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tteotlma · 21 days ago

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Sugar and Skin

2. Second Impressions || Previous - Next

a simple favor for Steve leads to an unexpected second encounter and a lingering trace of powdered sugar that's harder to ignore than it should be.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (3.9kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers. a/n: NOTE!!! If u see "{{...}}" then that means i think u can skip it and be fine. and i think i finally decided on a weekly schedule.

“White chocolate macchiato?” Bucky called out as he pushed the glass door open with his back, swinging around to face an empty storefront.

“Don’t judge!” He heard from the back room, as he set the bag and cup on the counter.

“Never pegged you for the type.” Bucky smirked, watching his best friend practically float towards the pastry on the counter. He watched in bewilderment as Steve tore the bag open and took an enormous bite.

“Yeah well, how many years has it been?” Steve asked with a mouth full of bread, crumbs of almond slipping from his lips. Bucky didn’t say anything. Steve took a swig of the hot coffee and melted into the seat beside him.

“It’s like Christmas in a cup.” He held the cup with both hands to his chest, a dopey grin plastered on his face. Again, Bucky just stared.

“Listen, you may not get it but once you actually slow down you start to find things you never even knew you could enjoy.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t say anything.” Bucky held his hands up in defense as he leaned across the counter.

“You didn’t have to, I know that look on your face.”

“Just never thought I’d see you practically jizz in your pants over a cup of coffee, and a danish.” Bucky jabbed at the blonde in front of him.

He watched as Steve stilled in his throat before groaning, dragging a hand down his face as he shook his head. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“And you’re apparently unpredictable,” Bucky shot back, slouching against the counter with a smirk. “White chocolate macchiato? Really? Who are you, Steven?”

Steve glared at him, from the corner of his eye. Eyebrows furrowed.

“Just never thought I’d see you practically cum in your pants over a cup of coffee and a bear claw, is all Stevie,” Bucky quipped, emphasizing the name as he rocked forward against the counter, arms crossed.

Steve froze mid-sip, his eyes narrowing slightly before he set the cup down with exaggerated care. “Guess you met Y/N,” he said, his tone casual, though there was an edge of something unspoken.

“Y/N,” Bucky repeated, testing the name as he tilted his head, studying him. “That the baker?”

Steve nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. She runs the café with this guy Sam. They’re partners. She handles the baking and the day-to-day stuff; he’s the coffee guy.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, tutting his jaw forward. “Didn’t realize you were so invested in her business model, Steven.” He continues to study his face, resting his leather padded elbows against the granite.

Steve gave him a dry look, shaking his head. “They’re good people, Buck. Been going there for years since before this place opened up. Y/N’s always just somehow been there for me. You know how it is—some people just stick.”

Bucky just stared. He locked eyes with Steve, and watched as the jewelry attached to the end of his eyebrow quirked up as he silently questioned him.

“What’s the big deal anyway? Why do you even care?” Steve finally blurted out, his fingers crinkled the paper bag in his hands, signalling that not only he was getting irritated but that Bucky was behaving strangely. He stepped back, and blinked.

“Nothing—I don’t care—just didn’t expect you to have something like that going on,” Bucky said, his voice quieter now, though his words still carried a pointed edge. He put his hands against the counter, studying Steve’s reaction.

Steve blinked, his head tilting slightly as if trying to figure out what Bucky wasn’t saying. “Something like what?” he asked, his tone casual, but his gaze sharp.

Bucky hesitated for a beat, his jaw working as he tried to shrug it off. “I don’t know,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the coffee cup. “This whole… thing. The bear claws, the macchiato, the… normalcy.”

Steve’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, his tongue brushing lightly over the ring adorning his lip, though a slight furrow creased his brow. “It’s not a thing, Buck. She’s a friend—a good one. Don’t make it weird.” He took another swig of his sweet drink.

“I’m not making it weird,” Bucky shot back quickly, his voice defensive. He shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable under Steve’s gaze. “Just didn’t peg you for it, that’s all.”

“For what?” Steve pressed, leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowing.

