Chapter Text
Charles looked up to Toto, throwing his head back with a laugh when he told him that they had passed inspections.
“You’re kidding!” Charles gasped, placing his hands on his head in disbelief as he spun around the warehouse, looking around. “We have everything?”
“Everything is up to code. We’re set to bring in equipment, now.”
“I’ll call Christian,” Charles said, picking his phone up. “Christian! Hey, mate. Great news – structure is solid and good to go. We’re ready to bring everything in.” He grinned and gave Toto an enthusiastic thumbs-up, who shook his head at Charles’ excitement, smiling at the ground. Kids.
“You’re going to have to call back later,” Christian said on the other end. “Michelin announcement tonight.”
“Okay. Wow, okay – yes. Good luck. How is Max?”
“He’s good. Thanks, Charles.”
~*~
Max, Valtteri, Daniel, Christian, Pierre, and Carlos all sat in Christian’s office, staring at the phone. Lando paced back and forth in the hallway, needing to expel the energy that had built up in himself throughout the evening.
“When do they usually call?” he asked, popping his head into the office, and Christian looked over at him.
“Whenever they want.”
“Disgusting.”
Lando continued pacing. Carlos went and closed the door on him.
“Hey -!”
“He is making me anxious,” Carlos said, taking his seat next to Pierre.
Max closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He could feel his heart beating a little bit harder, a little bit faster with every minute that ticked by. The phone rang and everyone started, jumping out of their seats, jerking to attention. Christian held his hand out for silence and picked it up.
Max watched as Christian’s face remained stony.
“You’re going to have to call back later. Michelin announcement tonight,” he said, then he nodded. “He’s good. Thanks, Charles.” He hung up and sat back down.
Max stayed standing, staring at the phone. He willed it to ring again, didn’t really care if it was Charles or Michelin – either one would bring him the same kind of joy.
~*~
Charles rushed back home, zipping through Monte Carlo until he got to his apartment and he made himself an old fashioned before sitting on the couch in his living room, crossing one knee over the other, and he just waited.
Charles stared at the glass, then looked at his watch.
“Il est neuf heures! Putain.” He drank it anyway, to calm his nerves.
~*~
Max left the office and stood, leaning with his hands on the railing, watching the wait staff clean the dining room, and the cooks and dishwashers scrubbing down the kitchen. Behind him, he could hear the management chatting quietly amongst themselves in Christian’s office.
He played with the bracelet around his wrist, twisting it around, fingers touching over the dots and dashes, and he waited. He felt a presence next to him and glanced at Daniel, straightening up, bringing his eyes back down to the dining room.
“If we don’t get it, I might lose it,” Max admitted, and beside him, Daniel shook with a light chuckle.
“We’ll get it,” he said. Max leaned against him and rested his head on his shoulder, sighing deeply, closing his eyes. “We even have the cleaners on stand-by.”
“I bet they hope we don’t win.”
“We’ll make a big mess of the place, for sure. Do you know how much extra champagne Carlos ordered? I almost had a heart attack when I saw.”
“Don’t tell me that. Don’t get me excited,” Max warned, and Daniel laughed, then they both whipped their heads around when the phone rang again.
Max held his breath, and Daniel’s arm crept around him, and they leaned back against the railing. Christian came out of the office and looked at them both, a smile growing on his face.
“We got it.”
“Fuck!” Max gasped, running his hands through his hair, and he crumpled in half as Lando, Pierre, Carlos, and Valtteri came out of the office, whooping and shouting.
“We got a star!” Pierre shouted from the top of the stairs, and the staff below started screaming and cheering, hugging each other.
Valtteri and Daniel both knelt down next to Max, messing up his hair, whispering kind words, telling him how proud of him they were.
