Chapter Text
You take a deep breath in the mirror, smoothing down the skirt of your dress for the dozenth time. You kept looking down at your shoes, the words of your ex-boyfriend's snide comments still faintly echoing in your head.
You shake it off, reminding yourself that you like these shoes. You like the added height, remembering how they used to make you feel so confident.
You also remind yourself that you're just going to see Sam for a coffee.
He's the kind of friend that'll give you a pep-talk when you need it. He'll tell you don't look ridiculous and that the extra few inches don't make you stick out like a sore thumb.
You pat yourself down one more time, going through your mental checklist before you leave the house: phone, keys, wallet. You've never forgotten them before, but the idea that you might was always a little unnerving to you. Actually, living on your own had been a little unnerving. It had been an entirely new adjustment from sharing an apartment with your ex for more than two years.
With one last deep breath, you turn the lock and walk out of your apartment.
Though your car sits just outside your apartment and your car keys are already in hand, you suddenly find yourself walking past your car, opting to walk the few short blocks to the cafe to enjoy the beautiful day.
You pop in your headphones, and the song that immediately starts playing is one that your ex told you many times he just didn't get. You push the thought out of your head, reminding yourself that you like this song. And that's what matters to you now.
You smile to yourself as the crisp fall air blows right in your face, the slight chill a nice reprieve from the muggy New York summers. You've always had a certain affinity for fall, particularly the beginning of the season, you watch as the leaves begin to change color, some already on the ground as you round the corner to your destination.
In spite of your leisurely walk, you still make it a few minutes earlier than you expected. You shrugged it off, after all Sam was a stickler about being early and now you could tease him about the fact that you made it before he did.
The small bell rings above you as you walk into the small coffee shop as the scent of ground up coffee beans overwhelms your senses. You take a few steps in, noting how quiet it is just after the morning rush.
You stare up at the board, deciding to just go ahead and order before Sam got here.
"Sorry, are you in line?" a familiar male voice asks from behind you.
"Oh, no, you go ahead," You shake your head turning around to allow the man to pass you. As you turn around, you realize why it's a familiar voice. "Oh, hey, Bucky, right?"
"Oh, hey!" he jovially greets. He internally curses his excited greeting, reminding himself to at least try to play it cool. Though he remembers you well from Sam's many get-togethers over the years, he doesn't you to think that he's some overzealous stalker. He also figures that the tiny crush he had on you was probably causing him to overthink something as simple as a hello. He clears his throat, hoping you didn't notice his momentary internal meltdown. "I haven't seen you around in a while."
"Yeah," you awkwardly chuckle, letting that line of questioning die. You quickly redirect the conversation because you don't really want to talk about how a messy breakup, apartment hunting, and then actually moving had taken up most of your time these last few months. Okay, maybe it was more than just a few months. "But I didn't know you lived around here."
"No," he shakes his head. "I'm up in Brooklyn. Just meeting Sam."
"Wait," you suddenly falter. "You're meeting Sam. Here?"
Bucky's head tilts, wondering what was so odd about him meeting Sam here. "Yeah, why?"
"I'm meeting Sam here," you dumbly explain, pointing to the ground. "Sam doesn't even live around here."
"Shit," Bucky hisses under his breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he puts two and two together. The very specifically laid out, concrete plans with Sam, Sam asking Bucky to meet him in a neighborhood neither of them resided in. He sort of feels like an idiot for not putting two and two together earlier. "I'm just- I'm gonna call him."
"Okay," you chuckle, watching as he shuffles out of the cafe to call Sam. He stands in front of the large glass window, pulling his phone from his back pocket. You decide to turn around to give him a little privacy, and to make sure you don't seem like a weirdo staring at him as he tries to make a phone call.
Though you already know what you're going to order, you stare up at the chalkboard menu like it's the most interesting chalkboard menu you've ever seen. You carefully examine every single stroke of colorful chalk, each fuzzy swirl behind the letters that show a corrected mistake.
You keep reading the board until, after a couple long minutes have passed, you hear the bell above the cafe door ring behind you, prompting you to turn around to hopefully get to the bottom of Sam's meddling antics.
You look at Bucky with an anxious smile and raised eyebrow. "So?"
"No," Bucky awkwardly chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "He, uh, didn't answer."