Bucky straightened, his smirk returning though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “For someone who’s got his coffee order memorized by a baker, Steve. That’s all.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re reading way too much into this,” he said, but there was something unspoken in his tone, something that made Bucky’s jaw tighten again.

“Maybe,” Bucky muttered, pushing off the counter as he adjusted his stance.

The sound of the door swinging open cut through the moment, the brass bell bouncing sharply against the frame. Bucky glanced toward the entrance, catching the figure stepping inside, but his attention quickly shifted back to Steve.

Steve’s gaze flickered to the newcomer, then back to Bucky. He squinted slightly, as if assessing something unspoken, before pushing himself up from the chair. Grabbing the remains of the danish, he took one last bite before tossing it casually onto the desk. Without another word, he moved to greet the client, leaving Bucky standing there, the earlier conversation still hanging heavily in the air.

“But it’s still a hell of a danish, apparently,” Bucky muttered under his breath, his eyes flickering to the discarded pastry before walking towards the back office.

Bucky lingered by the doorway, watching as Steve greeted the newcomer with that same easy grin he gave everyone. The client, a guy in his early twenties, handed over a folded piece of paper—probably some Pinterest-inspired design that would drive Steve nuts later.

Steve took the paper with a nod, already slipping into professional mode, but Bucky’s thoughts stayed stuck on their earlier conversation. The weight of Steve’s words hung in the back of his mind.

He leaned against the office door frame, absently running his thumb along a faint tear in the leather of his jacket. It wasn’t the baker herself that was bothering him, he told himself—it was the way Steve had talked about her. Like she was more than just someone who made a good danish.

Bucky huffed quietly, glancing toward the counter where Steve was already sketching something out for the kid. He tried to brush it off, but the thought lingered, like a splinter under his skin.

Pushing off the doorframe, he headed toward the back. He didn’t need to stay and hear more—it wasn’t his business anyway. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

—

{{As you threw your head back to laugh at a joke Sam had suddenly thrown out, the bell above the door jingled lightly catching your attention. You glanced up just in time to see him—the man in the leather jacket—pushing the door open, stepping into the cool afternoon air.

Your gaze lingered briefly, watching as he walked past the window, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the chill. There was something about the way he moved—deliberate, careful, like he didn’t quite belong here.

Sam’s voice cut through the café’s hum as he leaned against the counter, watching the door swing shut behind the man in the leather jacket. “What was his deal?”

You looked away from the window, your brow furrowing. “Who?”

He gestured toward the door with a sharp nod. “Steve’s “friend”. Looked like he was ready to bolt the second he walked in.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you placed loose napkins back in their holder. “Maybe he’s just not an outside person.”

Sam scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Right. Like that explains the way he was looking at you.”

That made you pause, your hand hovering over the counter as you turned to him. “Looking at me? He wasn’t—”

“He was,” Sam interrupted, his tone flat but edged with something harder. “Like he was trying to figure you out or something.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as you turned back to your work. “You’re imagining things. He didn’t even say more than a few words to me.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t looking,” Sam muttered under his breath, the smirk tugging at his lips doing little to mask the irritation in his voice.

Your lips pressed together as you glanced toward the counter, catching Peter juggling cups and fumbling with the register, his expression one of barely concealed panic. You exhaled sharply and jutted your chin toward him. “I think Peter needs your help,” you said, keeping your tone casual, but the shift was deliberate.

As the café settled back into its usual rhythm, you found yourself distracted, your hands working on autopilot as you adjusted the remaining pastries in the display. It wasn’t like you to dwell on customers—especially not ones who had barely spoken a word to you—but something about him stuck.

It had to be the contrast, you decided. Steve was always so easygoing, the kind of guy who fit in anywhere, his warm demeanor making even the busiest days feel manageable. But his friend? He couldn’t have been more different if he tried.

Where Steve carried himself with an open confidence, the man in the leather jacket had felt... closed off. He hadn’t looked uncomfortable, exactly, but there had been something guarded about him. Like he didn’t belong here and was painfully aware of it.