Next to them, Carlos popped the champagne and it shot out over the dining room as everyone lost their minds. Below, another bottle was popped, and Esteban started pouring flute glasses for the wait staff and kitchen as Carlos poured champagne in Daniel’s mouth, giving him a tight hug, then Valtteri, Pierre, Lando. Max tilted his head up for it and closed his eyes, the cold champagne cooling his entire body as it went down his throat.
“Go on and celebrate,” Christian said with a wide smile, shooing the boys off of the staircase, and all of them ran and jumped down the stairs to be with their staff.
Max took out his phone and found Charles’ name, tapping it, and he sent him a star emoji before pocketing his phone and heading into the kitchen, wrapping Yuki up in a tight hug.
~*~
Charles’ phone buzzed. A text from Max.
Max Verstappen
⭐️
He opened it and leapt out of his seat on his sofa, staring at his phone. He let out a laugh and immediately searched it up on google, on twitter, reading through the articles that came up, then his thumb hovered over Max’s name. He paused, and he sat down again, overwhelmed with how proud he was of him, tears of happiness springing to his eyes.
He put his phone down, deciding to let him be, and he took his laptop out to view the menu, his heart stopping when he read it.
He hit call.
“Hello?” Max answered on the second ring, and Charles stood up, his mouth opening, not sure what to say. “Charles?” he asked softly. Charles could hear the noise in the background dissipate and a door open and close. “Charles.”
“I – you did it,” he said dumbly. “You did it.”
“We did,” Max said, letting out a soft chuckle. “God, we really did.”
“I wish I was there.”
“We have a photo of you at the pass, so you kind of are.”
“I saw the menu,” Charles said, and Max quieted. “It’s –“
“A lovely menu.”
“It’s lovely.” Charles sat back down, running a hand through his hair. “I just wanted to congratulate you, and… I don’t know,” he finished lamely, laughing. “I just wanted to congratulate you! This is so amazing!”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Max said, and Charles could hear his smile. “Can we Facetime?”
“Um,” Charles said, wiping at his eyes and sniffling. “I don’t know.”
“Why, you’ve got a new lover over there or something?” Max teased, and Charles laughed.
“No, never,” he said without thinking, and Max quieted again.
“Facetime me,” he said softly, and Charles’ phone went off. He took a deep breath and pressed ‘accept’, Max’s face appearing on his screen. His eyes were rimmed red, just like his, and they both wiped their eyes at the same time before laughing despite themselves. “Hello, Mr. Leclerc.”
“Hello, Chef,” Charles said back, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his arm on them.
“I miss you so much.”
“I miss you. I wish I was there,” Charles said again, and behind Max, the door blew open and Daniel appeared, shaking a bottle of champagne, cackling as he sprayed Max with it. Charles laughed and the tears flowed down his cheeks freely. “You should go. I – I just wanted to say hey, and – congratulations, you all deserve it.”
Max pushed Daniel back out the door and shut it, completely drenched in champagne, and he turned back to Charles on his phone, his smile big, his eyes bright.
“I want to come out there and see what you’ve done with the garage,” he said, and Charles nodded his head.
“Any time.”
“Is that your apartment?”
Charles looked around at the massive space – bright white walls lined with colourful artwork, big, leafy plants in every corner, on many surfaces – and he walked him through the apartment, showing it to him.
“That looks nice,” Max said.
“You wanna come over sometime?” Charles asked, and it was kind of a joke, considering their distance, but Max smiled.
“I would love to.”
~*~
After the star, Max took off.
Yuki was a lot more comfortable in the kitchen, especially with Oscar by his side, and he had finally learned how to separate himself from work. He had travel plans, booked all his flights and accommodations, went to visit all the chefs he had worked with over the years whose careers had scattered them around Europe, Australia, and Southeast Asia.
He ate his way through Italy, happy to spend more time in the country whose cuisine he loved the most. He chatted with pizziolas and pasta makers, made mozzarella di bufala, visited farms and ate mulberries and raw pistachios cleaned from the trees.
