Chapter Text
[Monday]
Vi leaned against the faded brick wall and took a long drag from her cigarette. The wall was practically holding her up at this point in her shift. Her muscles were overused and her eyes were red and strained from the smoke of the endless sautéing in the kitchen.
She checked her watch and sighed. Only a half hour left of her shift after break, then she could drag her nearly dead carcass onto the train and head home for the day to hop in the shower and scrub the layers of grease and sweat off of herself.
After a few more drags of her cigarette, the little watch chirped a cheerful—beep, beep! beep, beep!—that contrasted starkly with Vi’s current temperament. With that, her smoke break was over, and she flicked the remainder of the cigarette onto the ground, stomping it to its premature death against the cracked black asphalt.
With enormous effort, she pushed off of the wall and swung the creaky metal door next to her open, stepping back into the heat and haze of the kitchen. Luckily, the dinner rush had died down, and the only patrons left at the Last Drop were mostly here to drink and talk. There would likely only be a few more errant food orders, which would allow the kitchen staff to finally exhale as they slid towards closing.
Powder shoved the swinging door from the bar area into the kitchen, not even noticing as it smashed into the door stop and caused everyone else inside of the kitchen to flinch.
“Vi, delivery order, the usual.” Powder announced with an apathetic tone, having done this a billion times.
Vi felt the same, only taking the little printed sheet with the order details as a formality. Without even reading it, Vi could already tell anyone what the ink on that paper would be about as well as she could describe the ink tattooed across her own skin.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the last two years have been the same. Grilled salmon salad on Monday, roasted butternut squash risotto on Wednesday, kale and pesto flatbread pizza on Friday.
Always delivery, always called-in promptly at 8:00 pm. Always delivered to a certain Lyn Kira.
The Last Drop had its fair share of regulars, but they were mostly older characters from around Zaun, acquaintances of Vander who had been coming around since before Vander had hair on his chin.
They very rarely had any delivery orders, their designated delivery driver—Mylo—typically just hung around and helped the front of house between handling orders through the to-go station. On the rare occasion that they did get a delivery, Powder would wait tables and cover to-go while Mylo drove the food out.
Vi and Ekko never saw the light of day, simultaneously too curt with customers and too good with their hands to be anywhere but on the line cooking. Clagg was also in the back, bussing dishes and accepting deliveries from their vendors when scheduled.
Vi cracked her knuckles and went to work grilling the salmon, able to put this order together in her sleep now if she so pleased. She oftentimes wondered about the extremely loyal mystery patron. Mylo used to complain about her constantly since he had to drive all the way over to Piltover for this particular order—this being the only customer that they had across the bridge. He finally stopped complaining a few months back when the swanky condo building that the customer lived in got a new receptionist that he developed a huge crush on. Now, he rushed over three days a week just to fumble through a clumsy hello every time he dropped the food off at the desk with Gert.
Knowing which condo building that Mylo delivers to, Vi figured that the patron had some serious cash lying around. No one was staying in that building living paycheck to paycheck. And with a name like Lyn, that kind of checked out. It was probably some old woman, living lavish in retirement and deeply rooted in her daily routine, as older folks tended to be. Why else would she order the same three meals from the same restaurant for two years straight?
Nothing wrong with a little consistency though, Vi supposed. She chuckled as she transferred the piping hot grilled salmon onto the top of the salad in the to-go box. She had a habit of heating it up a smidge higher than she would for dine-in serving, knowing that Mylo would have to drive twenty minutes to get to the condo building, and Vi wanted the older woman to have a nice, hot meal by the time it arrived.
Vi uncapped a sharpie with her teeth and scrawled ‘Lyn’ across the top of the to-go box and prepared to walk it out to the to-go station to hand off the package to Mylo. But, for some reason, Vi hesitated a moment longer, and quickly added beneath the name, ‘Enjoy! :)’ Hoping that it would make a lonely little retiree with a dinner for one smile.
Caitlyn dragged her feet through the threshold of her condo, dropped the keys in her little dish on the credenza by the door, and flopped onto her large, pillowy, cream-colored couch. She threw an arm over her eyes and groaned loudly.
To say that today had been draining would be the understatement of the century. Her boss, Marcus, had been piling on project after project. Caitlyn continued to accept, in an attempt to prove her ability to keep up with the workload around the architecture firm, just like everyone else. Except—everyone else had two projects, and as of today, Caitlyn had five. All five of her clients were in various stages of development. The only thing keeping her sane was her binder, her holy grail. The source of truth in the storm of chaos that was juggling so many major clients for the firm at the same time. It was a thick, monstrous thing, color coded and tabbed for each project, containing everything she could ever need to reference: client correspondence, building codes, structural engineering regulations, initial drafts, design amendments, and the list went on.
It was meticulously kept. Caitlyn never cut corners or skipped a step when it came to the binder. It was her north star at work, the only thing that allowed her to survive this hailstorm. When Marcus had assigned her yet another project today, despite Caitlyn already being on four others, she accepted through gritted teeth, unable to tell if Marcus was being sincere or sarcastic when he sent her out of his office with a ‘Good luck’ and a wave.
