James Bucky Barnes, the former soldier, doesn't think he's got any gentleness left in him. But Grace Juniper Cunningham, the former child prodigy, strongly disagrees.
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"𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯."
"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴�...
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Tony took me to one of those coffee shops where the cups came with saucers and they made foam designs in the lattes. It wasn't his usual scene—he probably thought I would like it. There were house plants everywhere, and they had on the kind of soft, acoustic music that Tony used to complain about when I'd play it in the lab.
He signed some autographs, and I took pictures with strangers' phones as they posed with him. We were urged to the front of the line to order, and I wondered when the last time Tony had ever had to wait in a line was.
Being with Tony in public was a different world from being out by myself. He had his own gravity. New York City orbited him.
"He even smells expensive," A woman commented to me as I handed her phone back to her. She was right; whatever cologne Tony was wearing was probably the cost of my rent.
"He bathes in money," I told her. "Gold coins. Like Scrooge McDuck."
"Oh my god," she mouthed as she walked away.
"Did I just hear you tell that woman I bathe in gold coins?" Tony asked me as we picked up our orders.
"Don't you?"
"No. I have bathed in champagne, though."
"Gross," I said. "I thought that was just something people said."
"It's a thing. People do it."
"Don't you get sticky?"
"Well, you have to take a real bath after."
"Then what's the point?"
"If you don't understand, I can't explain it to you."
"Uh, okay."
"You never told me why the hell you went off with Barnes," he said as we sat down. "I'm going to pretend for my own sake that it was to pray together, seeing as how it was a Sunday morning and all."
"He's letting me keep a plant at his apartment. For the light."
He wrinkled his nose. "He's trying to sleep with you."
"Yeah," I said dreamily, propping an elbow onto the table and leaning my face onto my palm.
"You could do better. The last time he touched a woman was probably a murder."
"Don't," I said, humor fading.
"Gracie, there's no way he wants the same things you want."
"What do you think I want? How would you know?"
"You want a man with weird social skills to declare his love for you in the rain on the English countryside while you're both in Regency clothes."