He ate his way through Spain, indulging in paella and tinned and fresh seafood, drank so much wine that he barely remembered the trip, took photos for Carlos, who he knew was always homesick.
He went through Melbourne and Sydney, in awe of their coffee and pastry programs, in the thousand-layered croissants and simple yet satisfying egg sandwiches, even went to an island inhabited by quokkas. He saw Daniel’s family and saw where he got his big smile, curls, and positive attitude from.
He slurped ramen up in Japan, ate some risky sushi, visited Yuki’s parents’ establishment. He braved the street food of India, marvelling at the vendors and how much they did with so little, and ate the best palak paneer he’d ever had off of the hood of a car of a friend he had made. He went through Thailand, the Philippines, Singapore, his stomach full and his heart even fuller, and then he landed in France.
He ate baguette sandwiches all over Paris and wondered if he’d be happy slinging sandwiches for the rest of his life. He’d certainly be happy eating them for the rest of his life, but wasn’t so sure about making them, so he tabled that option for his retirement plan in the distant future. He ate eggs in every form – omelettes, poached, scrambled, fried. He ate fresh seafood in Marseilles and drank to his heart’s content, visiting Pierre’s family and even cooking a meal for them in exchange for staying the night. He rented a car and continued east from there until he hit the border, looking across it to the Principality of Monaco.
~*~
Charles turned the lights on in the dining room of the bar and grinned, looking at all the details. The concrete floor shone, the lights sparkled above the bar, the kitchen was bright with soft lighting – perfect for photos for the Chef – and he walked by the rows of flower boxes filled with greenery, making sure the soil was damp.
The door opened and he looked up to see Christian, smiling and shaking his hand.
“It’s done,” he said, gesturing around them, and Christian nodded his head.
“You did a great job, Charles,” he said, pulling a seat back for the both of them. “Would you like to be my private interior architect?”
Charles blinked and opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
“Wow,” he breathed out, laughing, running his hand through his hair. “That’s quite an offer, Christian.”
“You can take your time. Check out the market, see what else is out there, but I like what you’ve done, and I can see you doing this for many more years,” Christian said, leaning back in his seat. “God, these are comfy, huh?”
“Want me to get something a little bit less comfy so people don’t linger too long?” Charles asked, wriggling his brows, and Christian laughed, shaking his head.
“No, I like the homey-ness of this.”
“I took inspiration from Fyr,” Charles said, pointing to the far corner, a cozy area around a fireplace with leather couches and ottomans, faux fur throws in a basket, “and from Terra,” he added, gesturing to the greenery surrounding the space. “Barnyard happens in the late spring, summer, early fall.”
“The patio,” Christian said, smiling.
“Yes, the patio,” Charles said with a nod of his head, mirroring his smile. “Do you have a team lined up to come in here once the equipment is in?”
“I have some key players,” Christian said, nodding his head, his arms crossing over his chest. “Nothing set in stone. Our head chef will be coming in… a couple hours, it should be.”
“I’ll get out of here to give you two some space, then,” Charles said, grinning big and he stood up, shaking Christian’s hand. “I’ll let you know my answer by the end of the week.”
“You don’t have to give me an answer that soon, Charles,” Christian chuckled, shaking his head.
“I don’t want you to find someone else,” Charles admitted.
“No. I’ll wait on your yes or no. Why don’t you stick around for a while? The Chef will probably need a chat with you for the interior of the kitchen. Have a drink.”
“I suppose I can,” Charles said, heading to the bar, and he set his messenger bag down on the seat, setting his laptop up. He wandered behind the bar and smiled, seeing all the crystal shining under the lights, and he twirled the cocktail shaker in one hand before filling it with ice. He made himself a shaken dirty martini and set it down in front of his laptop before sitting up at the bar, responding to more e-mails from their appointed GM, Checo, who had accepted the job after being poached by Christian from his family’s restaurant group in Guadalajara.
