Chapter Text
Steve exhaled deeply, a small cloud of warm breath forming in front of him. He always forgot how cold New York could be in the winter. It was like the warm summer melted away past memories of freezing fingers, numb toes and wet slushy snow.
He glanced at his watch, picking up the pace as he passed a group of tourists snapping photos of a church across the street. They were huddled together, like penguins, shielding each other from the cold wind that blew down the street, whirling around snowflakes and brown leaves.
Of all the days they could have done maintenance on the subway, it had to be today. And of all the days he had to refuse Tony’s offer of borrowing his chauffeur, it had to be today. If he missed putting in this order at the bakery, he was sure they’d had to argue about later.
He frowned as he imagined Tony declaring that this was one of the many reasons their marriage hadn’t worked out (as if he needed to be reminded), and that if he had just taken the offer to borrow the chauffeur, the ‘no cake for their kid’s birthday’ situation could have been avoided altogether. Granted, it was all true, but Steve didn’t like to argue over things he could not change. He didn’t like to argue at all really, yet still he had found himself doing a lot of that lately. The holidays were always stressful. Shared custody, Tony’s working hours and a birthday on top of it, making it a logistic nightmare.
“Why’d you have to be born in the most stressful week of the whole year Jonathan,” Steve mumbled to himself, earning him a concerned look from an older lady in a big fluffy fur coat, passing him by. He turned to explain to her, but stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted the bakery.
It was so small; he’d almost missed it. The façade was a creamy white, painted vines framing the single window and the door. Above it hang a rustic sign reading ‘Bucks Baking Paradise’. Steve let out a small laugh and wondered why anyone would name their shop that.
*
Steve pushed the door open, slowly, the ringing of a bell announcing his presence in the empty shop. He stepped inside, a warm smell of sugar and flour reaching his nose as he wiped his boots carefully on the mat placed right inside the door. It had the shop logo printed on it, swirly letters spelling out the shop name. He was sure the owner lost a bet to pick a name that tacky.
The inside of the shop had a homey feel to it, soft green colored walls and dark wooden panels. There were a few small tables in the corner, chairs placed upside down clearly indicating the shop was at least close to closing time. On the walls hang small paintings and a few framed newspaper clippings, no doubt reviews.
“Hey, I’m sorry but I’m just closing up, so-,“ a voice started from the backroom door opening. It came to a halt as Steve turned, his eyes meeting a broad muscular man, roughly his own age and with the bluest eyes Steve had ever seen. The man’s dark brown hair was tied back in a tangled bun, he had flour and purple frosting smeared on the front of his t-shirt and, truth be told, did not look like a baker at all.
“Oh, yeah, um sorry,” Steve said, taking a step back towards the door as he gestured with his hand, “The door was open so I didn’t know if…” his voice trailed off as the man behind the counter gave him a kind smile.
“No no, it’s alright, I must have forgotten to lock up. And it’s not that I don’t want to sell you anything,” he took a step out into the room and gestured towards the empty shelves, “it’s just that I have nothing left to sell today.”
“Right,” Steve replied, turned to leave, but hesitated, “Actually, I’m just here to order a cake for my son’s birthday, all the other shops were already booked and I’m getting a little desperate,” he laughed nervously, “but I completely understand if-“
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the man cut him off, the smile on his lips mirrored in his eyes. He stepped back behind the counter and pulled out a piece of paper, “when do you need it for?”
“A week from now, uhm, the 27th,” Steve said and gave the baker a meek smile. There was no way he’d agree to do it with such short notice.
The baker’s eyes widened briefly and then he chuckled.
“Well, I can see why you’ve had trouble finding someone to make it for you. December is a busy month.“
Steve just nodded.
“Luckily it’s just a few locals who’s ordered from me so far, don’t think the rest of New York have discovered me yet, so I can squeeze you in, no problem,” the baker continued as he leaned on the counter, “so what are you thinking of? I’m afraid I don’t have any tasting samples, but I make a pretty mean chocolate cake.”
“I’ve got direct orders,” Steve said with a broad smile as he dug out a crumpled note from his pocket and looked it over, “doesn’t say anything about flavors I’m afraid, Jack cares more about the outside of the cake, but chocolate sounds great,” Steve squinted to read his sons handwriting, “do you think you could make something with dinosaurs, a lot of glitter and the color orange?”
Steve stepped closer, placing the note on the counter for the baker to see. Jack had drawn a few sample dinosaurs on it, some of them a little smudged with coffee stains. The baker grabbed the note, glancing at the artwork with a genuinely interested look.
“Got yourself a little artist there I see,” he said, “or are these your doing?”
The baker looked up at Steve through dark lashes and Steve felt the heat spreading on his cheeks.
“Oh, uhm, I do draw. Or paint actually,” he mumbled in response, “but no, these are not my dinosaurs. I do more abstract painting these days,” Steve added with a shy smile.
“Well, your son clearly has the hang of it. I hope I can do his drawings justice.”
Steve just nodded, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. Silence fell between them as the baker scribbled things down on the order slip.
“So,” the baker finally said, “a chocolate flavored cake with an orange frosting, lots of dinosaurs and glitter. And what name should I put it under?”
“Rogers, um, Steve. Steve Rogers,” Steve said, now digging through his pockets to find his wallet, “but, I might not be the one picking it up, might be Jack’s other dad, erh, my ex, Tony,” he added, cursing himself for the unnecessary information. He quickly glanced at the other man, looking for signs of resentment or confusion, but he was still smiling widely, blue eyes friendly, clearly unaffected by the situation that was Steve’s family.
“Sounds great Steve,” the baker said, straightening up and sticking the pen behind his ear, “and don’t worry about the pickup, I’ll just write both of your names just in case I’m not around when you come to pick it up.”
“Right,” Steve said, fumbling with his wallet, “so, how much will this dinosaur chocolate glitter thing cost me?”
“60.”
Steve pulled out a few notes and laid them on the counter. He’d probably have to talk to Tony about the budget for this birthday. Between this and Christmas, the current rate he was selling paintings at just wouldn’t cut it. He sighed loudly enough for the baker to notice, his blue eyes worrying as he reached out for the note and scribbled on it.
“So, Steve, I’m just gonna give you my number, in case the birthday boy changes his mind about caring what’s on the inside,” he said, giving the note back to Steve with a heartfelt smile, “or if you know, anything else should happen.”
Steve took it, giving an absentminded nod, as his brain rummaging over finances. He was halfway out the door when his brain finally caught up with him. He turned, shooting the baker a warm smile.
“Thank you, uhm, for this. For letting me order, even though you had closed up,” he said, watching the bakers bright blue eyes light up, “you really did save my day. Or my week actually.”
The baker nodded, returning the smile. Steve couldn’t help but stare into his eyes, feeling that heat creep back on his cheeks again.
“Don’t worry about it, Steve, this month is hard on anyone. Birthday or no birthday. I’m just happy I could help,” the baker said, starting to untie his apron, “I’m Bucky, by the way. And, uh, I really did mean it. You can just call.”
“Thank you, Bucky,” Steve said, gripping the door handle again, but feeling himself unable to tear his eyes away from Bucky. They just stared at each other, Steve noticing a faint blush spreading on Bucky’s cheeks.
“Erh, well, I better go. I have to finish some paintings,” Steve finally managed to say. He pulled the door open, looking back at Bucky.
“Sure. I’ll see you around,” Bucky looked down at his hands, fiddling with the bundled up apron in front of him, then back up, “Happy holidays, Steve.”