in Molly’s direction.
“You wanna explain what I’m missing?” Chris asked Andy.
“Not really.” Andy popped a canapé into his mouth. “Oh shit. These are good. Zesty.”
Chris relaxed a bit. Compliments on his food he could handle. “Good. Y/n helped me with the look of them. We thought they were pretty instagrammable.”
“They are,” Andy agreed. “But funny you should mention y/n. She’s… she’s quite the fan of yours.”
“Yeah, she’s talented,” Chris agreed.
“No,” Andy emphasized. “She’s a fan. Of yours.”
Chris frowned. “What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Andy sighed. “Can’t say we didn’t try,” he muttered to himself.
Despite not knowing what the two were hinting at, the odd conversation did push you to the front of his mind. Chris was suddenly more aware of you. Your knee bumping his during meetings, you teasing him, you bringing your food over to him to taste before anyone else got a bite- even when Brad begged.
Chris, alone at home, a glass of pinot in, pulled up your videos on Youtube. The thumbnail was cute, a screen grab of you grinning in the dorky novelty apron Carla bought for you, “The Spice Must Flow” written across the chest in flowing script. Your presentation style was energetic, infectious, your smile reaching through the screen as if it were just for him.
You did the usual recipe videos but Rapo had recently green lit your own series- What’s This Thing’s Deal? Where you did a deep dive on unusual ingredients (or at least ingredients unusual to most of middle America- the videos all started with you face timing your deeply midwestern family and asking what they knew about the ingredient of the week).
Chris had completely forgot he was in the celeriac video when he saw himself on screen. Suddenly watching himself interact with you, he was aware of your hand on his arm in a way he hadn’t been in the moment. Had you really been that flirty on the day or was it editing? Had you really looked at him that way, made that dumb joke that made the Chris on the screen laugh and roll his eyes.
The autoplay moved to the next video- you on Delany’s Trying Everything on the Menu episode where the two of you worked your way through a vegan menu. He sighed heavily and poured himself another glass of wine. He considered just closing the laptop and going to bed but he caved and watched you and Delany on what was essentially, a filmed date.
Tipsy, Chris scrolled down to the page to the comments. The usual thirsty-for-Delany posts and positive reviews of you, were nowhere near as numerous as the ones that remarked on the pair’s chemistry: “Damn, that sexual tension is not vegan!” “Come for the tofu, stay for the eye fucking.” “Girl can take the heat! Lock that down, Delany!” another said in reference to the amount of hot sauce you ingested.
Chris close this laptop, feeling sick. He told himself it was from the wine. There was nothing between you two. There wasn’t. And there couldn’t be. He was friends with a lot of women. No problem. The two of you were coworkers. You could be cordial. Platonic. Friendly.
He stuck to this resolution, smiling back at you when you rolled into the test kitchen the next morning, but the smile faded when Delany slung an arm around your shoulder when you all as a group gathered for a tea tasting later in the afternoon.
Chris couldn't get you out of his head. It’s started to drive him insane. You’re not for him, he reminded himself. That much is clear. So why does everything you do, everything that should frustrate him, endear you even more to him. It’s annoying how un-annoying he finds you. You’re messy. Nothing out of control, you’re not Brad, but you’re a little more slap dash, going on instinct, cooking by the seat of your pants. You’re more of a maximalist than he is. Always adding a little extra to whatever you’re eating- more crunchy salt, more hot sauce, even sometimes the chaotic evil of sumac. It’s like she’s never heard of balance, he had thought judgmentally reading your recipes for the first time. But then he tasted them. The tiniest bite. And he was wrong. It looked wrong. It wasn’t how he’d do it, but it was perfect in its own way.
He was pondering the conundrum that was you, in the kitchen, unaware that he was basically staring at you. You looked up and stuck out your tongue at him, as if you would if it were Rick or Andy. Hoping to throw him off a little. All he said was, “You might want a microplane for that.” He’s not wrong. He’s never wrong.
A week later you found yourself paired up on the newest collab, Making Perfect: Picnic, tasked with desserts, a little odd as neither of you were sweets people necessarily, but you both had Opinions on it and Carla assigned accordingly.