He made himself a second drink and handed another to Christian before he cozied up next to the fireplace, watching the flames lick the top of the furnace, listening to the crackle of the wood. It would be a bitch to maintain that, he thought.
~*~
Max stepped out of his rental after parking in the lot and he made sure he had his wallet, keys, and phone on him before shutting the door. He took a moment to admire the exterior of the warehouse – the garage doors fitted with big windows, and he could see inside, the orange glow from the fire and soft lighting. It felt like a pub. It looked like a lot more.
He opened the door and closed it behind him, smiling as he approached Christian, shaking his hand. Christian gestured towards the fireplace where Max could see Charles sitting, gazing at the flames, a fur throw draped over his lap. Max’s heart lurched out of his chest.
He slowly approached him and sat down, and Charles lifted his gaze until his eyes met Max’s.
“Hello,” he said softly, his eyes slowly widening as his head processed what he was seeing, and Max smiled.
“Hello.” Max moved to sit next to him and Charles couldn’t stop smiling, covering his whole face in his hands.
“I – I haven’t – you’re here? The head chef?”
“And partner,” Max said, stretching his legs out, his arm draping around the back of the couch, just grazing Charles’ shoulders. Charles instinctively reached up for his hand, bringing his arm closer until it fit around his shoulders. His hand left Max’s and slid to his wrist, feeling the bracelet there.
“And partner,” Charles repeated, biting on his bottom lip to keep himself from smiling even more. “That’s… incredible, Max.”
“It’s pretty cool. Are you staying in Monte Carlo for long?”
“I – I haven’t made – I mean, I have no plans of leaving any time soon,” Charles stammered, blushing furiously, his heart racing. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“And do you do boyfriends? Still?”
Max let out a laugh, happy and bright.
“I don’t know, are you single?” he asked, his eyes crinkled at the sides, and Charles took out his phone.
“I’ll break up with all my boyfriends right now,” he joked, and Max grinned, smacking his phone out of his hands before leaning in to kiss him. “I have a bathtub, you know,” Charles mumbled once he pulled away, and Max raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mhm.”
~*~
Le Vieux Fidèle opened in June later that year, six months after Max’s arrival. It was a forty-seater in the winter, and when the patio opened, it held up to sixty. There was a small menu, full of hearty comfort food, a fresh sheet menu, and gastropub snacks, as well as a pantry menu where guests could pick tinned and bottled pantry items to build their own bread board. There was a curated selection of wine, ciders, and beers. Max was in the kitchen for the weekends, and spent the weekdays in office, planning future pop-ups with friends in the space for those travelling through Monaco or who lived nearby.
He had Daniel and Pierre lined up for a pop-up in August called Enchanté where they slung burgers and cocktails until the early hours of the morning, then they got absolutely blasted on Charles’ yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.
“He’s got a fucking yacht?” Daniel blew up incredulously, and Charles popped his head out from behind the wheel, dimples on display.
“I’ve got a fucking yacht, mate.”
The way Daniel looked at Pierre when he thought nobody was watching was not lost on Max.
Charles took Christian up on the job offer, and it kept him in Monte Carlo unless he needed to travel. He was planning a good number of restaurants, cafes, and casual eats joints, now that each of his fine dining establishments had Michelin stars.
Charles and Max travelled together in between seasonal menu changes and Charles' jobs. Max took him to all the places he had been to, and Charles did the same, reliving each other’s experiences and memories and making so many more of their own.
Max proposed on Valentine’s Day two years after.
“Do you do husbands?” he asked, holding the ring box open, revealing a brushed gold band with a thin band of diamonds around the center, and Charles squinted at him kneeling beside the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Very poor timing.” Max grinned.
“Sorry.”
“I suppose,“ Charles yawned, smiling through it, stretching, then pulling himself to sit up, his hand out, “I could do husbands."
Max laughed and slid the ring onto Charles' wiggling finger before kissing him and climbing on top of him, looking down at Charles gazing up at him, sleepy, happy.
"Lovely."