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[buckets-and-trees]

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It makes my heart SO HAPPY to read that it made your breath catch! Nothing could be more exciting! I'm so glad you're along for this series' journey, Missy!

Bucky and the Brief Brush

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 1298 Summary: The bonding that can happen over books is something that cannot be underestimated.

Warnings: Slow burn

Additional Notes: Follow up to Bucky and the Books; part of The Brooklyn Boys drabble series.

He comes every Monday morning, then later in the week on Thursday or Friday, that’s the pattern that has developed.

“Do you do anything but read, Barnes?”

“You know I’m on a mission.”

“The 80 best books from the last 80 years list that I have many qualms with.”

“I’m no quitter.”

You smirk. “You’re such a nerd.”

He scoffs. “Of the two of us, who owns a bookshop?”

“You at this point, right? Where are you even keeping all your books?”

His jaw lifts just slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Actually, you would… the professional side of you is curious, but so is the part of you that finds every new bit of information about this man more fascinating than you should.

“You better be treating them right, Barnes.”

He scoffs again, but this time in mock offense. “They are more than well taken care of.”

You finally let a grin split across your face, and he smiles back.

That smile melts you every time, and it seems to be coming more often and more easily with each visit to your shop.

After his first few visits, you build up enough credibility that he’s willing to buy essentially everything in the stack of books you curate for him between visits when he walks in, but you always insist on hearing his thoughts about the books he’s just read before you finalize the stack, sitting across from each other at any of the cozy tables in the café and bakery side of the shop, you making mental notes of any additions or alterations.

You talk about how much you hate that he gets to read Harry Potter all at once when you had to wait for years. This time you’ll be sending him away with the sixth book in the series – one of your favorites. Over the weeks, you’ve discovered that he loves fiction and non-fiction, just as you do, but he gravitates away from history books, preferring niche topical explorations and memoirs over biographies. You imagine that has to do with his own complicated relationship to time passing – in more ways than one – there’s the years he missed, the historical events he was part of that you think he’d like to avoid to a point, but you think he also gravitates to the niche and the memoir because they’re so robustly tied to elements of life. He was held hostage in sleep and missions for seventy years; getting to live a life now, it makes sense that he wants to indulge in the particular rather than the abstract.

And then there are the books on his list. It’s a fine enough list, but you have your disagreements over what was and was not included for some of the years. As much as you love when you connect over books you love, the way he can get carried away tearing a book apart when he does not like one of the reads is irresistible. He vacillates between short abrupt statements and impassioned tirades. The way Bucky can go from few words to a fountain of words is fascinating to you.

He's always mindful of your time though, and you’ve noticed he seems to time how long he’ll stay based off how long it takes for you to drink your tea or coffee. Sometimes he finishes his as well, sometimes he takes it with him. In the beginning you would order a small cup, but now that you know you’ll enjoy the time, you order the extra-large iced tea (you don’t need to overload on the caffeine with the largest coffee).

In addition to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, you’re sending him away this time with The Help and The Hidden Life of Trees. You went with a few H’s this time around. From his list, he’s fetched Atonement and All the Pretty Horses. It’s going to be an interesting collection of reading, to be sure, and so you pull one more book you’d gone back and forth on to complete the pile as you ring him up.

You found out when he was here last that he has a cat, and it made you think of a very niche book, making it the last in the stack you have for him today. You hold it up, and the look he gives you can only be described as a quizzical grin.

“Julia’s Cats?”

“Yes.”

“Ring it up then.”

You scan the barcode on the back of the book and then tell him the total. He taps his phone to the card reader while you smile down at the image of Julia Child and the orange cat on her lap that adorns the cover of the small hardback.  

“I just,” you trail off for a moment, and you skim your fingers over the spine of the book as you slip it into the tote bag (from your shop) that Bucky returns with each time. “Some books suck you in, but this one just wraps you up in, oh, I don’t know… non-invasive longing? It makes me want to pick up and move to France with my own Paul, dote on a cat, cook, and simply enjoy a perfect glass of wine every night for the rest of my life.”

“That sounds idyllic,” he says quietly.

As he reaches for the bag, his fingers brush over yours. You don’t move, or you can’t move, you’re not sure which it is, but the warm touch has you frozen. Finally, you raise your eyes to look at him. You clock the upturn of his lips in a tender smile a split second before he looks up as well, and then suddenly he blinks, his mouth drops open as if to say something, but then he closes it, and pulls the bag away, breaking contact.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says in a rush, turning away, and he’s out of the shop in less than two seconds.

You are left both flustered and frustrated, the fluttering you’d felt a moment before abruptly flattening with his hasty exit.

You decide to busy yourself with reorganizing some of the books in the children’s section to take your mind off that strange ending – and to avoid Greg, who has been keeping close tabs on Bucky’s visits whenever they coincide with his shifts.

Greg is not able to hide his smirk when you can’t avoid the office and him anymore.

You sink down into one of the chairs in the small shared office. “Just say it.”

“You say it,” he says, the smirk turning into a full but warm grin. “You like him.”

You huff impatiently. “I guess. Bucky is clever and challenging and fun.”

“And handsome. I’d switch teams for him.”

You laugh openly. “There’s no denying he is quite the specimen.”

“He’s your textbook tall, dark, and handsome, practically pulled straight from the description of almost every fictional man you’ve ever swooned over.”

“Are you speaking generally or specifically about my taste in fictional men? Should I feel attacked right now? I feel like I should feel attacked, but also, I’m not ashamed. I know I have a thing for tall, dark, and handsome – never denied it.”

“Well, I ‘ship it.”

“Stop! There’s nothing to ‘ship!”

“The hell there’s not!”

“He bolted when our hands brushed!”

Greg laughs. “Exactly! He’ll be back for more.”

“Greg!” You cover your face. “I can’t do this!”

“A developing friendship laced with a touch of longing: you know the trope as well as I do. Slow burn, big pay off.”

He winks and then slips out of the office.

This was fine. You were fine. It didn’t need to be romance. In fact, it really shouldn’t be romance. Friendship was fine. You needed it to stay friendship.

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