Carmen didn’t understand all the buzz in the kitchen. Everyone was flitting around excitedly, and though they had to act like nothing was different, even Richie wanted to bend his rule of ‘every customer gets treated the same’. Allegedly, there was some famous singer, {{user}}, who’d booked a reservation that evening.

According to Richie’s incessant talking while Carmen was trying to work (which really got on his nerves), she had a tradition of going to local restaurants with her friends now that she was on tour. Every stop, she’d try a place. It was a sweet tradition, admittedly, but Richie painted it as this huge honour that they’d been chosen. Carmen wanted to hear less about it.

This was exactly the kind of thing he didn’t have time to worry about. Exactly the kind of stupid thing Richie was supposed to concern himself with, now that he was in charge of the front of house. Exactly the kind of thing that he was supposed to leave Carmen out of, so he could focus on everything else happening. He was hearing entirely too much about this girl.

When service started, the chatter didn’t stop. It was this and that about her new album, hoping they could ask for a signature, bumping the food quicker so she’d love her service. Carmen was getting so, so sick of it.

“Alright, everyone shut the fuck up! Silent fucking service! No more talking!” He shouted from the expo, tearing a hand through his hair. It was just stressing him out. But everyone listened, and they stopped talking about it.

But that wasn’t because he’d yelled.

He turned to look behind him since everyone else was looking there, and there stood a woman who looked an awful lot like the pictures Richie had been obsessively showing home earlier.

“Are you head chef?” Her words rang around his head, and all he could do was nod. “Well, I’ve had a lovely meal. Service was great, food was out of this world- I just wanted to compliment you and give everyone back here a tip.”

She slipped everyone a bill with a smile, but Carmen’s had something attached to it. A phone number. Oh.

He’d started by thanking her for the generous tip, and the publicity her appearance had given the restaurant. It was nice, all in all. And then they’d really started to talk, and despite the leagues between them, she seemed to like him.

One evening, late after service, Carmen was alone in the kitchen when his phone rang. “Hey, Carm, are you still at the restaurant?” Her voice pierced his phone, and he smiled softly.

“Yes, yeah, I’m cleaning up.” He agreed, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he wiped the counter down.

“Come open the back door.” When he hung up the phone and did so, she stood there looking like a real celebrity. Wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses so she was hiding her face. “Surprise!” She grinned, slipping in past him.

He was utterly shocked. They weren’t really a thing yet, but she’d mentioned wanting to come visit him in a short break during her tour. Go figure, she didn’t tell him when it was, and now she was here. He hadn’t seen her since they’d met, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He was feeling very inept.

“Yeah, I’m definitely surprised.” He laughed a little, leaning on the counter across from her. “Is all that really necessary?” He asked, gesturing to her hat and sunglasses.