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“Steve!” Robin calls from the counter. “They’re here again!”
Steve rushes from the back room, stopping long enough to pull the sailor’s cap onto his head as was company policy. His lips turn down at the feel of it against his head; his hair flattened by the obscure sailor hat.
“Where are they?” He asks, joining Robin out front, eyes scanning for the familiar face he’s come to know over the last three weeks of summer.
Robin smirks. “They aren’t here,” She chuckles, “I just wanted to see how you would react.”
“That isn’t fair, Robin.”
“What isn’t fair?” A voice chimes from behind Steve.
Steve jumps; shocked at your sudden arrival. “Nothing,” He stutters, smiling at you. “Nothing at all.”
“If you say so,” You state, reaching into your bag for your purse.
“Two scoops of mint chocolate chip with a chocolate flake,” Steve announces before you could get the words out. He’s already scooping your order before you finish agreeing, a small laugh leaving your lips.
“Am I that predictable?”
“Not at all,” Steve flirts, handing you your tub of ice cream, thrilled at the way your fingers brush for even a second.
A polite smile passes over your face, holding up your ice cream in a silent gesture of thanks, you wave at Robin before turning to find your table. Steve cannot help but stare as you wander from the counter to sit at your usual table. You place your ice cream down before reaching into your back and pulling out a dark blue paperback that has a tasteful image of a shirtless man on the front cover. Steve watches happily as you tuck your bookmark into the back of the book before picking up where you left off. Curiosity grows within in him as you turn page after page, caught up in whatever chapter and plot point you were on.
“You have such a crush, it’s ridiculous and quite frankly, disgusting,” Robin deadpans, fixing Steve with an unimpressed look before heading into the back.
“I do not,” Steve argues, wanting to get his point across. “Robin… I do not!” He shouts, following her into the back.
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It takes him three days after Robin’s attempt at a prank on him for Steve to approach you. His confidence wavers: a slight shake to his hands as he watches you from the counter. You’re oblivious; utterly unaware of his pining, of his attempts to draw you into a longer conversation at the till.
Giving himself a shake, Steve pushes himself away from the counter, whispering affirmations under his breath. He was the King of Hawkins’ High; he could handle this. He’d fought a Demogorgon and the Mind Flayer – at this point, he was invincible.
So why couldn’t he approach you? Why couldn’t start up the conversation he so desperately wanted to have with you?
Before the doubts get to him further, Steve approaches your table. “Hey,” He greets smoothly, that famous Harrington smile stretched across his face as he runs a hand through his hair.
You startle slightly, jumping at the unexpected company. “Hi Steve,” You smile, “Is everything okay?”
“You’ve been coming in here every single day for three weeks,” Steve comments, leaning against your table. “You buy a two-scoop tub of mint chocolate chip with a chocolate flake before sitting at the same table to read a book… but the book changes every day.”
“You’re very observant.”
Steve’s cheeks flush with barely concealed embarrassment. “I just… what is it about this place, and how you read so goddamn fast?”
An unexpected laugh leaves your lips. Steve’s eyes widen at the sound. “I’m not sure,” You answer, “To both of your questions. I like how busy Scoops Ahoy is.”
“But how do you read so much?”
“It was a challenge I set myself at the start of summer,” You admit sheepishly, not wanting to show Steve Harrington the true depths of your nerdiness. “I have to read 30 books by the end of summer.”
“How many have you read so far?”
“This would be my 15th,” You state almost proudly. The feeling quickly dies when you see the shocked expression on Steve’s face.
“Do you do anything else but read?” Steve asks, floundering at the number 15.
Frowning, you return your focus to your now melting ice cream. You were silly to think that Steve would be interested in you; there wasn’t a genuine interest there, he just couldn’t believe that someone would pick books over anything else.
Steve realises that there would be no more conversation so he leaves your table, disheartened, and confused. Robin meets him behind the counter; a stern look on her face as she glances between Steve’s confusion and your crestfallen expression.
“What did you do?” She demands.
“I think I hurt their feelings,” Steve murmurs, leaning back against the sink, arms crossed against his chest as he goes through the shared conversation in his head.
“I think you did,” Robin agrees. Her eyes no longer fixed on the once King of Hawkins High, but rather on your retreating form.
