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DAY 21
It had been a week since Honey had kicked Steve out of her apartment.
The entire ordeal was rather vexatious because she had no way of contacting him - she didn't know his phone number, his address, his anything. It was slightly troubling that she hadn't strangely ran into him again, all her mind could worry about was the fear that perhaps he had taken her words to the extreme. What if he had made his mind up that day to never speak to Honey again?
He technically didn't have a reason to talk to her again.
And Honey didn't have a logical reason as to why she felt upset that she might never speak to Steve Rogers again.
Sloshing the dirty dishes around in the soapy water that filled the sink in the kitchen of the coffee shop, Honey let out an exasperated sigh, pursing her lips as she wondered if it was possible to switch off the thought creating part of the brain. It was wholly exhausting to battle with your conscious as much as she did nowadays.
"Honey, you have someone up front asking for you," Harry called from the doorway that separated the cafe from the back kitchen, disappearing again as quickly as he had appeared.
Blowing the couple of dark strands out of her face, Honey whisked her hands from the water to dry them off on a hand towel as she made her way towards the front. As she bumped the door open with her hip while she wiped the soapy residue from her fingers, she almost had a full fledged heart attack when she peeked up to see Steve standing near the swinging door that led behind the counters.
His dirty blonde hair was pushed back behind his ears as usual, except one strand had separated from the rest, falling down around his left eyebrow. His blue eyes held no sense of frustration or anger like they usually did, this time, they seemed calm - patient, even. But that wasn't what made Honey freeze in her tracks, no, Steve just had to be wearing the tightest, long-sleeve button up she had ever seen. The sleeves were rolled up to the middle of his forearm, the top two buttons unfastened in the front of his chest, his muscles in view for the entire world to see.
"Hello," he said awkwardly, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets.
Honey blinked rapidly at his normal greeting, the thought that an alien had possibly taken over his body flashing through her mind before she cleared her throat nervously. "Hi."
"I'm an asshole." His voice sounded very strained as he spoke, like it physically harmed him to say those words out loud.
"W-what?"
And just like that, after a whopping five seconds of uniformity, Honey could sense the annoyance creeping back into his orbs. She had to admit that she never expected to have even five seconds without him being peeved towards her at all, so she brushed it off as she waited for him to respond.
"I was wondering if we could talk," Steve explained quietly, his voice getting lower as he glanced around to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation.
Honey's eyebrows knitted together arbitrarily, using her tongue to wet her bottom lip that had begun to feel dry from all of her mouth breathing. "I'm working."
Steve's blue eyes darted down to her lips briefly before he looked back up to meet her brown ones once more. "After," he blurted quickly. "We could talk after."
Maybe she had accidentally, magically fallen into the soapy dish water earlier and drowned, maybe she was dead right now, maybe she was in heaven or having a fever dream. All of these thoughts circulated through Honey's mind as she gawked in Steve's direction, completely dumbfounded that he was saying these things to her.
"S-sure," she squeaked, fumbling with the ends of the sleeves of her brown cardigan, pulling them down over her hands as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "We can talk after."
"Okay."
And with that, he was twirling around on his heel and exiting the cafe before Honey could even form a coherent thought. Had that really just happened?
Shaking her head in an attempt to regain her bearings, Honey caught Harry staring over at her with a raised eyebrow. The look in his eyes spoke volumes, he was wondering the exact same thing as her, what the hell was that?
"Shut it, Harry," she warned playfully, pointing at him as she backed up towards the kitchen door to hide away from the world while she recuperated.
"I didn't say nothing," he denied, his Boston accent lacing his voice now, as he held his hands up defensively.
To say that the next three hours until closing went by slow would be the understatement of the year. It felt beyond slow, like an eternity had passed before she was allowed to beat it out of there. Ten o'clock didn't get there nearly as quickly as she was hoping, but she wasted no time flinging off her apron and zipping out of the entrance when the time came - only to receive another knowing look from Harry, who ran his fingers over his mouth and pretended to lock it at the very end.
When all she saw was her trusty, yellow bicycle the moment she had practically ran outside - her heart felt like it was sinking into the depths of her soul.
But it was brought back to life the second her eyes caught a flash of yellow coming from the tiny basket that hung from the front of the bike. Speed-walking closer, she noticed that it was a small sticky note with an address written on it and the words "to talk" at the very bottom.
Honey needed to carry around a defibrillator for her poor heart.