You shook your head, brushing the thought away as you wiped your hands on your apron. That’s all it is, you told yourself. The difference has you caught off guard, that’s all.

Still, as you moved to refill the sugar containers, you couldn’t shake the image of him standing at the counter, his quiet presence somehow filling the space. You huffed softly to yourself, determined to let it go. You had more important things to think about than some friend of Steve’s who probably wasn’t planning on sticking around anyway.}}

“Please, please, please.” You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes, biting your cheek to keep from smiling.

“Steven, I have a shop to run.” You said, switching the “open” sign to “closed” after locking the double doors.

“It’s Wednesday. You guys close early on Wednesdays—Please.” Steve begged over the phone, his tone dripping with exaggerated desperation.

“I already did you a favor by ordering the books for you, and now—“

“I’ll owe you one.”

“That’s what you said last time,” You deadpanned, switching the phone to speaker, so you could begin counting the money in the register.

“And I still mean it. Just add this to the tab,” He said, his obnoxious smirk practically audible through the phone.

“Fine, Rogers you win.” You scoffed, reaching for your phone “I’ll stop by when I’m done.” You hung up and pocketed your phone with a sigh.

“You headin’ over to Steve’s place?” A voice behind you asked, making you jump.

“Sam, you scared me,” you said, counting the last of the dollar bills in your hand before compiling it into a neat pile and handing it off to your colleague. “And yes. I have to drop off that box over there.” You nodded toward a medium sized box on a folding chair in the corner of the back room.

Sam swiftly took the stack from your hand and switched spots with you. “And he couldn’t come because?”

“Said something about back-to-back bookings,” you replied, standing off to the side and wiping the counter for any remaining crumbs.

“You think his friend is gonna be there?”

You paused, your movements halting mid-swipe. “I-I don’t know—” The sudden stutter caught you off guard, and you tensed. “What’s with all these questions anyway?” you added, more annoyed than curious.

“Nothing, just…I can take it if you want.” Sam said, slipping some money into a plastic bag and putting the rest in the register before shutting it with a soft click.

“Oh,” you said, feeling silly for your earlier outburst. “Thanks, but that’s okay. There’s some stuff I have to talk to Steve about anyway.” Was that a lie? Sam looked at you. Crap. It was.

———

The entire walk there, you wracked your brain trying to think of anything you actually needed to talk to Steve about. The books were already paid for, and the pastries were an afterthought—a gesture more for your own sense of courtesy than anything else. There wasn’t anything urgent, not really.

If you were being honest, Sam could’ve just as easily dropped the box off himself if you’d let him.

You adjusted the boxes in your arms, and the purse on your shoulder, feeling the rough edge of the worn cardboard dig lightly into your palm. The other box, filled with leftover pastries from the café, teetered slightly on top as you shifted your grip.

The early afternoon sun filtered through the trees lining the sidewalk, casting dappled shadows that danced at your feet. The air was crisp but not biting, a faint breeze carrying the warm scents of bistros and freshly fallen leaves. It was a pleasant enough walk, you supposed, though you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you were overthinking it.

Maybe it was Sam’s question that had thrown you off. Or maybe it was the memory of Steve’s friend—the man with the leather jacket and the sharp blue eyes. The way he’d lingered at the counter, quiet and guarded, but somehow impossible to ignore.

You exhaled, shaking your head as if to dislodge the thought.

It doesn’t matter, you told yourself firmly. You’re just doing Steve a favor. That’s it.

Still, as you neared the shop, you shifted the boxes in your hands again, noticing the faint warmth building against your palms. The moisture made the edges of the cardboard feel slicker than they should have, and you tightened your grip to steady them.

When you reached the door, you nudged it open with your back, the faint chime of the bell ringing overhead as you stepped inside.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the tattoo machine in the distance.

You looked around the small tattoo parlor, the black furniture standing out in contrast to the white walls. More stuff had been added since the last time you’d stopped by—large and small plants now decorated the interior, their vibrant greens softening the otherwise sharp and minimalistic space. A new piece of art hung on the far wall, bold lines and intricate designs that drew your attention for a moment before your gaze shifted.