Steve follows Robin’s gaze; his mood souring as he watches you leave the shop. Your book is tucked carefully into your bag; your mint choc chip ice cream left uneaten in its tub, sitting alone on the table.
With a painful groan, Steve lets his head drop into his hands, wondering where he’d gone wrong and how he could make it right.
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Steve’s mood remains sour the morning after. He’s in such a noticeable bad mood that Robin walks on eggshells, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
Steve Harrington had been known to break hearts all over Hawkins and had had his own heart broken once before. Yet, watching the clock tick over your usual arrival time, Steve wonders whether those experiences before were to prepare him for this.
He’s never met anyone like you. In high school, he’s certain he never spoke to you – far too caught up in chasing Nancy Wheeler only for that to explode on him last year. He hadn’t ever noticed you, but now that he had, all he could think about was you. He’s eager to know what it is about books that has you returning again and again when Steve could barely finish the books assigned to him in English. He wants to know which is your favourite and which character you love most. Do you prefer paperback or hardback? What was your favourite genre? And why had you set yourself the challenge of reading thirty books over summer?
The questions float around his mind with such an intensity that Steve lets his head drop to the cool surface of the table, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. He does this three times more; experienced in the art of calming down after such a panic after having fought Demogorgons in the past.
“(Y/N) is here,” Robin murmurs quietly to Steve, pulling him out of his spiral of pity.
“What?”
“(Y/N) is here,” Robin repeats, “I just served them.”
“Why didn’t you come get me?”
Robin fixes him with an unimpressed look. “You need to talk face-to-face, and not over a counter filled with a ridiculous amount of ice cream.”
Steve releases a long-suffering groan, knowing full well how correct Robin was but desperate not to hurt your feelings further to the point where you stop coming into the shop altogether. His shifts run easier when he knows that you were coming in; he felt a sense of comfort knowing that he could look to his right and know that in the second booth along, he would see you bent over a book, entirely enraptured by whatever was happening on the page.
Steve forces himself to stand, to move to the front of the shop so Robin could have a break. He refuses to look over to your table, doesn’t let himself fall into the comfort of it so quickly as punishment for his actions yesterday. Luckily, a large group comes in – a family with relatives visiting for the summer. Steve serves every one of them with a false smile and an insincere attitude.
As the shop grows quieter, Steve finally lets himself glance over to your table. His chest feels heavy at the hurt he caused you yesterday; unintentional, but nevertheless, the urge to apologise continues to grow.
When the opportunity presents itself, Steve wanders around the shop, trying his best to look casual as he collects empty sundae dishes. All the while, his gazes finds itself drawn to you. Your chin rests in the palm of your hand; the paperback resting against the table as you turn over page after page. Enraptured by the book, Steve can feel his heart begin to race at the sight of you.
“You came in later than usual,” Steve murmurs quietly, pausing next to your table.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to come in,” You whisper, eyes focused on the paperback laid on the table. “But I really wanted some ice cream.”
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Steve apologises immediately, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just haven’t met anyone who’s read as much as you have.” His tone is sincere; his voice ringing with honesty as he wishes you would look at him. His wish is granted and his breath sticks in his throat as he spies a smile at the corner of your lips. "I’ve never enjoyed reading,” Steve admits, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t understand how someone could love reading.”
You shrug, a small smile turning up the corners of your lips. “You’re forgiven, Steve. As for reading, it’s something I’ve always enjoyed. Did you always enjoy basketball?”
“You know I played basketball?”
“I had to go to a lot of your games,” Your smile continues to grow. “My friend had the biggest crush on you. You used to sit in front of her in Biology and all I would hear for the hour after was: Steve Harrington this, Steve Harrington that, Steve Harrington asked to borrow a pen today!”
Steve’s cheeks have darkened to a deep red; blush pooling as a shy smile grows across his face. “What about you?” He asks, unable to help himself. “Did you ever talk about me?”
“That’s a story for another day,” You murmur, nodding your head towards the growing line of customers and an extremely annoyed Robin. “You have customers waiting and a colleague that needs help.”
Steve swears under his breath, unhappy at the turn of events but relieved he was forgiven. “Can we talk some more some time?” He asks quickly, glancing between you and the growing line.
Surprised at his question, you nod wordlessly only to be rewarded with a blinding smile as Steve rushes back to the freezer, already greeting one of many customers.
