Chapter Text
She was there at the same time every week. Come rain or shine, every Thursday at 2pm she would come through the library doors and whatever the weather she seemed to bring sunlight with her. Steve could have set his watch by her visits. In a metaphorical sense he did; he went out of his way to make sure he was always working that shift, even if it meant begging or bribing the other librarians to swap with him.
Sure enough, when he heard the creak of the doors opening and glanced at his watch it was 2pm exactly. On time, as she always was. He took a breath, despite knowing he’d lose it as soon as he turned around, straightened his shirt and looked over at her.
Her dark hair was windswept, a few stray strands teased out of place and clinging to the bright red lipstick that was so often in his thoughts. Matching spots of red had been whipped into her cheeks by the breeze, and her dark eyes were bright.
“Hello, Steve.” She smiled, and Steve was reminded why Thursday was his favourite day of the week.
“Peggy,” he replied, enjoying the intimacy of her nickname on his tongue. Until two weeks ago, when he had finally worked up the courage to speak to her, he had only known her as Carter, Margaret, from her library card.
He had finally managed to say more than “Good day”, and “Here you go”, when she checked out a John le Carré novel, right after returning The Thirty Nine Steps. Seeing the common theme, the words tumbled out. “You like spy novels?”
He hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, but just to file it away as another piece of information about her; like the way she favoured clothes that were colourful but not too bright, simply cut but elegant, or how she would run her fingers over the book spines as she was trying to decide. Once it was out, though, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
Peggy had tilted her head to one side, mouth curling just slightly, like she was enjoying a private secret. “Sometimes. You have any recommendations?”
“I, uh …” Realising he now had to come up with a response had thrown him, but he had managed to gathered his ragged thoughts. “I don’t know a lot of spy novels, but I remember enjoying The Quiet American.”
“I’ll have to give it a go, ahhh …” Her eyes had flicked down to his name tag, which read only S. Rogers. “Mr. Rogers.”
“Steve,” he had said, holding out her book.
Their fingers had only just brushed as she took it, but it was like electricity shooting up his arm. “Peggy.”
Now, coming over to the counter, Peggy reached into her bag and pulled out The Quiet American. She had checked it out the previous week as promised, and Steve was surprised now how nervous he was to see if she had enjoyed it.
“It was very good,” she said, and relief almost made his shoulders sag. “Any other books you want to recommend?”
Steve thought rapidly, not an easy task when she was gazing up at him like that. “Do they have to be spy novels?”
She looked amused and shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Well … my favourite book growing up was Dubliners. James Joyce.”
“I’ll go and look for a copy.” Peggy was halfway towards the shelves when she stopped and called back over her shoulder, “Maybe you can take me out to dinner next week so I can tell you what I thought.”
Steve stared at her for several seconds before he realised she was waiting for an answer, though luckily for him it only made her smile wider. “I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I could do that.”
As far as he was concerned, the week couldn’t go quickly enough.