You shake your head, rolling your eyes as a scoff of mild amusement leaves your mouth. "Of course he didn't."
"I mean, we both came all this way, unless your boyfriend wouldn't be okay with that," Bucky offers, gesturing to the small table overlooking the large bay window.
"Well, that's very considerate of you, but we, uh, we broke up. Like 8 months ago," you meekly explain.
"Oh," he frowns, though you sort of get the sense that he already knew that.
"It's alright. He was an ass." You look at the table seated right in front of the large window, giving a perfect view of the slow Wednesday morning for a moment before deciding to forgo your usual reservations and anxieties. "Yeah, we're both here. I'd- I'd like that."
"Great," Bucky smiles, gesturing to the same table you'd been eyeing. You pull your bag over your head as you shuffle to the table. You're about to reach for the chair when Bucky stops you. He pulls out the chair for you. "Oh, here let me."
It takes you a split second to recover from the surprising chivalry before you slide into the chair with Bucky's assistance, "Thank you."
You briefly wonder if he knows how nice that is.
"You're welcome." He slides into the chair across from you, before looking up at the chalkboard menu for himself. "You ever been here before?"
"Yeah, actually. And now that I think about it, I told Sam that this place had the best apple pie, which is probably how he knows about this place at all. I'm sorry about him by the way, he's..." you trail off, trying to find the right word to articulate Sam Wilson's eager meddling in his friends' lives.
"Involved?" Bucky finishes.
"Involved? Is that your polite way of calling him a meddling asshole?" you joke, your voice a sarcastic mutter at the thought of Sam's 'involvement'.
A laugh abruptly leaves his mouth at your brazen joke. He looks back up at the menu, offhandedly remarking, "You're funny."
Hearing that compliment is a little strange to you, you can't remember the last time someone told you that. Your ex used to roll his eyes at your jokes, sometimes even making apologies for your sense of humor when you were in a group settings. "You think so?"
"Yeah. I do."
"What can I get for you today?" the barista suddenly asks, interrupting your conversation with a particularly ambivalent expression painting their face.
When the two of you are settled with a hot beverage in front of the both of you and an assortment of pasties in the center of the table, the awkward undertone of the pseudo blind date has long since faded. It's still mostly quiet. Bucky asks you what you've liked from this place, you give him your best descriptors.
You will concede that don't know Bucky that well. You've been introduced and shared a few conversations, but it always felt a little stilted under your ex's judgmental gaze. Every time Bucky was at a party or gathering, he'd tell you that there was something wrong with Bucky, that it was strange that he kept to himself or with Sam and Steve.
You couldn't lie and say that you hadn't noticed it yourself, but you didn't find it odd. And you found Bucky's wallflower tendencies endearing, not that you'd ever told anyone that.
So you really hated that. Hated it enough that you stopped inviting your ex-boyfriend to those gatherings. But that created a jealous side of him that marked the beginning of the end for the two of you.
"He means well," you offer, taking a sip of your tea. "Sam, I mean."
"You know, I don't think I ever heard that story," Bucky prompts, taking the spoon out of his mug and placing it on the table.
"And what story is that?"
"How you and Sam met," he clarifies, taking a drink of his coffee.
You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head slightly. "It's not that good of a story."
"Really?" His eyebrows furrow as he puts the mug back down on the table. "Seems like the two of you've known each other forever."
"Certainly feels like it," you wryly agree. You take a large gulp of air before finally answering Bucky's question. "Sam knew my brother. They served together."
"Your brother? Do I know him?"
"Um, no," you breathlessly laugh, a remorseful smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "My brother was his partner, Riley."
"Oh," Bucky exhales. He remembers seeing the picture of Riley in Sam's apartment. He also remembers how he'd asked Sam about the man and then the following story about the loss of Sam's partner. "I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't know."
"It's alright," you assure him. "Sam's always sort of looked out for me, especially when I told him I was moving to New York. Which is probably why he lured us both here under false pretenses."
"Ah," Bucky audibly nods. "Makes sense."
"So what about you?"
"My friend, Steve, introduced the two of us," Bucky explains. "They met at the VA and now they drag me down there a few times a month. I tend to keep to myself. They don't let me."
"Yeah, that sounds like Sam," you chuckle. "And how did you meet Steve?"