Caitlyn had a sinking suspicion that he didn’t like her for some reason, but she couldn’t quite work out why. She was a hard worker, more so than most of her coworkers, and she’d never shown him anything but respect. Or at least she thought. Sometimes she had a hard time realizing when she’d crossed a line socially, or accidentally offended someone. It was entirely possible that she’d done something to upset him in the past and didn’t realize it at the time. It wouldn’t be the first time. Caitlyn had long since accepted that doing damage control with her peers and coworkers was simply something she would always have to engage in, regardless of if she knew exactly why she was doing it.
Despite her exhaustion, if she wanted to be ready for the meeting with her newest client in two days, she would need to start drafting tonight. She sighed and rolled her chair up to her drafting desk, a large light wood desktop that could be positioned on an angle, better suited than regular flat desks for drawing.
She switched on her lamp and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, getting to work. This was always her favorite part. The precise lines. Measuring. Inking. Watching as the diagram that she could envision so clearly in her head bled out through the pen in her hands and came to life. How she could simply sit down and continue to apply herself until a blank canvas became a detailed design that had weight and meaning. She could always get lost in this part.
So lost that she would forget that there was more to life than drafting. There were other pesky necesites. Like drinking water. Eating food. Relieving herself in the restroom. It always took neglecting one of these requirements for far too long—her body screaming alarm bells at her before she noticed that it was overdue some sort of maintenance. How annoying.
Every one of Caitlyn’s instincts would tell her to ignore the sensation until she came to a better stopping point in her work, but she was old enough now to know how that rarely ended well for her. She would just keep pushing the checkpoint further and further until she found herself in a desperate state, rushing to solve whichever issue had become downright critical.
For those exact reasons, her friends worried about her constantly. After watching her forget to eat dinner several days in a row when she first started at the firm, Jayce and Mel had made her promise to set an alarm for all of the nights of the work week that they weren’t eating together. Her friends came over on Tuesday and Thursday nights with Mel’s home cooked meals and forced Caitlyn to set an 8:00 pm alarm for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. If she hadn’t already eaten by the time the alarm went off—which was almost always the case—she had to drop everything she was doing and find something to eat.
Two years ago, when they first instated this policy, Caitlyn huffed out in frustration that Monday night when the irritating dinner alarm interrupted her work. She searched ‘dinner’ and ‘delivery’ on her map application and chose the highest rated option she saw. It ended up being a small pub on the other side of the bridge. The menu for the pub looked inexplicably more upscale than the actual pub itself. The place only had 43 reviews, but pretty much all of them were 5-stars. Seemed promising enough.
When the food arrived, Caitlyn had been pleasantly surprised with the option she chose, a grilled salmon salad. It had been fulfilling, delicious, and efficiently delivered to her building’s reception desk (thank gods for contactless delivery). When Wednesday rolled around, Caitlyn found herself in the same scenario, and this time she tried the establishment’s risotto which was also surprisingly tasty. By Friday, there was little room for uncertainty as to where she would order from, and she got the roasted kale and pesto flatbread pizza, which was another hit.
Caitlyn noted with much pleasure, that whoever was working in the kitchen at this establishment was wonderfully consistent, always delivering the same flavor, texture, and portion size that Caitlyn had received the first time. They quickly became her comfort meals, just another step in her daily routine, set into stone. And every time they delivered the same quality in the same style. Caitlyn adored the consistency.
Today, same as every Monday, Caitlyn got a call from the front desk at 8:35 pm that a delivery was waiting for her at reception. She went down to retrieve it, curtly thanking Gert, and brought the food back up to her apartment. Sitting down on her couch and pulling the takeout box from the bag, she paused for a moment. Something was different today—an extra note was written right under her usual pseudonym, the one that she used in her day-to-day life when she didn’t want people to know that they were interacting with the Caitlyn Kiramman. It was an uninspired, but functional shortening of her name: Lyn Kira.
Underneath, in the usual handwriting of whoever prepared her meals, was a little note with a smiley face: Enjoy! :)
Caitlyn smiled at the box. It was an incredibly simple note, but still a totally unprompted kind gesture. With how shitty her day had been, it was nice to think that someone—even if just for a split second—was hoping that she had a bright spot in her day. And now, with the delicious food and the pleasant little note, that was certainly true. Caitlyn ate her salad through a small smile that night.
[Wednesday]
Vi’s shift today was the same as all of the others. She slogged through the dinner rush as orders rapid fired from the front and Powder dashed in and out of the kitchen to clip new order sheets to Vi’s line.
They managed to finish everything in a timely fashion, and Vi got to take her smoke break while Ekko covered the line. She returned at 8:05 pm and practically waited by the door for Powder to bust in again with her trusty delivery order. Like clockwork, she did, and Vi accepted the sheet of paper unceremoniously as she walked back to her station. She almost balled it up and threw it away without even looking, already knowing what it would say—the same as it always did. But Vi did a double take when she noticed a bit more text than usual.