“Sorry, if you wanted to work with Andy or—“
“I want to make it perfect,” you say with a grin. “And who better to do that with than you?” You don’t meant flirty (for once) but it naturally comes out that way. Shit. You’re trying to be professional about this.
Was that… was that flirting? Chris asked himself. He hated how distracting being newly hyper aware of you had become. He flashed back to you and Delany. Right before the meeting he’d seen you laughing together, you pressing a playful hand against Alex’s shirt right on the border of his barely buttoned shirt and plush chest hair. That was clearly flirting. This wasn’t. Chris wasn’t Alex Delany. Far from it. Chris liked things neat. Orderly. Everything in its proper place- there was a time for clamming, a time for having fun with Rick, a time for lovingly seasoning cast iron pans. Everything got its own little box in his head. And you… you were not for him. He needed to push you back into the box in head reserved for friends and coworkers.
Working together was tough but the two of you hid it as much as you could. Chris, trying to keep things professional, trying not to overthink everything; and you, trying and failing not fall deeper in love with him.
You admired his precision. His kindness. His good natured ways that others took for granted. You loved his passionate rants about cheese and spoons and even found his lectures on coffee semi-adorable (mostly you just nodded whenever he said “burr grinder” and stared at his mouth). His fingers were long and tapered and reminded you of a pianist, the way they flitted over ingredients and worked a knife deftly. And don’t even get you started on the tongue that popped out to take the tiniest licks of food. Just watching him lick a Dorito for Gourmet Makes the other day had you hot and bothered. You were grateful to be standing in the video production area next to Rhoda so whatever your reaction was it wasn’t caught on camera. You were doubly grateful that everyone else in the test kitchen was watching Chris at the time.
Somehow the two of you got through it. The picnic desserts were perfected but you were running out of time before your scheduled final filming slot. They had to be as close to perfect as possible. You both agreed to do some extra work, meet at your apartment and do some adjustments in a normal home kitchen.
It was strange but not unpleasant to have him in your space. He made himself at home easily, pawing through your drawers to get the lay of the land. You tried to stop him when started resorting your silverware.
“You do not have to re-organize my kitchen,” you informed him.
Chris lifted an eyebrow. “Re-organize would imply that it was, at one time, actually organized.”
“Hey! Just because it isn’t set up the way you would do it-“
“And what is this!” He interrupted, waving the Oxo juicer. “I can’t believe you sided with Molly on this!”
You shrug. “I was shown the proof and I bought accordingly.”
“Traitor.”
“Come on,” you said, knocking your shoulder into him. “Let’s get to work.”
The two of you buckled down and got serious about the task. An hour later the desserts were pretty close to perfect.
“Here,” he said, holding out one of the mini tarts.
You held up your hands which were coated in chocolate from rolling the truffles. You opened your moth expectantly and Chris, after an initial pause, fed it you. Your stomach fluttered at the brush of his thumb across your lip.
“This is it! This is… I don’t know, a party in my mouth. Really.”
“You think we got it?” He seemed tired and relieved that evening might be over.
“Totally. Ready for one more round at the test kitchen tomorrow. Our shoot time is in the late afternoon. Yay! We did it!”
You threw your arms around Chris, careful to not get your chocolate covered hands on him. Chris steadied you and returned the hug, his hands skimming down your back to your hips. It was a moment. One where the two of you knew something was happening but not sure exactly what.
“I like you,” You blurted out. “I like you a lot and I need to know if there is anything on your end or should I give up.”
“What… what are you… you’re saying…” Fuck. He sounded worse than Brad, his words jumbled. He pushed you away a little, but his hands were still on your hips.
“I’m saying I need a clear answer, because if we keep doing this… whatever we’re doing, it’s going to drive me insane.”
“A clear answer…” he repeated slowly, eyes big deer in headlights style.
“About us, Chris. Me. You. I like you. I can’t tell if you like me or not. Sometimes I think maybe but…” you trail off into nothingness unable to look him in the eyes, feeling more and more and awkward as the silence lengthens.