From there the conversation flowed with a natural ease as though you'd been life-long friends rather than two people duped into being here by a mutual friend.
And even though both of your mugs are mostly empty and cold, the plates only left with crumbs and pastry scraps, neither of you want or are ready to leave.
"Any pets?" you ask, finally your turn in your little game of twenty questions.
"1, actually," he beams, showing you the picture on his phone's lock screen of a tiny little white cat. You coo, turning your head in adoration at the adorable cat. "Alpine, rescued her off the street."
"And an animal lover," you praise. "Anything else I should know? Do you read to the elderly in your spare time too?"
"Hmm..." Bucky hums, a light blush painting his cheeks, unused to the feeling of someone speaking his praises so easily. "I'd answer, but it's actually my turn."
"Better make it a good one," you tease.
"Pineapple on pizza?" Bucky prompts with a smirk and raised eyebrow. "I'm a New Yorker, this is a deal breaker to me."
"I think," you start, pausing for a moment for dramatic effect, "We should be more worried about the people that put anchovies on pizza."
Bucky throws his head back laughing like a little kid. He nods, a wide grin on his face. "That's a very good answer."
"Music?" you quickly ask.
"Mhh..." he hums, visibly mulling over your question with pursed lips. "Little bit of everything."
"No!" you playfully exclaim, leaning closer to him over the table. "That's a cop out."
"It's not a cop out! I do listen to a little bit of everything," he humorously insists, now resting both his elbows on the table.
"Yeah, okay," you scoff, teasingly rolling your eyes. "What'd you listen to last?"
He leans closer to you over the table as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, the first time he's actually unlocked it since he called Sam earlier. He looks down at the screen, then back at you, then back at the screen. His eyes flicker back to you over the screen with a crooked grin. "You sure you want to know?"
"Try me."
"James Taylor."
"No shit," you laugh. He scoffs with an indignant look on his face. You shake your head, pulling your phone out of your bag to show him the screen of your last played song. Coincidentally, also James Taylor. "I've got an entire collection of records at home."
"Impressive," he praises with a commending nod. "My Ma has this crazy bookshelf filled with records, so many hidden gems in there. I may or may not have smuggled a few into my apartment."
You chuckle at his joke, clearing your throat before asking him another question, "Are you close with your family?"
He enthusiastically nods. "With my mom and sister mostly. She's still down in Brooklyn, so I see her pretty often. You?"
You remorsefully shrug. "After Riley died, we all sort of went our own ways, you know?"
"Oh." Bucky offers an apologetic smile. The entire time you'd been sitting with Bucky, your fingers had slowly creeped closer to the center of the wooden table. Unbeknownst to you, Bucky's hand had slowly inched his way to the center too. Without his typical hesitation, his warm fingers slightly graze yours in comfort. "I'm sorry."
You smile at the feeling of his fingers interlocking with yours. You nod, fully resting your hand in Bucky's."It's alright. They're all still back home, and I see them when we can, you know?"
"What about your worst date?" he asks, changing the subject to something that feels more appropriate for the afternoon you're sharing.
"Oh!" you immediately respond, silently thanking Bucky for not lingering on such a somber topic. "That's easy, it was actually the first date I went on when I moved to New York. This guy in my building asked me out and told me he knew where to find the best pizza in the city."
"And you believed him?" Bucky guffaws.
"It gets worse. We go on this date. And it's going fine, he takes me to this really nice Italian restaurant when I'm in like a dress and jean jacket. Waiter comes out and he orders for me!" Bucky dramatically winces, and you continue recounting the story, "I take one bite of this pizza and to this day, I swear there was cardboard underneath that cheese."
"Oh my God!" Bucky snickers. "That's awful."
"But it gets worse!" you humorously exclaim. "I choke down a few bites while this guy goes to town like he's never eaten before. End of the night, he pulls the 'I forgot my wallet' routine. I never spoke to him again."
"Would this be a bad time to tell you I forgot my wallet?" Bucky teases.
"Very funny," you sarcastically laugh.
"Lucky for you, I do actually know where to get the best slice in the city," he proudly informs you.
You raise a challenging eyebrow at him. "Do you now?"
"I do. Trick is to avoid any fancy places and go straight to a hole in the wall where they yell your order back at you. I'll take you some time. It'll be our second date."