It takes you a while to return to your book in earnest; your reading time being slowed by the handsome Steve Harrington. Watching him from under your lashes, you cannot help but wonder when you’d begun to be so affected by the brunette.
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Scoops Ahoy is always quiet on a Wednesday. It’s as if, on Wednesday’s, the people of Hawkins’ have something else to do rather than traverse the mall and all the shops it seems to offer. Steve despises Wednesday’s; hating them with a firm passion as he struggles to make it through a shift without yawning too loudly.
It’s shaping up to follow the routine of every Wednesday when there’s a commotion at the entrance of the ice cream shop.
“Henderson!” Steve yells, excited and happy at the sight of one of his friends. The two reunite with loud laughter; boisterous enough to pull you from your book, curious to know what was happening.
A small smile adorns your lips as you watch Steve light up at the sight of his younger friends. You’d heard that he’d taken Nancy Wheeler’s little brother and his friends under his wing last year after their friend, Will, had fallen ill. It was an adorable sight to see.
Steve’s eyes glance to you; he falters when he finds you already watching him. His handshake with Dustin missing a beat as a flush begins to paint his skin and he waves over to you. Your eyes widen at being caught; a small wave in return and Steve ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he feels the heat grow in his cheeks.
Without another word, despite the numerous questions being flung in his direction, Steve ushers The Party into the back room. They all crowd in; question after question being thrown at Steve as he does his best to quieten them down, reminding them sternly that the whole shop can hear them.
“Who was that?” Dustin demands, refusing to take a seat until his question was answered.
“(Y/N),” Steve replies, hands on his hips in a defensive position should anyone question your presence in the shop.
“His paramour,” Robin teases from the shop window; a teasing smile on her face that quickly moulds into a kissing face.
“Not my paramour!” Steve yells, feeling his cheeks begin to heat once again from the bald-faced lie leaving his mouth. “(Y/N) has been coming into the shop daily from the start of summer. We’ve spoken a few times, that’s all.”
The Party is silent for a moment, letting Steve’s words settle before Lucas pipes up. “Steve has a crush.”
The others quickly agree before they huddle together, beginning to scheme and plan a way for Steve to ask you out on a date.
“Whoa!” Steve interrupts, “Who’s saying I’m failing?”
“Are you dating (Y/N)?” Dustin asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
Steve shuffles from foot to foot, crossing and uncrossing his arms as he tries to come up with a straight answer. He huffs, glaring at the teenager. “No,” He finally admits, “I’m not.”
“Then leave us to it,” Dustin states bluntly, crossing his arms, mimicking Steve’s posture perfectly.
Too tired to argue; too confused to argue; too in love with you to argue, Steve leaves the back room and returns to the counter where he continues to serve cone after cone, and tub after tub whilst remaining hopelessly in love with you.
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Taking a seat at your usual table, you wonder whether Steve’s friends would come into the shop to join him once again. He had looked downcast and frustrated when he left them in the back room yesterday; something had upset him in the ten minutes from them arriving to his leaving. However, you never got chance to ask him. A rush came in, and he was distracted – too busy to leave the counter to collect in empty dishes.
As you place your closed paperback onto the table, Steve sidles up beside you. With a smile, you greet the brunette. “Are you feeling any better after yesterday?”
His brows furrow in confusion. “You looked upset after your friends came by,” You explain, cringing at how much you take notice of the brunette, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Steve’s cheeks begin to pink as he thinks back to yesterday’s conversation with Dustin. “Oh,” He laughs, “Yeah, it’s all fine now. They were pestering me about something that I wasn’t ready to talk about.”
“Have they let the topic drop?”
He shakes his head. “That isn’t something they’re known for doing. They’re good kids though. They’re looking out for me, that’s all.”
“It’s nice,” You murmur, “To have friends like that.”
The moment is broken by a commotion at the till. The two of you were so focused on each other; on trying to read between the words, of deciphering body language and stares, that you didn’t hear Steve’s friends enter the shop and begin harassing Robin in the hopes of finding Steve.
“He’s busy right now,” Robin defends, refusing to back down. “You’re either served by me, or by no-one.”
“We don’t want just anyone,” Mike argues, “We’d like to be served by Steve. It has to be Steve.”