“What about Delany?”
Your eyes flash. “I tell you I like you and you ask about Alex?!” You pull away from him, out of his grip.
“You like him too,” Chris says dumbly.
“As a friend. He’s a flirt, yeah. We have fun. It’s not a thing. Not… not anymore. He flirts with literally everyone. Amiel’s more type but he’s in a relationship and most importantly, he’s not you.”
“Me.”
“Yeah so, search your feelings or whatever. Because I need to shut down this crush before I, I don’t know, grab you inappropriately in the kitchen. Not that I would assault you without consent it’s just.. Jesus. Fuck. I’m not making any sense.”
His eyes grew large again. “You like me. You were flirting with me!”
“Yeah. I was. I won’t though. I’ll cut it out and we’ll completely forget this conversation ever happened.”
His head was swimming. “I… I’m…”
You couldn’t stand it and cut him off. “Look, this is a lot. Too much. And you’re probably so completely turned off now that—“
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m not turned off. You… you’ve really been thinking of me like that? All week?”
You gave a mournful sound. “All week? Chris, for months.”
“I’m… I’m interested,” he managed to get the words out. “I just need some time to process this, okay?”
You nodded. Glad that at least it was out in the open. Even if you’d just given this man something to talk over with his therapist for the next three years. You sighed. “I’ll clean up here. Why don’t you… go.” You felt suddenly drained, your feelings exposed. Fuck. This man was going to go home, think about what you said, and then tomorrow be polite and shut you down and you just couldn’t face it.
“I can-“
“No. I got it.” You were a little short with him. Fuck. He just said he was interested and instead of pressing the advantage you were kicking him out of your apartment.
The next day at work you were cordial to each other. Said hi in the hallway but he was on his way to a meeting and Andy was practically dragging you into the kitchen to get to work.
“I know, I know, I’m cock blocking you but I’m stressed,” your friend said.
“No,” you sighed. “You’re not. I’ll tell you about it later. Drinks tonight? Mols? You in too?”
The blonde nodded, face worried. “You okay?” She slung an arm around you in a half hug.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“Good because here’s what I need-“ Andy gave you an endless list of things to grab for him out of storage.
Meanwhile upstairs in a conference room:
“Chris? Bud? You okay there?’ Carla asked.
Morocco was staring into space, forehead creased like he was doing calculations in his head. The look wasn’t that unusual but that he was doing it in a meeting was. That he was doing it in a meeting right after she’d told him the “BA’s Favorite Spoons” article he’d suggested a while back was green-lit, was downright terrifying. Carla was starting to worry he’d had an aneurysm.
“Um. Yeah. Yeah. I’m… I’ll be right back,” Chris murmured.
Carla, Christina and Rick watched him leave and looked at one another, confused.
Chris hurried down to the test kitchen. His mind wasn’t on the meeting. It wasn’t on his beloved spoons. It had finally caught up with him at the worst time possible. The importance of your words the night before hit him like a freight train and now that he’d processed it, he had to do something about it.
You pulled a bubbling cast iron pan of creamy garlicky greens out of the oven and set it on a trivet to cool. You were still wearing a potholder on hand when Chris whirled into the Test Kitchen and spun you around by the shoulder. You looked up at him, bemused.
“Um. Hi?”
“You like me. You said you had feelings for me. Romantic feelings.”
“Yeah. It’s okay. I know I made it weird and—“
Chris cut you off with a kiss. A kiss so intense and searing that you forgot everything that wasn’t the feel of his arms, tight around you, the taste of coffee on in his mouth. Somewhere outside of the kiss was a loud bang of metal of tile (later you would learn this was Gaby, who dropped a stack of sheet trays in shock). The two of you parted, slightly panting, still making intense eye contact.
“What the fuck,” you heard Andy murmur.
“Way to go, Morrocs!” Molly’s voice, loud and boisterous rose above everything else.
You ignored them, slipping a hand up to cup his cheek. Fuck those were good cheekbones. “So you… might have romantic feelings for me too?”