Lyn had added a note into the special instructions box, usually reserved for allergy notifications and small adjustments.
I always enjoy your food. Thank you. :)
A grin cut across Vi’s face, realizing that Lyn was responding to the little note on the box that she wrote. It was small, but it felt really nice to be appreciated. A line cook for a small bar wasn’t exactly a position where you received a lot of words of affirmation. Vi only knew she was doing a good job when she didn’t get dishes sent back or didn’t hear patrons complaining loudly in the other room.
So, to have somebody go through a tiny bit of extra effort to show Vi that they appreciated her cooking, it was really nice.
Vi decided then and there that Lyn was her favorite customer. Today she made the usual, but this time snuck one of the Last Drop‘s only desserts—a cacao nib brownie that Vi makes a batch of at the beginning of the day and typically reheats for any dine in customers who order it—into the to-go bag.
Grabbing her sharpie, Vi wrote ‘Lyn’ on the top of the box and added another short note:
A treat, cause you’re so sweet.
A cute thank you for the note in the special instructions. Vi hoped that the little old lady enjoyed sweets. Most people do. Couldn’t go wrong with a bit of chocolate. And the brownie was quite good if Vi said so herself.
It ought to be though, considering Vi had just completed culinary school at the top of her class a few months ago. So how does a certified culinary chef end up making minimum wage as a line cook at her dad’s bar? Easy—Vi was broke. Paying for culinary school had cleared her out, and she was desperate for a job after she graduated. The options when she graduated were between a rock and a hard place. She could take a position in Zaun that way underpaid based on how qualified she was, but allow her some creative freedoms; or accept one of the positions in Piltover which definitely paid her worth, but came with a suffocating environment that left her no space to explore as a new chef.
Neither option was ideal, but Vi knew that the former would wither her soul slightly less than the latter. And she figured that if she was going to be grievously underpaid and thoroughly taken advantage of by anyone, it might as well be by her own family. That’s how she became the most overqualified line cook in the city.
It wasn’t all bad though. Vander let her completely overhaul the menu, swapping chicken tenders and onion rings for more sophisticated dishes that Vi had created and wanted to beta test.
Ideally, one day, she’d open her own restaurant and show off her dishes there. But that cost money—lots of it. And Vi barely had enough to cover her rent, so she simply sighed and packed up the delivery order in a bag, walking it out to the front.
Mylo took the bag and rushed out the front door of the bar, already itching to see Gert.
8:35 pm hit and Gert ringed Caitlyn. The architect rushed down to the lobby a little quicker than usual to grab her food and quickly ran it back up to her empty apartment. It seemed a little silly, but Caitlyn wondered if the chef had seen her message in the special instructions on her order. Caitlyn wanted to know if a response would be written on the box today. She hesitated for a moment after she untied the bag handles, unsure how she would react if there was simply just a ’Lyn’ written on top with no additional text. Even just the thought of that scenario made her heart a little heavy with disappointment.
Taking a quick breath and trying to convince herself that it wouldn’t matter if that was the case, Caitlyn reached in and grabbed the box.
She felt a smile stretch across her lips as she read the extra text below her pseudonym.
A treat?
She looked in the bag again and noticed that there was something extra in the bottom of the bag. Taking the smaller paper bag out and glancing inside, she saw a brownie. Her smile got even wider. She double checked the receipt. They hadn’t even charged her for it. The chef had simply slipped it in, but definitely not by accident given the message on the box.
Caitlyn ate her dinner feeling even more chipper than she had on Monday.
[Thursday]
The next morning, Caitlyn woke up early and got dressed in grey slacks and a white long sleeved blouse. It was an unusual day today, and the interruption to her weekly routine was a bit annoying but not entirely unwelcome given that it was due to a celebration.
One of her clients was finally unveiling the building that she had practically designed by herself, with only a little assistance on some minor details from a few others at the firm. Caitlyn would get to stand in front with the owners while they cut the red tape. It was going to be a whole event, with press and all of the works. This building had been highly anticipated by the local community since it was not only office space but also hosted a ground floor with a spacious food court that was open, and actively encouraged to be used by the general public.
Caitlyn stood proudly, if not a little stiffly, as they snapped a series of photographs of her and the owners right as they snipped the red ribbon with comically large bronze scissors. The small audience of the grand opening burst out into applause, and Caitlyn allowed herself a brief moment to bask in the achievement.
“You ought to be proud of yourself. You’re the architect, correct?” A woman with a bright orange bob and a heavy accent appeared next to Caitlyn.
“Yes, that’s correct. Thank you.”
“Can my colleague take another photograph with just you? I work for the Piltovian Press and need a few images for my article.”
“Sure.” Caitlyn nodded.
