Recipe for Romance: A Bucky Barnes Story

12: Netflix and Not-So-Chill

           

A/N: This is the first of the two chapters I took from this story and adapted to be in my imagines book. While pretty much the same, it has some more story-specific dialogue and a bit of character development.

-Winnie

"Done."

I tiredly throw the dirtied rag into the wash bin. I step away from the sink and turn to lean against it—tilting my head to the metal ceiling of the kitchen with a lengthy sigh. A quick peek at my wristwatch (a gift from my sister in law) proves it to be eight pm. I've been cleaning at the restaurant for hours now. It's still open, of course, but my shift has gone much too long over. I should've been back at home at the tower hours ago.

I quickly throw off my apron and hat before hastily leaving the restaurant through the back door. Outside the air is brisk and ridiculously cold. I have to dig around my bag for the yellow scarf before finding it. Then I loop it over my neck and above the collar of the thick coat I wear. It's a twenty minute walk home, which isn't bad considering that it's a forty minute drive in all the traffic.

Friday takes me to my room first. The room is dark until I step inside and then it all glows a soft yellow-white. It smells like maple syrup and coffee beans in here. It's certainly the smell of home.

"Friday; is anyone using the Common Room TV?" I garble aloud around a mouthful of chocolate truffle that's been left on the counter. I'm slowly making my way through the box of European treats Tony gave me. I have to make them last, though. Who knows when the next time I'll get to eat something so perfect will be?

"No, Miss Sadie. The Common is free for you to use."

Pleased, I skip to my closet. Amongst all the coats and jeans I find something cozier to wear—a pair of yoga pants and an Oregon State sweatshirt.

My phone rings and for a moment I'm worried it'll be Dupont telling me to come back to the restaurant because I've done something wrong. I think I may have to call Steve to have him come hold me back from killing the stupid Chef if that's the case.

Thank God that it's not. It's my mother who's texted. She's the sweetest little thing you could ever meet. She's telling me about her day and expects I'll do the same in return. So I message her back; making sure to leave out the parts about Dupont being an ass. The more I complain, the more she worries.

It's not long until I've managed to make my way downstairs into the Common. Friday wasn't lying—it's an empty room.

"Don't mind if I do," I mutter to myself. I plop down onto one of the couches and then find the remote between two of the cushions.

I'm all bundled up on the big couch downstairs with a bowl of popcorn and the lights dimmed low. A content sigh slips from my parted lips. After a long day this is all I can imagine myself doing. I'm snuggled in the middle of the sofa with pillows all around and blankets wrapped over my shoulders. It's a cold January night to say the very least. Even with efficient heating I've managed to catch a chill. In Friday's defense though, I most likely caught Jack Frost's bite on my walk home from work rather than in the warmth of her Stark Tower walls.

"Well don't you look cozy," Captain America can be heart chittering. He makes his way into the kitchen which is just behind me. Apparently the Common is to be shared, after all. I try not to be annoyed as I find company.

"I am rather cozy, thank you very much." I take a handful of popcorn before craning my neck back to see him, Sam Wilson, and James Buchanan Barnes waltzing into the common space. "And what are you three doing down here?"