The space felt more lived-in now, more personal, like it wasn’t just a shop but a place someone cared for. The faint hum of the tattoo machine came from one of the rooms in the back, mingling with the subtle scent of antiseptic and something faintly woodsy, maybe a candle burning somewhere out of sight.

“Steven?” you called again, balancing the boxes in your hands as you glanced toward the counter.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be tied up with a client, but the shop felt quieter than usual. Setting the boxes down carefully on the counter, you adjusted the pastry box to the side before looking around again.

“Steve?” you called again, your voice louder this time as you leaned slightly over the counter, scanning the back area.

The faint hum of a tattoo machine that buzzed steadily suddenly stopped in the back room, but no one answered. You sighed, stepping back and glancing around the shop once more, your eyes lingering on the plants and new art pieces scattered throughout.

The soft creak of a door caught your attention, and you turned just as someone stepped out from the back.

It wasn’t Steve.

Your breath hitched briefly when you recognized him—the man from the café. Except this time there was no leather jacket adorning his figure, he wasn’t wearing it, just a black t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. His sharp blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

“Oh,” you said finally, trying to mask your surprise. “I thought Steven would be here.”

“He had to step out.”

You nodded, pursing your lips as you glanced toward the counter. “I just brought some stuff for him,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the boxes. “Books he ordered. And some leftover pastries from this morning.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward the counter before returning to you. “I’ll make sure he gets them.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, brushing your hands off on your jeans, though they weren’t dusty. The silence stretched for a moment, the faint echo of the tattoo machine still lingering in the air. You shifted slightly, glancing toward the box of pastries before blurting out, “You… can help yourself too… if you want.”

His brow arched slightly, his sharp blue eyes holding yours for just a second longer than you expected. “Appreciate it,” he said simply, his tone even, though you thought you caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze.

You felt your cheeks warm, and your hand drifted to the seam on the side of your jeans, fidgeting with the fabric as though it might keep you steady.

He didn’t move from where he stood, leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. His steady gaze made your fingers itch, and your nail dragged against the denim fabric audibly now.

That’s when you noticed the black latex glove on his left hand, the stark contrast of it catching your eye. His arm, adorned with intricate tattoos you hadn’t noticed before, drew your attention—the sharp lines and shading that curved around his forearm and bicep were as striking as they were detailed.

When he crossed his arms, the movement only emphasized the muscles beneath the ink, the casual strength in his stance making it hard to look away.

“You’re Steve’s friend, right?” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. You’re startled by your own voice, and for a moment you wondered why you hadn’t just left right then and there.

He didn’t answer right away. His head tilted just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was deciding whether or not to engage. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate.

Silence stretched between you again, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. You nodded as you shifted your weight. “Well... I should get going,” you murmured, your tone quieter now. “Just let Steven know I stopped by.”

You turned, ready to make your exit, when his voice cut through the stillness.

“Bucky.”

The name came softly, but it carried weight, stopping you mid-step. You froze for a moment before turning back, your brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

His arms were still crossed, the black latex glove on his left hand catching your eye again as he adjusted his stance. “My name,” he said, the words simple but steady. “It’s Bucky.”

“Oh,” you said, feeling the word catch awkwardly in your throat. You glanced at him, searching his face for a moment, then straightened slightly. “Nice to meet you... Bucky.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile but close enough to make your chest feel a little tight. “And you are?”

You hesitated for a second before giving him your name, the sound of it hanging awkwardly between you as you watched for a reaction.

“Y/N,” he repeated, the weight of your name on his lips making your cheeks flush. Before you could respond, Steve’s voice rang out from the back.

“Hey, glad you made it!”

You turned to see him emerging from the back room, wiping his hands on a rag, his grin easy and familiar. “Y/N, can you bring the books back to my room? I just need to finish cleaning my station.”

“Sure thing,” you replied quickly, eager for something to busy yourself with.

