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“I think he likes you.”
“This again? I literally just woke up, Ma.” Steve sighs as trudges down the flight of stairs that separates their living quarters from the bakery. Swiping the doorway curtain aside, he enters the kitchen, hair still damp from his morning shower.
He squints at the clock mounted on the wall – twenty-five minutes past four. He had rushed to jump in the shower right after he rolled out of bed, and as usual, the cold water had done an excellent job of waking him up.
His mother had probably already started working on the day’s baked goods half an hour before his arrival, always the first to rise and get to work. Steve considers himself a morning person, but even he finds waking up at three-thirty a challenge – something Sarah Rogers does on a daily basis.
Grabbing one of the covered bowls sitting by the kitchen sink, he uncovers its plastic wrap to examine the dough he had left to rise overnight. After confirming that it has risen nicely, he sets the bowl on the kitchen island right across from Sarah.
“I’m just saying. I mean, I’ve been telling you for a couple of weeks now, but after yesterday? It’s unmistakable. He likes you, mo stór.”
“Ma, we’ve been over this. He doesn’t like me that way. He’s just nice like that. He’s nice to everyone.” Steve lathers his hands with soap at the kitchen sink, making sure to clean the spaces between his fingers.
“I think he must’ve stood by the display for about twenty minutes yesterday, just listening to you explain each and every cake and pastry like he’s never heard anything more interesting in his life.”
“He asked about them! He was just curious, that’s all,” Steve rebuts as he wipes his hands dry with a clean cloth. Him liking Tony is one thing, but the thought that Tony could ever return his feelings is . . .
No. He won’t let himself go down that road. That way only lies tears and heartbreak.
His scrawny physique and numerous ailments had managed to successfully ward off everyone he had ever developed feelings for in the past. Steve won’t let himself entertain any delusions that Tony would be any different.
Tony is . . .
With the kind of charming personality he has, his smarts, his dashingly good looks . . .
He could have anyone.
Steve returns to the kitchen island and grabs a handful of flour, sprinkling it lightly on the countertop and spreading it evenly across the cool surface. He feels Sarah’s eyes on him, and a second later she lets out a heavy sigh.
“Mo stór,” she calls softly, “look at me.”
Steve’s eyes stubbornly remain on the dusted countertop for a brief moment, before he finally lifts his head to meet his mother’s gaze.
“You are so handsome, Steven. You’re beautiful inside and out. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”
Steve sighs, something inside him softening at Sarah’s gentle blue eyes.
“You have to say that. You’re my mom.”
“Steve—”
“Ma, I appreciate the thought, but you’re just saying that to make me happy. He’s . . . Look. He’s attractive. Okay? But we get attractive customers all the time. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. He’s just . . . another cute customer. Nothing more.”
“Except you’ve memorized all of his favorites. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you secretly squirreling away a couple of his favorite blueberry donuts every Thursday in case they run out before he visits the bakery.”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut despite himself, his cheeks heating up. “Ma, please—”
“Alright, alright,” Sarah relents. “But remember, mo stór. You are so much more than who you think you are.”
Steve opens his eyes, returning Sarah’s warm gaze with a weak smile. He appreciates his mother’s comforting words, but he’s just been burned too many times before.
“Thanks, Ma.”
Shifting his attention back to his dough, he carefully coaxes it out from the bowl onto the floured countertop.
Baking is good. Baking is comforting. Baking is the one thing he knows.
Pushing all anxiety-inducing stray thoughts away, he empties his mind and lets himself get lost in the familiar motions of shaping dough.
Tony first visited the bakery a few months ago. Upon first sight, Steve didn’t think much of him, dismissing him as a typical businessman who had wandered into the bakery and coffee shop looking for a quick cup of plain black coffee to power through his day.
And at first, he was just that. He had walked up to the counter, greeted Steve with a friendly smile, and ordered a simple black coffee—fitting Steve’s expectations to a tee.
He was handsome, sure, but that was as far as Steve’s thoughts had gone. Human beings naturally gravitate toward beautiful things, so Steve thought nothing of it when his eyes had lingered briefly on Tony’s brown doe eyes or his well-trimmed goatee.
But then came the weeks after.
Steve came to learn that Tony loved to talk. At times, it bordered on oversharing, but over time Steve came to look forward to Tony’s ramblings. He would ask how Steve was doing and then when Steve would return the question, he would answer with a short story about something interesting that had happened that day.
