Chapter Text
She meets him at the restaurant. When you consider that by the time they meet, she’s been working there for two months, it’s kind of sad. But she only works evening shifts during the week and he works lunches Tuesday through Friday and dinner service Saturday and Sunday. So they are ships passing in the night for a while.
School starts up and Tina doesn’t get cast in the fall musical, which she is secretly grateful for, and the restaurant manager asks her if she’d like to work the Friday and Saturday dinner shifts and give up her Tuesday and Wednesdays. She jumps at it, weekends mean better money and nights off during the week for extra classes and workshops.
The second week of September, all the restaurant staff is invited to come in on Monday evening, which they are normally closed, and try the new seasonal menu. Tina comes in from a ballroom dance class, her black dress swirling around her hips and heels poking out of her bag as she slides into a booth beside another hostess, a brassy blonde woman named Colette with long red nails, two kids and a deadbeat of an ex-husband. Two servers are seated across from them, tapping away at their phones.
Paul and Orin, the restaurant's owner and head chef respectively, come in from the kitchen and stand in the center of the dining room as they begin to explain the concept of the fall menu. The general theme seems to be warm, hearty foods with an elegant twist and carefully paired cocktails.
She’s tired, she had been looking forward to going home and taking a hot shower, maybe watching some TV with Mercedes, but she’s not about to pass up a free tasting menu. Colette is telling her about how her son has been put in a class with the same kid that bullied him all last year when the kitchen and bar staff comes out with samples of the seasonal cocktails in shot glasses for each of them.
That's when she sees him. A shock of red hair and freckles with tattoos peeking out from the arms of the fitted chef's coat. He's average height but broad shouldered, sturdily built. He's passing out shot glasses at the booth next to hers, smiling and joking with the servers he obviously knows. Dimples. He has deep dimples that are there even when he's not smiling.
"Who's that?" she asks, leaning into Colette.
"Oh, that's Danny. He's one of the sous chefs. Anyway--" But Tina doesn't hear her. Danny comes to their table and grins at them.
"Hey, Colette, how're Toby and Kendall doing?" he asks, placing four shot glasses in front of the two servers.
"They're good. Glad they're back in school, Toby's doing Little League this year."
"Good for him! He'll have fun, I loved Little League when I was a kid." He places the glasses at Tina and Colette's places and give Tina a smile. "You'll have to excuse me, I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you." He tucks the now empty tray under his left arm and offers her his other hand. "I'm Danny Walters, sous chef extraordinaire."
She smiles back and takes his hand, shaking it. "I'm Tina Cohen-Chang, one of the hostesses."
"Cohen-Chang? There's got to be a story behind that name."
"Not really. Jewish girl fell in love with a Chinese boy. End of story." She reaches for one of the glasses but he stops her.
"Trust me, I know it's tempting but wait for the food. These are just for the appetizers." His fingers brush along her wrist and she swallows instinctively. "And I doubt that that is all there is to that story."
"Tina's taking over my Friday and Saturday shifts," Colette interjects. "You'll be seeing a lot more of her."
He backs away, going towards the kitchen. "Looking forward to it."
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It's insanely late. So late that only the kitchen staff and Paul and Orin are left, toasting the successful tasting night. Tina is still in her booth but this time instead of two snarky servers, Danny is sitting opposite her, refilling her wine glass for the second time since the meal ended. Her laughter rings out over the low murmur of the kitchen staff as Danny tells her a hilarious story about another sous chef, frog legs, and marshmallow fluff.
"--So since he lost the bet, the deal was he could cook it however he wanted, he just had to eat it together. So the idiot dips the raw frog legs in the marshmallow fluff and tries to deep fry it--"
She's crying from laughter and the booze. "Oh my god, no--"
"Oh, yes. They were caramelized and hard as a rock but we still made him eat them. It was like watching a kid with a Tootsie Pop but instead of a candy center, it was meat!"
Tina's hands cover her face as she laughs, head tossed back and hair scattered around her shoulders. She's not sure if the story really is that funny (although, she suspects that she'll be giggling over it for the next few days) or if it's the booze (also a distinct possibility) or if it's Danny (again, possible but kind of a scary idea). She wipes the tears from her eyes as she gasps for air. She picks up her water glass and sips it.
"Gosh, I need to tell that to Sam, he'd get a kick out of it," she says, setting her glass down and chuckling.
Danny bites his bottom lip, his ever present dimples deepening. "Oh, is, uh, is Sam your boyfriend?"
"Oh!" She straightens up, pushing her hair out of her face. "No! Sam's one of my roommates. He's dating my friend, Mercedes. Who also lives with us."
"So you have two roommates?" he asks, swirling the ice in his glass, his expression relaxed.
"No, I have three. Blaine the last one. I share a room with him. His boyfriend Kurt practically lives with us, too." She reaches for her wine glass and draws a long, slow drink from it. "It's crowded but I love it."
"Wow. You have three and a half roommates. I should consider myself lucky. I have a tiny loft in Brooklyn but it's mine and I love it there."
"You're in Brooklyn?" she asks and he nods, taking a sip from his glass. "I'm in Bushwick."
"Girl, now I get why you have so many roommates. You need them just walk down the street there."
She rolls her eyes at him. "It's fine. I've been there a year and haven't had any problems. Well, except for when Kurt's roommate Santana was bringing girls into our apartment when we were out to have sex with them."
Danny collapsed onto the tale, laughter shaking through his body. "Are you serious?"
