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Humming, Steve let the savory flavors of the warm herbs and kick of cayenne settle on his tongue. Combined with the splash of cream to offset the bitterness of the dark roast and the pinch of cane sugar to sweeten it all on the back end, it was the perfect end-of-day coffee.
Upon swallowing, his shoulders dropped from his ears as the warmth curled in his stomach. It was a nice change from the bitter cold still stinging his cheeks as they continued to thaw beneath the soft, gold glow of the metal geometric pendant light hanging over his table.
The Cozy Café was only a few blocks away from work, but the cold made it feel like a rigorous trek. Throw in the passersby that tended not to budge from their paths, throwing well-worn stinky eyes when their shoulders bumped and tourists out and about admiring the holiday decorations displayed in store windows, Steve may as well have been swimming upstream against a current.
Thankfully Bucky had the coffee waiting for him when he arrived. Steve had lifted his hand in greeting and Bucky jerked his chin upwards. In the middle of a conversation with a dark-haired woman with deep dimples, Steve didn’t want to interrupt.
She always arrived in her pink scrubs, always ordered the same meal, always had a smile for Bucky. He never gave her any indication if he noticed, keeping their conversations short while not brushing off her need to decompress from her long day.
It came with the territory of being in a front-facing position.
“You look how I feel.” Bucky’s words were punctuated with the scrape of chair legs on the glossy floor before he dropped down in an unceremonious manner.
“Cold?” Steve offered, lifting the maroon-colored mug up to his mouth. Another sip rewarded him with a gentle hug of warmth.
Bucky snorted, the bun at the back of his head bobbing with the gesture as he crossed his arms. Dots of light bounced off the dark metallics of his vibranium arm. “Completely done.” The stains and creases in his thick apron seemed to prove it. “Long day?”
“Oh, it was a day,” Steve said following a chuckle. “But yours doesn’t seem too rough.” He gestured to the café around him. A man nearby clacked away at his keyboard, stopping every now and then to take a bite of a blueberry scone. Two women chatted quietly in the table by the windows, leaning forward every now and then, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs. An older woman clacked away at her knitting beneath the large photograph of wildflowers blowing in the breeze on a late summer’s day.
“It’s been dead the last couple hours but, believe me, it was hectic this morning.”
Steve waved his hand over the table, giving him the floor. “Do tell.”
“Well, the prospect for our baker position didn’t show up only for his mother to then call and explain he overslept because he stayed up too late playing video games. She wanted to discuss us giving him another chance, yeah,” Bucky said amidst Steve’s laugh of shock. He huffed a long breath and continued, “A customer threw a tantrum because she wanted 1% milk and we didn’t have it; she then proceeded to all but demand we go to the store to get her the milk she wanted and then give her drink for free for the inconvenience. And our dishwasher didn’t read the invoice and now we’re left with about three times more fruit than we needed. You like plums? Because we’re up to our neck in them and it’s all we’ll be eating the next few weeks.”
“T’is the season.” Steve lifted his mug in a cheers gesture. Bucky gave a sarcastic laugh and dragged his human hand over his head, then ran it down his stubble coated mouth and chin. “And anyway, isn’t plum pudding a staple this time of year?”
“Sure, if there were actual plums in plum pudding.” That was news to him. Steve must’ve made a face because Bucky continued, “It’s mostly raisins and other dried fruit, apparently. I had to come up with something to add to the menu so they won’t go to waste.”
The women paused in their conversation as Bucky passed by to reach the counter, eyeing him up and down with appreciative smiles. Cleaning his throat, Steve fiddled with the napkin where a faint brown stain sat in a near perfect circle.
“Plume torte,” Bucky announced, setting the dish in front of him. “It’s my first time trying it so don’t expect them all to look like this.”
“Wow. This is amazing, Buck.” Amazing wasn’t a strong enough word. Steve’s shoulders bumped against the back of the chair, and he breathed out in disbelief.
It belonged on the cover of a magazine. The top glistened with the smattering of sugar crystals forming a crust on top that crunched in a nice way when Steve scraped his fork over it. Beneath the coarse sugar, the torte was a deep golden brown. Plums sat pitted into the surface, gleaming from whatever booze they’d been soaked in. He leaned forward, taking a strong whiff. Cinnamon mixed with citrus zest and something alcoholic, rum he suspected, colliding with the undertones of nutmeg, ginger, and something nutty.
“Did you brown the butter?” He turned the slice this way and that, admiring the crumb structure, the even distribution of the plums, the perfect curve of the crust.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Steve, you don’t have to make a love connection with it.”
Steve shot Bucky a look. “I like to take my time.”
“I’m sure you’re not going to hurt its feelings by diving in one of these days.”
“You took the time to make this,” Steve said slowly, waiting for the words to sink in before he continued. “Others may have no problem digging in, but your work should be appreciated, Buck. I mean look at this.” He gestured to the cake with flat palms. “It’s…a masterpiece.”
“Now you’re laying it on a little thick.” But Steve saw the quirk to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, saw the light of pride in his eyes beneath his nonchalance. He took that as a sign to finally answer his growling stomach and take a bite. “What about you? What made your day such a day?” He used finger quotes; they were accompanied by the light sound of working robotic joints.