The woman’s colleague, an almost eerily quiet young man with a slender face, backed into position and adjusted the focus on his camera, snapping several more pictures of only Caitlyn. He then briefly checked the shots in his camera and gave a curt nod before taking his leave. The woman reapproached Caitlyn after he disappeared back into the crowd.
“It’s a beautiful building…only rivaled by the beauty of the architect herself.” The reporter’s gaze shifted from the building to Caitlyn, eyes maintaining the same adoration throughout the transition. As if Caitlyn was also some stunning structure, towering and fetching by design.
Caitlyn hadn’t expected such outright flattery, but she did appreciate the directness to some degree. There was no mistaking that the woman was flirting.
“Oh, thank you.”
“I would love to hear more about your job, or just you in general. Would you be interested in grabbing dinner tomorrow?” The reporter offered hopefully.
Well, then. Straight to the point.
Caitlyn’s knee jerk reaction was to politely decline. She had more work to do tomorrow night, and she already had plans to order her flatbread from her favorite bar. Trying to schedule a date into that time would inevitably force her to sacrifice one of those things.
“I need to work tomorrow night.” Caitlyn responded earnestly.
“Ah, no worries. Well if you change your mind, give me a call.” The woman handed her a business card.
Maddie Nolen
With her phone number and work email printed beneath her name. Caitlyn gave a polite nod and tucked the card into her pocket, probably never to be used.
“YOU WHAT?!” Mel exclaimed.
“Cait…” Jayce pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t see what the issue is.” Caitlyn shrugged apathetically, digging her chopsticks into her pineapple fried rice.
“A cute girl practically throws herself at you, and you tell her that you need to work?!” Mel asked incredulously.
“But I do need to work.”
“You always need to work, Cait.” Jayce pointed out with an exasperated tone. “When are you going to find the time to do anything else?”
Caitlyn huffed in annoyance, but couldn’t quite find a counterpoint. It had been ages since she went on a proper date. Work at the firm had kept her so busy during the weekdays that she couldn’t dream of scheduling a date, and she mostly spent the weekend recovering from the grueling work week. It was a rough cycle that left very little time or energy for romance.
“I don’t have time for something serious,” Caitlyn gumbled.
Mel waved her hand dismissively.
“If you like the person you’ll make the time,” Mel assured. “What’s the harm in one date?”
Caitlyn considered this silently for a moment. Maybe Mel was right. How bad could one date be? Perhaps she should give Maddie a chance.
After they finished dinner and her friends went home, Caitlyn texted the number from the business card:
Still available for that dinner tomorrow?
[Friday]
Caitlyn was trying her hardest not to regret her decisions immediately. She waited outside of the restaurant that Maddie sent her, which was bustling with the growing buzz of a Friday night in downtown Piltover. For most of the patrons here tonight, this restaurant would be the first stop of many as the night descended into drinking and clubbing hours.
Groaning to herself, Caitlyn only hoped that this evening would go smoothly. She intended on giving Maddie a chance, then heading home before it got too late so that she could get a little work done before the exhaustion of the week really caught up to her. Once she hit that wall, she would have no choice but to fully succumb to the weekend.
“Cait!” A bubbly voice called from slightly down the sidewalk.
Caitlyn gave Maddie a small wave, and when they reached each other Maddie pulled her in for a full frontal, two armed hug. It caught Caitlyn off guard; she felt a little overwhelmed by the sudden contact and the overpowering rush of way too much vanilla scented perfume, but she still managed to somewhat return the hug.
“Let’s head in!” Maddie grabbed her hand and pulled her into the restaurant’s front door, walking over to join the line to the host stand.
Glancing around, Caitlyn stifled a small sigh. She knew this type of place—all white tablecloths and flickering candlelight. An environment designed to impress, and likely striving to set a romantic tone. They would probably be led to their table, reservation only, of course. The menu would be prix fixe, not à la carte. The waiter would take their enjoyment of the night extremely personally. Caitlyn had been to a thousand restaurants like this with her parents.
When it was their turn, Maddie gave her name for the reservation, and they were led to a cozy corner booth which was way too large for two people, but slightly off of the main dining area so Caitlyn wasn’t complaining. Caitlyn slid into the luxurious forest green leather cushions, and Maddie followed quickly behind, scooching in a little closer than necessary.
“I’m so glad you decided to change your mind,” Maddie brushed Caitlyn’s hand with a featherlight touch.
Caitlyn fought down a shudder. She much preferred firm contact but didn’t want to get into that whole discussion at the moment, so instead just gave a small smile and used picking up the menu as an excuse to move her hand elsewhere.
They chatted cordially about their work, and Caitlyn learned about how volatile journalism could be. Caitlyn did gain some respect for Maddie, hearing that she was also passionate about her job and admittedly rather skilled at breaking a story.
As predicted, the food came out in predetermined courses, each one delicately presented but leaving Caitlyn lacking a bit in flavor and portion size. Typical of a restaurant like this.