“And Buck, mind ringing up this guy while I handle things over here?” Steve added, gesturing toward the lone customer waiting at the counter.

“Got it,” Bucky replied simply, stepping aside to let you pass.

As you moved toward the back room, you felt his gaze linger a little too long, the weight of it brushing against your skin in a way that made your steps falter slightly. You didn’t look back, though the heat crawling up your neck made you wish you had.

Bucky’s focus only shifted when Steve cleared his throat, nodding toward the counter. His sharp gaze flicked toward Steve, a quick, pointed look passing between them, before he turned to handle the transaction, his movements deliberate but unhurried.

You stepped into the back room, the soft scuff of your shoes blending with the faint hum of the tattoo machine in the distance. Steve was already moving to clear off a cluttered table, his grin easy as ever.

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, nodding toward the box of books you carried.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, setting the box down carefully. “Though you might want to remember I’ve been keeping track, and it looks like you’ll be paying me back for the rest of your life.”

Steve let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You’re relentless.”

You smirked. “And you’re lucky I’m nice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he teased, pushing off the doorframe. “Thanks again, Y/N. Seriously.”

His sincerity caught you slightly off guard, but you brushed it off with a shrug. “No problem, Stevie.”

He raised his hand, palm out, and you met it halfway with an easy high five, your fingers curling briefly around his in a quick dap before you stepped back with a small smile. “See you later,” he said with a grin as you turned toward the doorway.

Pausing just before stepping out, you peeked your head into the front room, your eyes scanning the space. The customer was gone, and so was Bucky. The faint creak of the office door swinging shut must’ve been him slipping into the other room.

Relieved, you stepped fully into the front of the shop, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you made your way to the front. Walking past the counter you caught sight of the pastry box slightly skewed with the lid ajar, the faintest crack catching your attention. Frowning, you reached out to fix it, fingers brushing over the edge as you led it back into place. That’s when you noticed it—a missing pastry.

Your hand stilled, your pulse quickening despite yourself. Powdered sugar clung to the rim of the cardboard box, and littered the counter surface, a subtle, almost careless trace left behind.

Your chest tightened, a flicker of heat creeping up your neck. It could’ve been the customer... but your mind stubbornly circled back to someone else. You shook your head, brushing the thought away as you made sure you had your things. The stillness of the space was broken by the low hum of the tattoo machine, its steady buzz filling the air once more.

The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped out into the cool air, the lingering warmth of the shop clinging to you. Even as you walked down the street, the faint image of sharp blue eyes and a missing pastry hovered in your mind, refusing to fade completely.

----

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tteotlma · 13 days ago

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Sugar and Skin

3. Subtle Connections || Previous

a quiet morning shifts as an unexpected request and a teasing confession leaves you with more questions than answers.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.5wc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of smoking, implied deception a/n: this is definitely a filler chapter rn but i think im finally getting the ball moving! as always im open to suggestions and ideas

Your fingers worked methodically across the counter, muscle memory guiding the rag over scattered crumbs and coffee rings. The morning rush had left its usual aftermath of scattered napkins, and spent sugar packets littered across table tops. You could feel the tension slowly unknotting from your shoulders as the cafe settled into its familiar mid-morning quiet.

Then you saw him.

First it was his shadow, moving across the sunlit rectangles on your checkered floor. Then leather—dark and worn in all the right places—as Bucky passed by the store windows. His head was ducked slightly, hands buried deep in his pockets. The cherry of a cigarette glowed between his lips as he exhaled, smoke curling around his profile in the morning light. You watched, hand frozen mid-wipe, as he paused just past the window, taking in another long drag that hollowed his cheeks.

Your breath caught when he turned toward the door, and casually flicked the butt in the outdoor ashtray.

You turned so quickly your elbow caught the edge of the counter, sending a sharp sting through your arm as you collided directly into Sam’s chest. The to-go cup in his hand tilted dangerously, lid threatening to pop off.

“Woah, earth the Y/N!” His free hand steadied your shoulder, coffee miraculously staying contained.