You coyly smile, looking down at the empty coffee mug in front of you. "There's going to be a second date?"
"I really hope so."
"I'll tell you what, if the pizza's good, there'll be a third one too."
A wide grins grows on Bucky's face. "You've got yourself a deal."
But anymore plans can be made or flirty quips exchanged, the same barista from earlier approaches your table, their bored expression now morphed into seething annoyance. "We're going to have to ask you two to leave. We're closed."
You're slightly startled, you both were supposed to meet Sam at 10:00. You both also arrived almost 10 minutes early. Surely, you didn't just spend 6 hours getting lost in conversation with Bucky? "I thought you guys closed at 4:00?"
"Yeah, it's 4:15, ma'am," the barista drolls, eyes flickering up to the clock sitting on the back wall.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you begin to profusely apologize, reaching behind you for your purse.
Bucky stops you, standing up and pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. "I got it."
"No, you don't have to-"
"Please?" he asks, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.
Instead of arguing with him, you smile, "Thank you."
His wallet in hand, he pauses to look at you with a warm smile. Though you were frantic only moments ago, you can feel yourself getting lost in his blue eyes. "You're welcome."
"Ahem," the barista pointedly clears their throat.
"Right," Bucky jolts, tearing his eyes away from you.
You quickly grab your jacket and your bag off the chair, shrugging it on. By the time you've buttoned your coat, Bucky's pulling on his own jacket as the two of you are shooed outside.
"I can't believe we just got kicked out," you laugh, the cold breezing darkening your cheeks even more.
"I can actually say that has never happened to me," he laughs, the two of you stopping on the sidewalk in front of the cafe.
"I'm gonna have to find a new coffee shop now," you joke, nudging your head toward the disgruntled worker aggressively flipping the open sign over. "Or come back and leave them one hell of a tip."
And then it's quiet.
You've always liked this neighborhood, scenic, quaint, and quiet. It feels a bit like a sappy Hallmark movie, the orange leaves slowly filter down. Bucky's flushed face watching you as you watch him. Aside from the few stray pedestrians, it feels like it's just you and him.
A million questions run through your head. And though you know you've got a particular penchant for overthinking, you can't bring yourself to stop because you really don't want to mess this up.
The lapse in conversation is slightly awkward, not an uncomfortable awkward, but a first date, getting butterflies in your stomach awkward. You both wait a moment, trying to discern if the other is going to make the next move, or if you should part ways now.
You decide to be brave and take that first step.
"I'm just a few blocks that way," you tell him, jutting your thumb in the direction of your apartment. "Would you maybe want to walk-"
"Okay, I'm sorry, I have to confess," Bucky abruptly interrupts, a guilty expression painting his face.
And your stomach drops when you hear those words. This entire time, he seemed like such a good guy, but of course there's a catch. He's probably married and will swear to you that he's leaving his wife. Or maybe he wants you to join his cult or something.
And then he begins his long rambling confession, "Sam did answer the phone earlier. I'm sorry- I just, I felt weird lying about it, but he sort of admitted to trying to set us up. He's been telling me for months that I needed to get out there and I saw you and Sam knew that I sort of had a crush on you, but you were with someone and then he told me when you guys broke up that I should go for it, but I said no that I should wait, and you were here and I just-"
He falters mid-sentence when he sees an unreadable expression on your face. Your eyes are a little wide, head slightly ajar as you wait for him to finish.
Though you feared he was going to divulge a terrible, dark secret. His rambling, apologetic confession makes him just a little bit more charming. You look at his endearingly flustered expression and his frantic gestures as he tries to explain away his actions with a raised eyebrow. "You?"
"I am so sorry. You probably think I some creep who lured you here," he mutters, more to himself than to you. When he speaks again this time, it's with an apologetic tone directed at you, "I should probably go now. Again, I'm really sorry."
And for the first time in a long time, you don't find yourself overthinking your words. After spending eight months thinking all love did was break, burn, and end, for once, you simply act. As he turns to walk away, you call after him. "But how will I know where to meet you next time?"
He falters, turning around with a confused, furrowed look on his face. "Next time?"
"Best pizza in New York remember?"
His mouth slightly opens in shock. It takes him a second to remind himself to close him mouth before a warm smile slowly grows on his face.
But on a Wednesday in a cafe, you watched it begin again...