Absentmindedly, Caitlyn found herself thinking about her kale and pesto flatbread—and became even more remiss at the thought of being unable to thank the chef in her special instructions today for the delicious brownie that she had so enjoyed. She descended into even more remorse when she realized that she would not receive whatever little note that the chef would’ve written back to her on the takeout box tonight.
Maddie broke through Caitlyn’s zoning out as the waiter cleared the final course before the dessert. “Apparently the creme brûlée here is supposed to be legendary. One of my coworkers reported on it at the restaurant's opening.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Caitlyn wasn’t, but she knew what was expected of her to say in this scenario. She didn’t like the texture of the caramelized sugar crust on creme brûlée. And she had tried the best of the best with her parents in the tiny Demacian bistro that practically invented the dessert, so it wasn't just a skill issue.
The waiter brought out what Caitlyn could admit was a technically well executed creme brûlée, and Maddie dug in. Caitlyn did so a little less enthusiastically, mostly just fishing out conservative scoops of custard underneath the shell to give the impression that she was participating.
Maddie began to ask more personal questions about her parents and her upbringing. This somewhat piqued Caitlyn’s interest. Maddie must not have grown up in Piltover. Pretty much everyone in Piltover, especially those in a certain tax bracket, knows everything there is to know about the Kirammans after decades of relentless press coverage of the wealthy family. Caitlyn had struggled to maintain any semblance of privacy growing up as a very popular senator's daughter and the heir to a substantial sum of familial wealth.
Things had only gotten worse recently after her mother’s name had entered discussions for potentially being tapped for even higher political office. While Caitlyn was proud of her, she hated how much it affected her personal life. So, it was a breath of fresh air to meet a woman who was completely unfamiliar with her family. She relaxed a little bit more into the conversation as she and Maddie traded stories about their childhoods.
As the dinner wrapped up and the remaining plates were cleared, Maddie gave her a particular look that Caitlyn couldn’t quite read.
“I’m not sure if I’m ready to end the night yet. How about a night cap?”
Caitlyn really shouldn’t. She needed to work. And it was getting late; all the bars downtown were going to start to enter pregame territory for the nightclubs in the area. The last place Caitlyn wanted to be was in some crowded bar yelling at a bartender alongside six pushy finance workers.
“The bars around here are going to start to get crowded soon. I would prefer not to get caught up in that,” Caitlyn stated plainly.
Maddie’s eyes glinted even more. “How about we go back to one of our places then? I would offer mine, but I’m on the outskirts of the city.”
Suppose that only left Caitlyn. She didn’t want to offer her place, but the implication of what Maddie wanted was obvious even to Caitlyn. She wondered how rude it would be to politely decline right now. Mel and Jayce often teased her on how blunt she could be when she wasn’t interested in a suggestion. Perhaps she could host Maddie for one drink and gently remind her afterwards that she had some work to do.
So that’s what they did, taking a town car back to Caitlyn’s condo. Inside, Caitlyn put together two whiskey sours and handed a glass to Maddie.
Maddie took a sip and whistled lowly as she wandered around Caitlyn’s living room.
“Impressive.”
“It’s sufficient.”
“So, are you close with your mother?” Maddie asked suddenly.
“I’m sorry?” Caitlyn blinked in surprise.
“How would you say your relationship with your mother is? Are you close?”
“It depends on your definition of close. But generally yes, I suppose.”
Maddie hummed thoughtfully, still walking around the room. She set the whiskey sour down, and turned to Caitlyn, rubbing her arms.
“I just got a bit chilly, is there any way I could borrow some sleeves?”
Caitlyn hated the idea of that vanilla perfume rubbing off all over one of her sweaters but didn’t know how to verbalize that without sounding too harsh.
“Uh—sure. Wait here a moment.”
Walking down the hall, Caitlyn entered into her bedroom and flicked the light on for her massive walk-in closet. She dug around in the back for her least favorite jumper, an old one that was slightly too small for her now. She grabbed it and went back towards the living room. Before she crossed the threshold of the doorway out of her bedroom, she paused for a moment, tilting her head as she heard some very intent rustling coming from her living room.
Caitlyn silently crossed down the hall and peeked around the corner to see Maddie hunched over her desk, digging through a stack of papers.
What the hell?
“Excuse me.” Caitlyn’s voice cut coldly through the air.
Maddie whipped up, turning around and hiding something behind her back.
Caitlyn’s eyes followed the motion. “What is that?”
“Caitlyn! I was—”
“What is that?” Caitlyn repeated slowly. “Behind your back.”
Caitlyn crossed the room in three strides with those long determined legs.
“I can explain!”
Caitlyn reached around the other woman to grasp onto a small notebook. She ignored the protests from Maddie as she took it from Maddie’s hands. Caitlyn’s eyes darted around the notes scrawled on the open page.
“You can’t be serious…” Caitlyn muttered to herself as the nature of the situation dawned on her.
There were a few lines of notes scrawled on the page:
Cassandra Kiramman - funding?