“O-oh, sorry, I–” The bell above the door cut you off, its gentle chime making you lose your train of thought. You felt Sam’s grip on your shoulder tighten slightly before letting go.

“Oh,” was all he said, but you saw the way his jaw clicked shut, the subtle shift in his stance too obvious to ignore. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything though, keeping your eyes fixed on the counter as the scent of lingering smoke drifted through the space behind you.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught your attention.

"Morning." Bucky's voice was rough, still carrying traces of smoke, and you forced yourself to turn around. The movement made your arm throb where you'd hit it, a dull reminder of your graceless panic moments ago.

He stood closer than you expected, enough that you had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze. The scent of smoke clung to his leather jacket, mixing with something else—maybe sandalwood, or pine—that made your head swim slightly. Your eyes caught on a small tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt, dark lines disappearing beneath the fabric in a way that made your throat go dry.

Before you could speak Sam’s voice broke the tension, startling you slightly. “Morning. Picking up for Steve?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward him, then landed back on you briefly before he gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

You both watched as Sam turned away, leaving the two of you alone.

You swallowed, quickly turning back to the counter and reaching for the small box already prepared with Steve’s name on it. Your fingers felt clumsier than usual, the weight of Bucky’s presence pulling at your senses.

Sliding the box across the counter, you noticed his eyes had shifted to the little display atop it—a small chalkboard perched against a tiny stand, the handwriting on it a messy scrawl. His brow furrowed slightly as he tilted his head, clearly trying to make sense of the text.

“Oh,” you blurted, breaking the silence. “Um, Peter likes to do the boards.” Your voice carried a nervous edge, words tumbling out faster than intended, and you hoped he couldn't tell. “They’re not always the most… legible, but he’s...passionate about it.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, one brow raising slightly. You shifted, brushing your hands against your hips as you continued, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “He’s actually gotten better, though. Since he started doing it every day.”

“Every day?” His voice was low, curious, and it took you a moment to realize he was responding.

You blinked, nodding quickly. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” You gestured vaguely toward the case, your hand brushing against the edge of the counter. “I try to make a different pastry every day.”

His gaze followed your gesture to the display case, where today's pastries sat under the soft morning light. Something in his expression shifted, but before you could place it, the sound of the kitchen door swinging open made you both straighten slightly.

"That's... ambitious," he said after a moment, his voice quieter than before. The word hung between you, carrying a weight that made your fingers twist in the fabric of your apron.

For a beat, neither of you moved. Then, he nodded toward the case. "Think Steve would want one of those?"

Your brows knit together briefly. "He hasn't mentioned it, but... maybe."

Bucky's lips twitched, the smallest hint of a grin. "Add it to his order. Just in case."

You hesitated, something about the request stirring your curiosity, but you nodded and moved to grab one. As you placed the pastry in a small bag, you could feel his eyes on you, the air thick with something unspoken.

He pulled out his wallet, but you shook your head quickly. "Steve's good for it." The words came out softer than intended.

His eyes met yours for a brief moment before dropping to where your hands were carefully folding the top of the bag. He nodded, a short, quick movement, the morning light catching the sharp line of his jaw.

"Thanks." He gathered both bags, his fingers brushing against the counter where yours had been moments before. You watched as he turned to leave, the bell above the door chiming softly as he disappeared into the morning light.

Sam's presence materialized beside you, his arms crossed. "Since when does Steve get extras?"

You kept your eyes on the window, where Bucky's shadow was already fading from view. "Maybe he's branching out."

The look Sam gave you said he wasn't buying it, but you busied yourself with straightening the display case, pretending not to notice. The lingering scent of smoke and sandalwood (or was it pine?) drifted away as the morning lull continued on.

—

Later that day, as the sun dipped low and cast long shadows across the café, you wiped down the last of the tables. The bell above the door jingled, pulling your attention from your work. Without glancing up, you called out, "We're actually closed."

"Even for me?" Steve's familiar voice carried warmth, and you couldn't help but smile.

"Especially for you," you teased, finally looking up and gesturing to him in. "What brings you by?"

