Chapter Text
One thing was for sure.
He was a creature of habit.
Always walking in around 6:30 am, never past 7. Reaching the register in three long strides before giving her a smile and a small greeting. Tight-fitting athletic shirt and grey sweats, light sheen of sweat on his brow as evidence of a workout. Light blue eyes peering up at the menu from underneath a black baseball cap. As if he won’t end up getting the same thing he’s been ordering for months. As if she won’t ask him the same question every time.
“The usual?”
He’d nod with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced off to the side. Force of habit, she’d assumed.
“Yeah,” That voice. Deep and rich, rumbling in his chest. A bit gruff as if he hadn’t spoken to anyone else since he’s woken up.
A five dollar bill — she’d hand him back his change for him to drop it in the tip jar every time.
Never a ‘thanks’ always a “thank you” as he slides his wallet in his pocket and steps back from the register. Hands folded in front of him, he’d wait patiently as she starts extracting the shots of espresso.
Medium-sized, house blend. Black, hot. No milk or sugar.
He’d glance around the tiny cafe as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air. Body swaying slightly to whatever song was new on her playlist, eyes lingering interestedly over the paintings on the wall in the back. She’s never told him that she’d painted some of them herself. But then again, he’d never asked.
Pen in hand, she’d spend some time thinking of what new phrase to write on his cup. That’s sort of become a staple for her shop now — writing small jokes, motivational quotes, or even poorly-drawn smily faces next to people’s names.
Most people don’t bother to read their cups, but he’s not one of them.
After a few weeks of experimentation, she'd concluded that he had a particular inclination for her generic list of dad jokes — the worst of the worst (like seagulls and bay-gulls bad).
Every time she set his drink on the counter, she could sense him itching to see what she had written. But he’d always wait until he’d given her a polite “thank you” before turning around and eyeing the side of his cup, a small smile on his face as he made his way out.
He was a creature of habit.
But so was she.
Wiping down the coffee machines for the umpteenth time this morning, she fiddled with the edges of her apron as the clock neared 6:30. Her head ducked involuntary as she saw those sweatpants round the corner, like usual.
As he walked up to the register, she noticed something a little bit different about his walk this morning. His strides shorter, feet moving a bit hesitantly, as if he was preoccupied with some other thought. Perhaps nervous about something later today.
She put a bright smile on her face as she readied the notebook and pen in her hand, even though they both knew what he was going to order.
So imagine her surprise when she asks him her usual question, expecting a nod, and he responds with something she’d never expected.
“Actually, I thought I’d try something new today.”
She halted, eyebrows raising involuntary as the pen froze in her hand.
“Oh, well did you have anything specific in mind?”
“No, I uh…” there was that shy smile again, hand attached to the back of his neck. Soft pink bloomed across his cheeks. Probably an extra tough workout this morning.
“I was hoping you could help me out with that part”
“Oh.” A recommendation. She perked up, the coffee nerd in her running a million different varieties through her mind, trying to match his profile with one of them. She’d normally recommend a sweet latte — vanilla, hazelnut, cinnamon — or even a strong mocha, but Steve didn’t exactly look like the type with a sweet tooth.
“I’m guessing you don’t like anything too sugary?”
“No,” He shook his head, still smiling shyly, somehow looking almost embarrassed with himself.
“Well, in that case I’d recommend something with a little less body.”
His forehead creased in a tiny divot between his brows, before it disappeared just as quickly. He nodded enthusiastically, maybe a bit too much so.
“Sure, yeah that sounds good.”
She couldn’t help but let out a small smile, peering down and pretending to scribble something down on her notepad.
“Hmm, I have a feeling you might like the cappuchino.”
Eyes glued to a spot on the paper, she bit down hard on her bottom lip, watching his head snap up form the corner of her eye. His eyes doubled in size, something reminiscent of panic crossing his features.
Fighting back another smile, she lifted her head, picture-perfect innocence on her face, like she hadn’t just made a horrible pun using his superhero alias. Had he really thought that she didn’t know that it was the Captain America walking into her cafe every morning?
Anyone could spot those shoulders from a mile away. That stride. Everything about him screamed national hero and savior of the galaxy. Well, maybe except for whenever he was crammed inside her tiny cafe, hunched over the register and staring at her with those wide puppy-dog-eyes.
After a few moments, his body relaxed. Having bought the naive look on her face, he nodded, pulling out his wallet.
“Yeah, I’ll have… one of that please.”
“Sure, that’ll be $4.10”
5 dollar bill — a soft clink as he dropped the change in.
As the milk trickled into the pitcher, she wondered to herself why he hadn’t gone with his usual order. What about today made him want to try something different?
She told herself that she could always ask him, try and make long-overdue conversation. But as she peered up at him over the coffee machines, she noticed that his eyes were glued to his phone.
She watched him type something in enthusiastically and smile at whatever lit up his device in response. What did someone like Captain America text about anyway? When he was going to meet up with Ironman for their next Earth-saving mission?
A warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, she’s never seen that kind of look on his face before — the pictures of him on the news always made him out to be so rigid.
Redirecting her focus to his coffee, she waited until the milk was raised to the perfect temperature before easing the steamer out of the pitcher. Tiny, white foam bubbles popped at the surface as she scooped them out with a spoon, laying it carefully over the espresso. Snapping a lid onto his cup, she reached for her pen, debating in her head what to write this time.
Justice is a dish best served cold. If it were served warm it would be justwater.
Absolutely atrocious, but somehow fitting given his not-so-hidden identity.
A polite “thank you, have a nice day” before he made his way out, that endearing smile emerging on his face at her joke before he rounded the corner and disappeared.
Incredulously enough, she realized that the 5-minute conversation they had today was the longest one yet. Him asking her for a recommendation? Brand new to her routine.
But the way she leaned on the countertop, chin in hand, wondering helplessly about a man whom she knew nothing about (other than his favorite coffee order)?
That.
That was nothing new.