Close with Medardas
Caitlyn & Mel meet regularly
Ties to Noxus? -> effects on foreign aid policy?
“You need to leave.”
Vi and Ekko traded a cigarette back and forth In the back alley behind the restaurant. This Friday was uncharacteristically slow, allowing them to take a rare break together. Vi was already thinking of her couch back at home, curling up with a warm meal and putting on the most easy going television series she could find.
She gave Ekko a little fist bump and started to head back into the kitchen. It was just about time for Lyn’s flatbread pizza order.
Returning to her station, Vi slapped the dough down and spread it out, brushing on their house made pesto and sprinkling bits of fresh mozzarella around. She brainstormed what her note should be today as she finished up the flatbread and stuck it in their pizza oven. Perhaps a simple ‘Happy Friday’? Or maybe a ‘Have a nice night!’
Vi landed somewhere in between, writing ‘Have a good weekend!’ underneath Lyn’s name. She grabbed the takeout box and went out to the to-go stand.
“Yo Mylo, got Lyn’s order.” Vi called out to her brother as she approached.
“Huh?”
“Flatbread, dude—c'mon, we do this every week.”
Mylo rolled his eyes. “Yeah but we didn’t get any delivery orders today, genius.”
“Wait what?” Vi only just now realized she’d started making the order out of sheer habit.
Powder nodded from the host stand. “Never thought I’d see the day, but Mylo’s right. Nothing from Lyn today.”
“But Lyn always orders the flatbread on Friday.” Vi contested.
Powder only shrugged. “You can eat it if you want.”
“Are you sure the website isn’t down or something? Maybe she couldn’t place her order.”
Powder sighed, exasperated. “The website’s fine, Vi! Plus, the phone works just as well, she could’ve called if she wanted. She probably just had something else today, alright?”
Vi knew her siblings were looking at her like she’d lost her mind. There was no reason for her to be arguing with them over an order that wasn’t placed. She should just accept the win, head home early, and eat the flatbread herself. But she knew Lyn—as much as a chef can know their favorite anonymous customer. She would never miss an order.
What if something was wrong? What if she lived alone and she needed help? What if she’d fallen and couldn’t get up?
Vi felt a panic rising in her chest.
“Come on, Mylo, I already made it. You might as well go drop it off.” Vi attempted to sound confident in her reasoning, but it came out sounding weak even to her own ears.
Mylo made a sound between a laugh and a scoff. “Are you nuts? I’m not driving to Piltover tonight to deliver food that no one asked for! Plus, Gert is on vacation this week. There is zero reason for me to be there.”
Vi pushed a hand through her hair, huffing in frustration. “Fine, I’ll do it myself. Ekko can handle the rest of the night by himself. It’s pretty slow.”
Mylo and Powder shared a look, raising their eyebrows at each other like Vi had gone off the deep end.
“I know it sounds dumb but I just want to make sure everything’s fine, ok?” Vi grumbled and pushed past them.
The drive didn’t help her anxiety, she kept coming up with more scenarios of what could’ve gone wrong, imagining a thousand tiny dangers for a little old woman living by herself. She stepped onto the gas a little more as she drove to the address with the food in the passenger seat.
Vi parked on a nearby side street and walked tentatively into the lobby. There was no one at reception, which made sense considering Gert was out for the week. Vi checked the address again and thanked the gods that the suite number had been specified.
516
She headed towards the elevator with the food in tow, feeling a little insane for committing this hard to a random side quest. Still though, in the worst case scenario, Lyn wasn’t home or she was and would get a little extra food that she could heat up tomorrow. And it would put Vi’s mind at ease. Taking a quick stop to check in before going home was a small price to pay for peace of mind.
Vi drummed the fingers of her free hand nervously on the side of her thigh as the elevator dinged and opened its doors to the fifth floor. Vi walked out and followed the signs to 516. Stopping in front of the large mahogany door, she checked and double checked the address and the number on the door in gold plating.
This was it. Feeling suddenly anxious, afraid of having drastically overstepped, Vi hesitated with her fist hovering just above the wood of the door. Then, the memory of a few friendly notes passed between her and Lyn flashed in her mind, and she was certain that Lyn wouldn’t take this check-in the wrong way. She may even appreciate the company.
Vi knocked firmly on the door.
Waited a few moments—there was no response.
Vi knocked again, a little louder.
This time she heard shuffling behind the door, along with some muffled voices. Her heart jumped up to her throat. The door swung open.
Standing in the door frame, looking pissed and devastatingly beautiful, was a tall woman with midnight blue hair. Vi swallowed hard.
Did she knock on the wrong door? No, she’d double checked that it matched the address they’d been sending food to this whole time.
Perhaps this supermodel of a woman was Lyn’s niece, or a young cousin. Vi could just explain the situation about the food and get out of their hair.
The woman’s piercing blue eyes darted around, taking Vi in with some mixture of agitation and intrigue. Her gaze landed on the bag of food suspended in Vi’s hand.