Steve strode in with a relaxed air, his eyes sweeping the quiet, dim space. "Just wanted to see how everything's going. Looks like you've been keeping the place in top shape."

"Thanks," you said, moving back behind the counter. "Just finishing up for the day."

He leaned casually against the counter, watching you as you straightened the last few items. "Actually, I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in catering an event. We're putting something together to celebrate the store finally coming together. And I thought you guys would be a perfect addition, considering our friendship and whatnot."

"Friendship? I thought this was strictly a transactional thing," you said, your tone laced with feigned indifference.

He put his hand to his chest, and collapsed dramatically against the display, "You wound me."

"I'm obviously kidding," You swiped him with the dry towel in your hand. Your heart lifted at his suggestion right away, a spark of excitement igniting. "I'd obviously love to help. That sounds great!"

Steve lifeted his head off the glass and his smile widened. "Perfect. I'll send you the details soon."

You nodded, a thought suddenly surfacing. "You know, that's actually perfect timing, considering Bucky brought you a different pastry today."

Steve's brow furrowed slightly. "What pastry?"

"The croissant," you said, watching him carefully. "You know, the one Bucky brought you this morning."

Steve's expression flickered with a hint of confusion before he quickly covered it up. "Oh, right. The hazelnut one."

You tilted your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips. "What? Raspberry."

"Riiiight, raspberry. That's what I said." He gave a quick nod, brushing it off. "Slip of the tongue." He shrugged, waving his hand in the air.

The evening light caught a gleam in his eye, and you felt a sudden warmth creep up your neck. You narrowed your gaze at the blonde in front of you.

"Well," Steve pushed off from the counter, that insufferable grin still plastered on his face. "I should get going. I'll text you about the event."

You nodded, eyes not leaving his face. "Yeah, sounds good." You turned your attention towards the register, grabbing the rolls of coins.

Steve paused at the door, his hand resting on the handle. He turned back, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Actually, now that I think about it," he began, his voice laced with amusement, "I don't think I did get an extra pastry today."

You blinked, the weight of his words not quite hitting. "Sorry?"

He gave a light snicker, shaking his head. "Never mind. Gotta go." With a quick salute, he slipped out the door, leaving the bell to jingle softly in his wake.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door as it swung shut behind him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you replayed the morning’s events, the lingering looks, the quiet pauses, and now this—this small, unspoken something Steve seemed to know about but wasn’t saying.

With a soft exhale, you shook your head and returned to your work, though the warmth lingering in your chest wasn’t so easy to brush away.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway as the last rays of sunlight stretched across your checkered floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you recalled the way Bucky's broad shadow danced across the tiles.

The thought made something flutter in your chest, but you pushed it away quickly, turning back to your closing duties with renewed focus. Still, as you moved through the quiet café, you couldn't quite fight the small smile that kept trying to surface.

The windows had turned to mirrors in the fading light, reflecting your movement as you went through the familiar motions of shutting down for the night. The hum of the fridge filled the silence, joined by the soft clink of mugs being stacked and the faint rustle of the pastry bag you tied up for tomorrow’s batch.

But your mind wandered, unbidden, back to Steve’s words—and more so, to the subtle curve of Bucky’s lips when he’d asked about the pastry. You tried to convince yourself it was nothing, just a friendly gesture. Still, the memory clung stubbornly, threading through the quiet like the scent of coffee and sugar that still lingered in the air.

As you wiped down the last of the tables, your gaze flickered toward the display case one last time, catching the faint reflection of yourself in the glass. The café felt too still, too calm, and your mind too loud. You sighed softly, shaking your head as if to dislodge the thought, and flipped the switch, plunging the room into a soft shadow.

Stepping toward the door, you turned the lock with a satisfying click. The bell didn’t jingle this time, its usual cheer subdued as you pushed the door open and stepped outside. The cool evening air swept over your skin, grounding you, though the warmth lingering in your chest was harder to ignore.

—

a/n: again just a filler chapter but i think i know where this is going from here huhuhu~ please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

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