t f l n o v e r f l o w.

[chardismastic]

( x )

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[viraasat]

Without a hitch.

[She quips, shaking off her jacket and hanging it up on the hall rack like a good little girl. Chloe does genuinely enjoy surprises - it doesn't mean she can't still be completely bowled over by them, and like them despite the shock - but walking into what smells like (and she's making assumptions here) Gordon Ramsay's kitchen isn't exactly on the list of possible expectations.

She anticipated dinner reservations. Not dinner-as-made-by-the-master-of-the-house.]

...Jesus Christ.

[Chloe doesn't know where to start: the apron, the pans, the glass of wine just now set on the granite counter top - sensible fellow, marble stains. It smells like a Thai noodle cart in here and the nostalgia is suffocating.

Wandering around the island so retrieves a bottle of something dark from the aforementioned cabinet, examining the label before pouring herself a glass of whisky. Chloe sips slowly, leaning up against the counter and admiring the view.]

Didn't know you were an amateur chef.

[chardismastic]

[ Just the answer he expects, setting aside the grater and a lump of ginger root. Chloe bills herself as the best driver in the business and she is, but so much more besides. A jack of all trades and master of more than a few of them— The more she demonstrates as such, the more Rafe wonders why the hell he's never hired her on before. Ah, well — problem's since been rectified. ]

Be a little pathetic otherwise, don't you think? [ Scoffing at her surprise, he moves the sauce off the heat before damping the flame. ] A grown man who can't feed himself, with a fridge full of stale takeout containers... Talk about your sad cliche.

[ The other cliche, the one of a butler with a snooty accent serving silver and tea, isn't worth mentioning. So he doesn't.

In less time than it takes to tell, he pulls the noodle mixture out the oven, already fragrant with sesame oil before pouring the thicker sauce over it. The apron proves unnecessary given the precision involved — not a drop spilled, thank you — as he begins to toss the bowl for an even coat. A last handful of chopped peanuts and cilantro and it's done. Plates are grabbed and he sets himself on a stool at the island, an expansive gesture at the bowl for Chloe to help herself. The kitchen is still warm but that'll dissipate soon enough, and the table proper isn't far enough away that it'd make any difference. ]

There's silverware in the drawer, or chopsticks if you're feeling traditional.

[viraasat]

[Chloe snorts. A grown man with a fridge full of takeout containers reminds her viscerally of Nathan Drake, who couldn't cook to save his life but did know all the best street vendors to buy and/or steal from, should the occasion arise. It's a little difficult to imagine that someone as profoundly busy as Rafe Adler has had an abundance of time to dedicate to this particular craft, but she's more than happy to be proven wrong.

She didn't quite realise how hungry she was until he started assembling the goods, either, watching him work with clean, calculated movements in front of the stove, the counter.]

I think noodle cart owners everywhere would curse me if I didn't defer to their rules.

[She observes wryly, sliding over to the dishes and serving herself a healthy portion of the stuff. It smells fucking amazing, and she knocks back the rest of her drink before retrieving a set of chopsticks and seating herself at the kitchen island, intent on tucking in.]

When I said I liked surprises I didn't think you'd be making dinner yourself.

[chardismastic]

[ 404 — memory not found. ]

Don't worry, I wouldn't rat you out to the street cart mafia.

[ Not that there is such a thing. Probably. Totally joking. Don't worry about it.

Rafe takes a moment to appreciate the tawny skin of her throat as she finishes off the liquor, grabbing his own utensils without glancing away. Not quite ogling, but not exactly subtle either. Why bother? Chloe's attractive, he has eyes. Might as well ask someone to demur when visiting an art exhibit. Once he fills his own plate, he hums under his breath in amusement. ]

Oh, the where was never meant to be the surprise, just the what. I figure if I've got access to a kitchen then it'd be a waste not to use it, right? Plus I'm not exactly a fan of paying triple digits for Manhattan serving sizes.

[ Paying for quality? You'll get no argument from him. But just because a guy has money to burn is no reason to shell it out for the so-called "privilege" of atmosphere and dining amongst The Right People. No, Rafe can find a much bigger bang for his buck in his own house — and in this particular instance, more palatable company. Never mind that it proves a worthwhile use of free time, which does crop up in spite of how hard Rafe works to avoid it. Red tape snarls, bureaucratic shuffles, international scheduling, to say nothing of lawyers at any given stage of the game... Even outside of his day job, no matter how carefully laid the plan the execution rarely lives up to expectation. Especially when it's dependent on other people. ]

But I'm getting away from what's important. [ A perfectly benign smile after he finishes this next bite. ] The real question here is, is it hot enough for you?