“Yeah.” He grinned, looking happier than you’d ever seen him. “Yeah I do.” He leaned in for another kiss.
“You’re in a meeting,” you reminded him between kisses. “And we’re in the test kitchen.”
He kissed you again, sucking lightly at your lower lip. “I’m aware. It couldn’t wait.”
You grinned and pulled away from him with great effort. “I’m glad. But-“
“Yeah.” He let go of you and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m… um… tonight? Dinner? I don’t know how all this works.”
“Judging by that kiss I have a feeling you do.”
He laughed.
You smiled. “Yeah. Tonight. More of that. More of whatever just happened.” He left back to go upstairs- spoons and you, the day was turning out magnificently.
“Wow,” Sohla breathed, staring at you wide eyed.
Transitioning into a relationship was easier than either of you thought it would be. Not without its bumps, what with working together and spending your nights together too, but it was undeniably good.
His life was messier with you in it. Better. But certainly messier. Like the kitchen the night he decided to try drizzling you in the smoked syrup Brad brought back from Canada. How months before he would never fantasize about you while working. But you were out of the neat little box in his head. And he was fine with that.
Weeks later:
“Ugh,” Andy said as you walked into the test kitchen. “I do not need all this,” he waved a hand at you.
“What?”
“You! You and Morocco all happy and snuggly and couple-y. Makin’ me feel worse.”
“Come on,” Molly said, sticking up for you, “It’s sweet! She pined! She got the guy. They’re, yes, in disgusting domestic bliss, but I for one am happy.”
“You’re just happy to have a new brunch couple,” Andy said sourly.
“A side benefit,” Molly said breezily. “So tell us about him. What’s Moroc unbuttoned like? Freaky side?”
“Oh no,” you said, shutting that down. “Absolutely not going to talk about this. Not here, not sober, no.”
Molly brought it up again when you were having drinks at your place later in the week. “You dished about the others! It’s not like I’m asking to see the dick pics.” Molly protested.
“That’s different! They don’t work with us! And there are no dick pics, thank you very much. He’s too classy for that.”
“You dished about Delany!” She reminded you.
You roll your eyes. “Half the building could dish about Delany. Hell, Delany would tell you himself. Chris is different, he’s private, you know?”
“One thing, please,” your friend begged.
You make a face but the effect of the spicy margs is too strong and you give in. “I have never had my pussy eaten out so well and so throughly. That tongue is extremely talented and not just for blind folded tasting recipes. And yes, the blindfolds have made an appearance outside of the test kitchen.”
Molly squealed.
“That is absolutely all you are getting and if I find out you’ve told anyone- including Andy- I will murder you. Rat poison in the cae sal.”
“A good way to go out.”
Back in the test kitchen, the next day:
“Here try this.” Chris handed you a sliver of what appeared to be cream pie.
You obligingly taste it. “Oh that’s good. Not too sweet. Something’s in the meringue… butterscotch? No.” You took another bite and grinned. “I’m no super taster but it’s really good.”
“Good,” he beamed. “The meringue has just a hint of salted caramel, that’s what you’re getting, I hope. And then the base is a riff on a cream cheese custard.”
“I like the mocha crust,” you say approvingly.
“I based it on you.”
“Oh?”
“Your… taste.”
You put down the plate immediately for fear of dropping it. “You mean-“
“When I go down on you, I like your flavors so I made a pie. A y/n pie.”
You felt a full body blush starting at your chest. Fuck. The man who loved to hear dirty talk but wasn’t into expressing himself that way in or out of the bedroom just said the hottest thing you’d ever heard.
He suddenly looked worried. “Is that… too intimate?”
“No! I mean, yes, obviously it’s intimate but it is a good pie and it’s hands down the hottest, dirtiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He grinned. “Well, still a few more rounds of testing left to perfect it. Might need to go back the source to compare.”
“I will happily sit on your face in the name of science and pastry.” You leaned in to kiss him.
“Not in the kitchen!” Came Carla’s voice as she entered. “I will get a spray bottle for you too.” She gave you and Chris another look, arms still around each other. “Or maybe a fire hose.”