“Is—uhm” Vi cleared her throat after the words came out far too softly—“is Lyn here?”
The gorgeous woman tilted her head curiously.
“Who is it?” A voice bit out with irritation from inside of the condo.
“Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?” Vi blinked several times, suddenly feeling quite shy and fairly embarrassed about her presence here. She had certainly overstepped.
“No. She was just leaving.” The woman called over her shoulder, more to whomever was still inside than Vi.
“Wait here.” The woman commanded before turning around on her heels and heading back into the living room, leaving the door wide open.
Okay?
This night just kept getting stranger, Vi thought.
“I said you need to leave!”
“Please, it isn’t what it looked like. I only want to talk!”
Vi shifted her weight between her legs awkwardly as the argument raged on inside the condo. Should she leave? The stunningly attractive woman had distinctly told her to wait. But this was…not the situation she was expecting. Where was Lyn?
“I am finished talking to you, Maddie. You are way out of line, and I want you to go.”
“Please if only I could—“
Vi had heard enough. She stepped into the condo to see the scene unfolding for herself. The beautiful woman was standing in one corner, arms folded over her chest and frowning at the guest who had clearly overstayed her welcome.
“Listen, lady.” Vi interjected. “I don’t know who you are but this woman has made it pretty clear that it’s time for you to leave.”
Maddie scoffed.
Vi ignored her and continued. “She’s already asked very nicely twice, and for some reason you’re still here. I would hate to have to ask you myself, because I’m a lot less nice.” Vi let the implication of the words sink in. Not quite a threat, but definitely a prickly warning.
The orange haired woman sized her up, eyes raking over her bulging biceps and the tattoos snaking around her neck and arms.
Yeah. Not the one to try it with.
The girl—Maddie—came to the same conclusion. She shot one last glance at the dark haired woman and stormed out of the condo, slamming the door behind her. The woman followed soon after and threw the lock.
“Good riddance,” Vi heard her mutter beneath her breath as she walked back into the living room.
And then there were two.
Vi looked around awkwardly, seriously not knowing how the hell she ended up in this bizarre situation.
Vi tried to cut the tension. “Uhhh. Nice place?”
“Who are you, and why are you here?” The woman cut straight to the point with a sharp tone and an even sharper look.
“My name is Vi, I work at the Last Drop. I’m here to check on Lyn.” Vi raised the bag of food in her hand. “She always orders her flatbread on Friday. It didn’t come through and I got a little worried, wanted to drop by and make sure everything was ok.”
“You’re here because Lyn missed an order?” Her voice was laced with a cautious curiosity.
“Yes?” Vi returned uncertainly.
“I am Lyn.”
Vi’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. This six foot goddess was Lyn?!
“But, no that’s—that can’t—“ Vi stuttered. “Lyn is an old lady name!”
The woman tilted her head again, a little amused. “Is it?”
“Not to say that you are! Old—that is. I’m sure we’re around the same age. And Lyn is a beautiful name, I think you will really grow into it in a few decades!”
“Is that so?”
“Yes! I suppose every Lyn was young at some point.” Vi rambled on. “I think it’s just a bit hard for me, to think of anyone looking at a baby and thinking to themselves: she looks like a Lyn.”
“Right.” The woman added coolly, through a wide smile.
“Gods, I’m going to stop talking now.” Vi huffed out and clamped her mouth shut.
“Did the chef from the restaurant send you?”
“Oh yeah, well it’s me. I sent myself. I was worried that you were a little old lady who lived alone and something had happened, like a bad fall and a broken hip or something.”
The woman—Lyn—became thoughtful at that. “That’s actually very chivalrous.”
“It’s no big deal…” Vi scratched at the back of her neck. “Are you hungry?” She lifted the bag again.
Lyn sighed. “I wish. The reason I didn’t order dinner today was because I was on a date with that maniac that we just threw out of my flat.”
Oh. Ohhhhhh.
“Oh.” Vi felt…incredibly stupid. She really shouldn’t be here. “I’m really sorry for interrupting your evening. I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Are you hungry?” Lyn returned the question.
“Huh?” Vi heard her perfectly fine but for some reason couldn’t process the information fast enough.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“No, not yet. I was on my way home after this.”
“Please, have a seat, I insist. I will have a slice of the flatbread, since it is my favorite after all. You can have the rest.”
“I really shouldn’t intrude.”
“Who said you were intruding?” Lyn asked genuinely.
“I guess just me.”
“Precisely,” she chuckled. “Please, you came all this way. At least sit and eat.”
Caitlyn watched as the tattooed chef, still a bit hesitant, weighed the options in her head. In the end, she decided to concede, sitting down on Caitlyn’s couch and starting to unpack the take out box out onto the coffee table.
Despite the strange circumstances that led them here, Caitlyn was actually quite pleased to finally meet with the chef who had been preparing her comfort foods for the last two years. She hadn’t even realized just how much she’d thought about the mystery chef, especially in the last week, after they had exchanged notes. It was oddly cathartic to finally put a face and name to the chef.