Steve’s eyes close at the sound of his name; his lips turned down into a frown that only deepens as Robin calls out his name repeatedly. “You’ve been summoned,” She calls, dropping her ice cream scoop into a jug of warm water before leaving.
“We’ll talk later?” Steve asks, already moving towards the counter and the rowdy bunch of children waiting.
“Later,” You promise, picking up your book. Your stomach curls in anticipation of later, and you think whether it would be possible for you to eat your ice cream.
You wait for Steve to return to the counter before you pick up your book, finding the page you were last on. Out of the books you had read this summer, this book was turning out to be one of your favourites. An arranged marriage, forbidden love, and an identity reveal that would knock everybody’s socks off. You had been quickly drawn into the plot, but if truth be told, you were finding it harder and harder to focus when Steve was around.
Entirely aware that you were no longer alone at your table, you refuse to start the conversation. Your eyes run over the page of your book, not taking in any of the words – you’d not paid any attention to the plot since Steve’s friends returned to the shop, loudly declaring their intention for Steve, and Steve alone, to serve them countless tasters.
At last, your visitor clears their throat, demanding your attention at last. “How do you know Steve?” Dustin asks, protective over his older friend.
“He works at Scoops Ahoy, and I come to Scoops Ahoy,” You reply, gesturing to your current surroundings.
“It’s more than that,” Dustin interrupts, not believing you for a second. “He has a crush on you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” You splutter, wondering whether your feelings for the former king of Hawkins High were written so plainly on your face, “Impossible.”
“How long have you been coming in here?”
“Every day since the start of summer. It’s cool in here and I can focus on my books.”
“And how often does Steve talk to you?”
“Every day.”
“And does he have your order memorised?”
“Yes, but Dustin, I come in here every day. He’s bound to know my order.”
Dustin clicks his fingers. “That’s where you’re wrong!” He announces, “Erica is in here every day too, but he hasn’t bothered to memorise her order.”
You fall silent, casting your curious gaze over to where Steve continues to serve his younger friends, oblivious to the conversation being had at your table. There’s seconds in between Steve greeting his customer and scooping their ice cream despite being friends with them. He hasn’t taken the time to learn their orders no matter how often they’ve come into the shop over the summer.
It seems you’re the only one.
“How long have you had a crush on Steve?” Dustin asks, sounding far beyond his years.
“Not for as long as you think I have.”
“Will you break his heart?” Dustin questions finally; his eyes burning with curiosity and concern for his older friend.
“I don’t intend to. Do you think he’ll break mine?”
“Absolutely not,” Dustin states quickly; his tone certain and confident in his friend.
You fall back against the back of your chair, relieved to have your answer. “What do I do from here?” You ask the teenager, hoping he’ll have the answer for waters you’ve never chartered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dustin smiles kindly. “We’ve already planned it.”
Dustin leans back into his chair; his arms crossed against his chest as he counts to ten aloud. He barely gets to seven before Steve’s voice booms through the shop. “Henderson!” Steve shouts, annoyed. “What did we talk about?”
A victorious laugh leaves Dustin: one that quickly turns into a giggle as Steve storms over to your table. “I can only apologise for him,” Steve grits out.
“Don’t apologise,” You laugh, “We had an extremely enlightening conversation, didn’t we Dustin?”
Dustin recovers breath long enough to reply to your question, gasping out his confirmation.
A rare moment of confidence rushes through your being. It floods your veins, heating them up. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach for Steve’s hand, pulling his attention away from Dustin and onto you.
“Do you want to get dinner with me?”
Dustin’s laughter dies. His eyes widen; he glances between Steve and yourself, desperate to see how this plays out.
“What?” Steve asks, his tone shocked.
“Do you want to get dinner with me?” You repeat, before backtracking just a little. “It doesn’t have to be a date. We could get some food and go to the movies? I just… I really like you, Steve.”
“What if I want it to be a date?” Steve asks: his tone turning flirtatious as your words sink into his skin.
“Then I meet you here at the end of your shift.”
“What about: you meet me here at the end of my shift, but I take you out on a date rather than the other way around?”
An amused laugh leaves your lips. “I like the sound of that.”
“I like you,” Steve replies as smooth as ever.
You drop your gaze at the unexpected confession, only now realising that Steve still has hold of your hand. He bring it up to his lips, pressing a single kiss to the back of it. “Meet you back here at six?”
“Six it is.”