Steve held up a finger, taking his time to chew and. Bucky did, in fact, brown the butter, and it helped bring the whole dish together. Was this really the same kid in college who only turned to baking when he was too high and impatient to go to the store for cookies to satisfy the munchies? He had to have taken a crash course in gastronomy when he wasn’t looking. The pairing of the flavors of the cake followed by the coffee? Divine.
Bea, the café’s owner, knew what she was doing when she hired him.
“Where to start,” Steve murmured, leaning back to cross one leg over the other. He ran a hand through his short, cropped hair and stretched his neck. “First of all, I didn’t think a day would come where I’d have to tell a sixty-seven-year-old man he has to wear a shirt in the building.”
Bucky’s jaw slackened, eyes widening. “You’re kidding me.”
“I wish. He kept going on about how he could just zip up his jacket but that still wouldn’t solve the problem because his jacket has seen better days. And his pants were riding so low the ladies at the front desk could’ve filed a sexual harassment claim if they fell any lower.”
“Oh no!” Bucky’s shoulders bounced in a heart laugh despite shoving his hands into his palms. He scrubbed his hands over his face and worked his muscles to keep from smiling too large.
“Mhm.” Steve took another bite; the plum was a pleasant jam-like texture, its sweetness seeping into the cake surrounding it. “We also had a patron who tried to insist the burn marks on a book he returned was there when he checked it out and refused to pay the fines or replace it.”
“Well…” Bucky bobbed his head. “Considering the city seems to be on fire every other month…”
“I could give him the benefit of the doubt if it weren’t for their kid ratting them out.”
Bucky let out a hearty laugh. “Nice.”
“On the other side, we’re this close to finding where that stray dog lives.” Booker, as the staff like to call the beagle, tended to follow patrons inside for pets, attention, and scratches. As much as he appreciated the smiles Booker put on their patrons’ faces and the excited tizzy he put the visiting kids in, they couldn’t let the dog stay inside the building. Every time Steve and his coworkers tried to corral him, he’d run off. Or book it, as it were, because he ran fast and slipped out of their clutches. “And we’ve finally got a call back from the SPCA. Hopefully we’ll get those kittens out the storm drain soon.”
Bucky hummed. “They’re still there?”
“Unfortunately. We’ve had some patrons that have come in stating they’d like to take the kittens themselves, but we’d prefer to go through the right channels to ensure they’re properly cared for. We’re going to start looking for fosters.”
Bucky didn’t say anything. He crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his long legs out beneath the table. Steve kept his gaze steady while reaching for his coffee. They held their staring contest even as Steve emptied the contents of the mug into his mouth. Only when he finally swallowed did Bucky say sternly, “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything, Buck,” Steve said. And it certainly wasn’t like he’d suggested they take in the kittens.
“Still no. Between the two of us”—Bucky wiggled his finger gesturing to them—“we’re barely home long enough to take care of ourselves. We can’t take care of…how many, again?”
“Five.”
“Five kittens.”
Steve twisted his mouth to the side. Bucky’s reaction wasn’t entirely out of left field. He was right, with him tending to work more closing shifts and Bucky’s schedule having recently changed to swing shifts for the season, bringing kittens into the mix wasn’t the best idea.
Which is why he had a better idea. And leading Bucky was a part of it.
“Okay, well…what about Bea? I was thinking, maybe once they’re big enough, they could spend time here.” He wiggled his fork around to encompass the café. The old woman packed her bag and waved at Bucky on her way out.
Bucky’s genial half-smile faded when he turned back to Steve. “You want to turn this place into a cat café?”
“Not specifically, but I don’t think it’d hurt to have them displayed around the shops.” At Bucky’s groan Steve hurried on, “So many people pass by every day, right? Seeing them in the windows could get adoptions facilitated that much quicker.”
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Letting out a soft groan, he shook his head and then looked at Steve through pained eyes. “You’re not gonna let this up, huh?”
“Have you ever known me to?”
Bucky snorted, eyebrows lifting just slightly and he tilted his head back to the ceiling. When he looked down again, his face held resignation. “…I’ll talk to her. But I can’t make any promises.”
Steve held up his hands. “That’s all I ask.”
“Uh-huh. You don’t know how high the price I pay for dealing with your ass.” Bucky pinched a piece of the torte and popped it into his mouth.
Steve pushed the plate towards him. Otherwise, he knew, Bucky wouldn’t give himself permission to taste more of his own creation. “How about I pay you back by helping you finish up closing?”
Bucky lifted a brow. “You just worked a closing shift.”
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“And you want to do more of it?”
“Just tryin’ to give you a hand, Buck.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He pushed away from the table, grimacing when it moved a few inches towards Steve’s chest instead of pushing back his chair. Steve waved him away, putting the table back in place with a light push of his hand. “That Boy Scout act is gonna get old one of these days,” Bucky threw over his shoulder while loosening the ties on his apron. “But since you insist, I may as well put you to work.”