"Yup," she says, smacking her lips together. "We kept finding underwear all over the apartment and we hung them on the fridge. Then Blaine was sick and had to stay home from school and Santana just waltzed in in the middle of the day with a girl."
"Oh my God--" he laughed, sitting up stretching.
"Guys, we need to close up for the night," Orin says, collecting the empty glasses from their table and loading them into a bin. Considering that he's the owner, he's surprisingly hands-on. "We are open tomorrow after all."
"Right," Danny says, giving him a little salute. He stands up, dragging his chef's coat with him. Tina follows suit and yawns as she moves her bag to her shoulder.
"You okay to get home, Tina?" Orin asks, moving the next table. "I'd be happy to cover your cab home."
"I'll be fine, thanks though," she says.
"Want to split a cab?" Danny asks. "We're headed in the same direction."
"That's not necessary--"
"I insist. It is my fault you stayed til--" he glances at his watch, "Two in the morning. Shit."
"It's fine, Danny--"
"Claudia's headed out that way, too," Orin cuts in, yawning loudly. "She's just finishing up in the back. She'll ride with you two."
Tina sighs. "You know, I can get home on my own," she says.
Danny rolls his eyes, tossing his jacket over his shoulder. "Safety in numbers, Tina."
Claudia, it turns out, lives not too far from Tina's and they drop her off first. As the cab pulls up in front of Tina's building, she passes her share of the fare to Danny and moves to crawl out. With the door closed, he rolls down the window. He takes her hand, shaking it and giving her a soft, tired smile.
"Tina Cohen-Chang, it was a pleasure to meet you this evening. I look forward to seeing you again." She nods silently and gives his hand a squeeze before releasing so he can get home and go to bed.
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Two weeks and constant flirting later leads to Danny asking her out to dinner Monday night. Or rather, he asks her to come over for dinner.
"I've eaten your cooking before, Danny," she says as she slides the special cards for the into the little cases for the servers. "You've purposely made my dinner every night we've both worked since we met. I know you can cook."
"Yes, but that's been me doing Paul's cooking for you." He's leaning against the hostess stand, eating a sandwich before they open the doors for dinner service. "I want to cook my food for you. Say, Monday night?"
She pauses, considering his offer. She's been itching to see his apartment and this would give her the opportunity. Plus, she heard from Santana that Sam's thinking about relaunching Operation GTL.
"Okay. I'm free after six, I can be there by seven."
"Seven it is."
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She sprints up the steps from the train station to the street and pulls out her phone, checking Danny's address for the the thousandth time. Her body aches from dance class. Seriously. Fuck the Argentine tango. Fuck Cassandra July. Fuck her for insisting that Tina was a good enough dancer to keep up.
Danny doesn't live too far from the subway and Tina's familiar enough with the area that she's able to find it quickly. She presses the buzzer for 4C and Danny's voice crackles out a metallic, "Yes?"
"Hey, it's me. Please tell me you have an elevator," she says in one breath.
"Yup," she hears him chuckle. "Long day?"
"You have no idea," she groans.
He buzzes her in and she goes inside, taking the elevator up to the fourth floor. She knocks on the door to 4C and Danny's dimpled face smiles down at her.
"Hey, you," he says, welcoming her into his home. He hadn't been kidding; it was tiny. But he had made use of every spare inch of the apartment. The walls are covered in bookcases, each fitted with brightly colored bins for storage. There's a small staircase that leads up to the sleeping loft. On the back of it are bars that hold his hanging clothes. The walls are painted a stark white and while Tina normally can't stand white walls, it works in this apartment. The majority of the main level is taken up by the kitchen, with the living space tucked beneath the stairs. There's a decently sized butcher block in front of the kitchen with two bar stools along one side.
Danny takes her bag and hangs it on a hook on the wall. She kicks her shoes off before he pulls her into a hug. This is as far as they've progressed physically. Silent, intense hugs that make Tina feel cherished and wanted. His arms are strong and his shoulders are wide and he's unlike any guy she's ever been interested in, closest being Blaine, but she doesn't care.
"Come on, put your feet up. Dinner will be ready in not too long." He leads her to the butcher block and she sits on one of the stools as he pours her a glass of white wine. "How was your day?"
"Long. Three dance classes in one day is kicking my ass." She swirls the wine in the glances and sniffs it like she has learned to do. "And my teacher is insane and hates everyone but she likes me so I'm trying to not argue with it."
Danny chuckles, checking the oven. "I don't see how anyone could not like you."
Tina blushes, thankful that his grey eyes aren't on her when he says that. “Well, uh. She wants me to TA her freshman class next semester but it all depends on if I get in the winter or spring musicals.”
“Why?” he asks, stirring a fragrant green sauce on the stove top.
“If I TA, I’d get a few credits for it, same for it I get cast in a show. Either way, I’d reach the credit cap for undergrads.”
“Oh, that makes sense I-- wait... You’re an undergrad?” he turns back to her, his ears turning pink.
“Um, yes.” She sips at her wine.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes falling shut. “Please tell me you’re a senior and are graduating next spring.”
“Um... No?”
“How... How old are you, Tina?” he asks.
“Nineteen.” He stares at her as she raises her wine glass to her lips. She’d never lied about her age. He’d just never asked and she’d never volunteered the information because she didn’t think that it mattered. She knows that he’s a good bit older than her but honestly, she kind of likes it. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Shit.