And admittedly, said face was…incredibly attractive. If the whole culinary thing didn’t pan out for Vi, Caitlyn was certain she could have a bright future modeling if she had any interest. That isn’t the reason Caitlyn invited her to stay, she was simply appreciative of Vi’s thoughtfulness, checking in on Caitlyn when she really did not have to. Caitlyn would feel bad turning her around and immediately sending her back out into the cold (or at least that was what Caitlyn was telling herself).
Rounding the couch to sit on the other end, Caitlyn paused a moment to smile at the message on top of the box.
“Why did you start writing notes on the box?” Caitlyn inquired a little quietly.
“Oh. I don’t know.” A faint blush spread across Vi’s face, which Caitlyn was now close enough to see had a dusting of freckles. “I guess I just wanted you to know that someone was thinking of you, even if just in a small way.”
With that, Vi popped open the box and slid it midway between them on the coffee table, neglecting to notice that Caitlyn now had a blush of her own raging across her cheeks.
Vi tore into the pizza with vigor, surprising Caitlyn with the amount of energy that she was using to attack the food. Normally, Caitlyn might’ve found it off-putting with anyone else, but with Vi? It was oddly endearing.
“So…long day?” Vi asked behind her fist and through a mouthful of food.
Caitlyn sighed. “You could certainly say that. I had a hellish day at work and a disastrous date to top it off.”
“Ah, so no second date then?” Vi had finished chewing her food and sent Caitlyn a little smirk.
“Certainly not.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Vi asked, surprisingly sincere, the humor melting away in favor of genuine concern.
For a moment, Caitlyn hesitated. She usually wasn’t one to spill her guts to a stranger. Normally, she would’ve passed on the offer, or given a painfully vague response, but something about talking to Vi was so inexplicably natural. Without considering it a moment further, Caitlyn decided to confide in her.
“She pretended to be interested in me to get close to me for extremely selfish reasons.” Caitlyn balled her fists up in her lap. “I wasn’t even that sure that I was interested in her to begin with, but still I took a chance and invited her into my home. I feel so foolish for trusting her.”
“Hey,” Vi moved slowly, covering one of Caitlyn’s hands with her large, calloused ones, giving a firm squeeze. “It isn’t a bad thing to assume that people have good intentions. If she brought anything other than that to the table, then that’s on her, not you.” Vi shook her head in frustration. “Honestly, screw her.”
Caitlyn actually burst out into a little giggle at this. Vi was so blunt.
“Yes…screw her.” Caitlyn repeated slowly, trying the crass dismissal on for size. It felt surprisingly good. Freeing.
They both laughed for a little bit and shared more of the flatbread pizza. They chatted about work, both complaining about the various pain points in their lines of work. Caitlyn ranted about clients who couldn’t make up their minds and sent amendment after amendment, making it impossible to finalize the design. Vi rolled her eyes sympathetically and said it reminded her of the time a patron sent back a dish twice, each time with an extra alteration until it barely resembled the original dish, and then proceeded to complain that the flavors didn’t come together well in the final iteration.
They continued to talk long after the food was gone, trading more stories and laughing through their pain. After a small, but comfortable lull in conversation, Vi checked her watch.
“Well…” she seemed a little hesitant. “I don’t want to keep you too late. I know that this whole evening has been unplanned, and I would hate to overstay my welcome like she-who-will-not-be-named.”
“Please, you’re absolutely nothing like her.” Caitlyn wrinkled her nose up in disgust at the comparison, even as a joke. “But I do need to get a few things done tonight before I can officially call my work week finished.”
She should be happy to be returning to a quiet environment so that she could work in peace, but the thought of Vi leaving made Caitlyn’s heart feel a little heavier for some odd reason.
Vi gave her a little smile. “Well thank you, for dinner and the company.”
“No need to thank me for the food, that was your meal.” Caitlyn pointed out.
Vi chuckled. “I guess that’s right.”
They walked to the door and Caitlyn unlocked it, holding it open for Vi, who slowly walked through and turned around with a face that Caitlyn couldn’t quite read.
“Good night, Lyn.”
Caitlyn blinked in confusion a few times before realizing that Vi was still calling her by her pseudonym. It was her own fault for never correcting her, but after the night she’d had with Maddie, it was kind of nice to know for sure that Vi had no idea about her family origins.
So even though it made her feel a little guilty, Caitlyn decided not to elaborate, to simply let Vi believe that for a little longer.
“Good night, Vi.” Then, before she could think any better of it, she added. “Would you want to, perhaps, do this again sometime?”
“I would actually love to.” Vi looked suddenly relieved. “I can bring your food again on Monday night, if you don’t mind getting it a little later. Maybe twenty minutes? So that I can finish my shift.”
“Yes, that would be acceptable to me.”
Caitlyn surprised herself at just how quickly she was ready to adjust her routine. That normally would have caused her far more reluctance.
“Sweet. I’ll see you on Monday, then.”