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**
It was Friday, which meant dinner with Wanda and Natasha. Sometimes that involved Natasha forcing her girlfriend and best friend to expand their taste buds with new take-out. Most of the time, Wanda would cook and Steve would become a sous chef in his own kitchen, while Nat heckled them from the couch she shared with Steve’s golden retriever, Angie.
Steve looked forward to it every week. Even with all the heckling, it still beat his usual meals of cafeteria food and breakfasts burnt to a crisp.
“You know,” Nat started and Wanda immediately groaned. That tone always led to the same conversation.
“Here we go,” the brunette muttered to Steve.
“I already told you, Nat, I’m not asking out that Physics teacher – ”
“Bu–”
“Or the archery coach.”
“I–”
“Or the school nurse!”
“See this is the real problem.”
“What?”
“I think you need to meet new people,” stated the redhead, matter-of-factly. “Outside of work.”
Steve chuckled as he passed Wanda chopped onions. “Why would I do that? I already have you three.”
Suddenly, Angie heaved a deep sigh. “See?” Natasha smirked, stroking the dog’s head. “Angie agrees with me.”
Steve adopted Angie when she was just a puppy, fresh out of training to be a therapy dog. He’d always wanted a dog and felt almost the exact opposite about therapy-therapy, so it seemed like a good middle ground. Three years on, Angie was a wonderful companion; protective and sweet and one of the best jogging partners he could ever ask for.
Still, in that moment, Steve only laughed. “I doubt she cares about any of that.”
Natasha scoffed. “We’ll see.”
**
The truth was that if Angie could talk, she probably would’ve pestered Steve more than Natasha about his lack of a love life.
Because Angie’s watchful eye didn’t stop at their home or his safety; she watched him. Saw him when no one else was around. She listened when he talked at her, even though he’d always say, “I know you don’t understand, Ange, but…” She could sense a loneliness in him that neither she nor his other human friends could help.
But he was stubborn. She’d have to fix this herself.
Whenever they went on their walks around Central Park or for their morning jogs, Angie would keep an eye out for any viable options. Though given that she was a dog and Steve wasn’t the most outgoing of humans, she wasn’t exactly sure who counted as a viable option. She knew Wanda and Natasha did not, but he was always happy around them which had to count for something. With that, she looked for anyone who reminded her of the pair.
Unfortunately, even when she found someone who reminded her of one or both, it never felt quite right. There was always something missing and she couldn’t figure out what.
Until one summer day, on their way out of their apartment building, a man wrestled with opening the front door as he held onto a cardboard box balanced on his hip.
“Hey!” Steve said as he jogged over and opened the door.
The other man sighed with relief, readjusting the box and smiling brightly to Steve as he walked passed. “Thanks, man.”
Steve blinked for a moment. “Y-you’re welcome.” And Angie watched his cheeks redden and his gaze follow the man away into the stairwell.
Well, then.
**
Running cleared Steve’s head. Much of the time his mind felt like a constant stream of thoughts and nerves and emotions, old and new. When he ran, that all fell away and left nothing but the present, his feet pounding the pavement and the wind rushing around him. His alert mind, for a brief moment, quiet.
Normally, this was a good thing. However, on this particular early autumn day, it meant the first tugs on his wrist went unnoticed. Only when his arm was yanked backwards and he saw Angie slip from her collar to take off running in the opposite direction did he come back to reality.
“Angie!” he shouted, but she ignored him. He followed after her as she ran straight for a park bench and onto the lap of the man who sat there. “Get down, Angie! I’m so sorry,” he said, out of breath. “She never does stuff like this.”
The other man just laughed, rubbing the dog’s head as she sat on the ground. “It’s no problem.” He shook his head and sent a brilliant smile Steve’s way. Then he squinted. “Have I seen you before?”
Uh-oh. If Steve wasn’t embarrassed before, he sure was now. He laughed nervously, slipping Angie’s collar back on. “Y-yeah, we live in the same building.”
With that, the man stood, extending his hand. “Sam Wilson, 214.”
“Steve Rogers, 314,” he replied with a firm shake of Sam’s hand.
Sam smirked. “So you’re the one who thinks a smoke detector’s a cooking timer.”
Steve couldn’t control his laugh, his nerves evaporated. “Only when I make pancakes.”
“How many have you senselessly murdered?”
“Enough that Ange here won’t eat my mistakes anymore.” A loud huff from the dog beside him gave Steve brief pause, but he shook it off. Emboldened by Sam’s warm laugh and soft eyes, he said, “But… I do make a pretty good cup of coffee… if you’re free.”
Sam’s smile wavered. He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting at work I can’t miss. Maybe tomorrow? You bring the coffee, I’ll bring some doughnuts. Maybe show you how to make a decent pancake?” he teased.
Steve knew he must’ve been smiling like an idiot, but he didn’t care. Every tease and smile from Sam gave him more and more butterflies. “Sounds like a plan.”