After Santana dried her hair with a towel and changed into the clothes Brittany had put out for her—a simple tank top and sweatpants—she walked back down the stairs and settled on the couch in front of the TV.
Brittany was making her a cup of chamomile tea, a drink she explained would help soothe her anxiety and make her sleep like a baby. Santana never really believed in these old home remedies, but she knew coffee was definitely not a good alternative. Besides, she really enjoyed having Brittany take care of her...
Looking around the room, her eyes finally settled on the television screen.
"By the way, I'm sorry for springing up on you like this. Going home was just too much right now."
In the kitchen, Brittany shrugged. "S'okay."
Santana bit her lip. "I actually thought maybe, um, you could give me your advice on something."
As Brittany waited for her to elaborate, she continued, "Last week I had some pretty exciting news. Well, that's what Holly and Kurt think anyway, but I'm pretty stressed about it...It's actually so bad I'm starting to piss everyone off."
Brittany frowned, wondering what had Santana so torn. She was looking at the TV, away from her, which meant she was either embarrassed about what she was about to say or very much anxious.
"Well, long story short, we heard Susan Spite from Cuisine is going to scope out Adjacent. She...her review is a make it or break it, Britt," she finished in a whisper.
Brittany froze, her heart pounding at Santana's words. Surely she didn't know...did she? No, that was impossible. Brittany had been careful; she hadn't even come to Adjacent this week. She'd been busy with LuPones, Rachel Berry's place.
It was charming and the staff was obviously well trained, but Brittany had noticed how obvious it was that Shelby's daughter knew a critic would come. Everything was too...perfect, too detailed, and too cautious. The waiters were overly polite, to the point of being annoying, and the food was much too detailed. Now, Brittany liked all kinds of presentations, but she was pretty sure shredded cheese in the shape of small stars was overdoing it. For a so- called bistro, the place was definitely not modest.
The theme of the restaurant was glitz and glamour, that much was obvious, but what the restaurant lacked was simplicity. Everything was so overdone, served with bright sparkly smiles, that Brittany had wondered if she hadn't stepped into an ad meant to cure cancer. Brittany knew if her mother had been there, she'd have called the place overtly flamboyant. It was exhausting, which was why Brittany hadn't had the courage to eat there more than twice this week.
However, she was confident she'd tasted and seen everything she needed to in order to write an article Shelby would approve of. The task was a bit more delicate since Rachel was her boss's daughter, but Shelby had asked for her usual honest, bold opinion, which is what LuPones would get.
Hearing Santana's fragile words, Brittany knew now more than ever that she had really taken this whole "mess with your ex-girlriend" charade way too far. Quietly, she walked to the couch with Santana's tea and sat down opposite her, handing her the mug.
Santana thanked her with a smile, but her next words came out as a shy murmur. "I don't know what I'll do if I screw this up...I'm driving everyone crazy, I know it."
Swallowing, Brittany looked at the coffee table. She could hear how hollow Santana sounded, could feel how this was taking a toll on her. Brittany took another moment to reflect on this, realizing Adjacent was most likely the first restaurant she would review this early on. She'd never even thought about it, but what had started off as a fun challenge was now shaping out to be a terrible mistake. Not only was she lying to Santana, she was also screwing with her emotions and adding to the already considerable stress of managing a restaurant.
Adjacent had only been open for a couple of months, and here she was, preventing Santana from basking in her newfound success. Reviews came later on usually—and small, casual reviews at that, nothing of big importance—so Brittany felt horrible for the pressure she'd inadvertently put on her ex-girlfriend's shoulders. She was mad at the person who'd tipped Santana off, though confused as to who that could be, and mad at herself for jumping headfirst into something she should have known would stress Santana out.
She hadn't meant to hurt her.
In fact, in the back of her head, she'd imagined herself surprising the woman with an excellent review. She'd seen and tasted enough to know her menu was exquisite, so she was angry at herself for the complete downfall of her plan. A plan she realized had been foolish, even if well-intentioned.
"Just be yourself," she finally murmured, looking down at Santana's ankle. She wasn't sure how to comfort her without blurting out the truth; lying had never been her forte, especially if Santana was so broken up about it.
Santana looked at her, her eyes flickering to her ankle on the couch as Brittany's index finger drew small circles on it. It was soothing, and Brittany's touch was always welcome.
"Yeah," she answered softly, "but...no offense Britt, that's not exactly what this woman will be looking for. I mean...even if she likes the menu, even if my staff is amazing...what if it's not enough? She's reviewed Menton, B! Freaking Menton and other restaurants ten times more luxurious than mine. How could I ever match that? We don't exactly serve beef bourguignon or escargots. We don't even have cool-sounding French meals!"
Brittany tilted her head to the side, now surprised to hear Santana's reasoning. So this was what she was afraid of? She almost chuckled. Santana was confident enough to know her food was exquisite, but her fear lay in the fact that Adjacent had no prestige for now. Well...this, Brittany could work around.
"Honey," she cooed, the pet name, slipping out easily, "I can't tell you what she'll be looking for exactly, but she's probably also reviewed smaller-scale places. That's her job, isn't it? She's probably even grateful that she doesn't have to eat the same types of meals every time. I mean...sometimes you want a really great, well-presented meal, but then other times, you just want a good burger with fries or a simple salad, you know?"
Santana looked at Brittany, hanging on to each one of her words. She realized she valued her opinion so much, but also...also, her words had sparked an idea.
"That's right," Santana said, her voice less weak than before. "You know about this stuff, you do it for the Culi Mag."
Brittany's eyebrows came together. "Um yeah, but—"
"Brittany, this is perfect! You could write a review too!"
"W-what?"
"It could...if Spite's review is bad, yours could soften the blow. Everyone in the business reads the Culi Mag!"
Brittany's heart raced as Santana sat up and set her tea on the coffee table. How was she going to get out of this?
"S, the Culi Mag is like...the Justin Bieber of food journalism."
Santana scrunched her nose. "A lesbian?"
Brittany laughed, though it was more nervous than amused. "No, silly. Completely overrated. And bad. Really, really bad."
"I don't understand. Why do you still work there if you hate it so much?"
Brittany shrugged. "I guess...I guess I'm still waiting for my big break."
"Oh Britt..." Santana murmured, sitting on her knees and closer to her now. "You'll get it one day. I know you will. But you know, if you'd like, there's always a spot in my kitchen for a kickass swing cook..."
Brittany chuckled genuinely. "You know we'd drive each other crazy."
"Well, don't we always?" Santana playfully husked in her ear.
Brittany shivered. Santana was so close to her, smiling softly but wickedly, her hand now playing with the hem of her sweatshirt. She smelled like rain and Santana, the Santana she'd laze around with naked in bed, caressing her back with a soft smile on her lips. The Santana she'd have raw cookie dough fights with or take baths with in the middle of the night.
She cleared her throat and moved her torso forward, grabbing her mug. "More tea?" She asked, starting to get up.
Before she could, Santana grabbed her arm, tenderly, carefully. "No, thank you, B. I just want to talk to you."
Brittany bit her bottom lip as she sat back down cross-legged. She let her head rest on the back of the couch, angling it so she could look at Santana.
After a while, she murmured, "Okay, I'll do it."