This was how Steve learned that not only was Tony a businessman, he was also an inventor. When he didn’t have meetings to attend or investors to woo, he loved to tinker for hours in his workshop. He built a wide variety of things, from engines to robots.
He was a great storyteller—always very animated and expressive, and Steve found himself very entertained by his anecdotes.
Before long, Steve also began to tell short stories of his own whenever Tony had asked about his day, and soon after they started having short conversations every time they met whenever the bakery wasn’t too busy.
In addition to enjoying his usual cup of black coffee, Tony also started to ask Steve for food or drink recommendations every other week. At first, it started with items off the menu or display, like their caramel frappé—a drink Tony found too sweet—and blueberry donuts—which have since become Tony’s favorite.
After Tony had tried most of their drinks and food items, Steve let him try some of his personal baking projects—unique, one-of-a-kind baked goods that weren't on display or on the menu, like his chocolate espresso babkas or ube cake.
He loved hearing what Tony had to say about his creations, and found himself looking forward to Tony’s thoughts whenever he conducted his baking experiments.
So, he supposes it’s only natural that he ended up developing a crush on Tony.
Most Thursdays, Tony usually enters the bakery wearing a well-pressed suit. These suits are always very well-tailored, accentuating the shape of his body perfectly.
However, Steve gets to understand just how deeply in trouble he is when Tony waltzes into the bakery one Thursday wearing a black tank top and well-worn jeans, his hair messy, a streak of motor oil staining the side of his face, and dark circles under his tired eyes. All of this combined tells a story—this is a Tony fresh out of one of his workshop binges.
He looks like such a mess, but unfortunately Steve still finds the sight of a tired Tony incredibly endearing. Plus, his eyes keep being drawn to Tony’s arms, and—
Steve knew he was in good shape, but woah.
Those arms.
Hours after his encounter with Tired Tony, Bucky finds him sitting on the kitchen floor during his lunch break, back against a cupboard, face in his hands.
“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Bucky says by way of greeting.
“Why were you late?” Steve asks, voice muffled by his hands.
“Had to take Alpine to the vet.”
At this, Steve lifts his head up, eyebrows drawn together. “Is she okay?”
Bucky nods as he ties his apron. “Yeah, she was puking this morning so I figured she might’ve eaten something weird. She’s okay now, I gave her some meds. Last I saw her, she was taking a nap on her cat tree.”
“Oh, glad to hear that.”
“Mm-hmm. Anyway, back to my question: what the fuck’s wrong with you?”
Steve sighs, burying his face in his hands once again.
“Nothing,” he says.
“Ooh, I recognize these symptoms,” Bucky says. “What did Stark do this time?”
Steve groans with his eyes closed, lifting his head and letting it rest against the cupboard behind him. “He wore a tank top. And jeans. And Buck—I didn't know he had arms like that. He had these—these arms.”
“Mm-hm,” Bucky responds absentmindedly. Steve still has his eyes shut, but he hears the sounds of Bucky moving around, preparing baking equipment and materials.
“And like, he came in all tired and sleepy, and his hair was messy and he had this stain on his cheek and he still looked—adorable.” Steve opens his eyes and lets out a hefty sigh. “What do I do, Buck?”
He looks up to find Bucky staring down at him with a grimace that expresses equal parts pity and disgust. “Do you know how exciting it is for me to experience you like this? To find out you can even be more of a pathetic lovesick doofus than you were when you had a crush on Peggy Carter in high school? I didn’t even know that was possible.”
Steve gives him a surly look. “You’re not helping.”
“Well, you’re blocking the cupboard. Move over, dumbass.”
“You’re not sympathetic to my plight,” Steve grumbles, but scoots over as instructed.
Bucky opens the cupboard door and fishes out a bag of powdered sugar. “You’re not sympathetic to my plight. If I don’t have the canelé batter ready by 6 PM, Sarah will kill me.”
Steve frowns. “Ma wouldn’t do that, she loves you.”
“She also loves me more when I get my job done.”
“. . . Fair.”
There is another thing about Tony.
He is on his phone. A lot. Nine times out of ten whenever Steve sees him, he always has a Bluetooth headset in one ear.
That doesn’t bother Steve. He understands that Tony is a busy man, and there are probably important matters that he needs to discuss round-the-clock. He often sees Tony taking calls while standing in line before making his order. Sometimes Steve even catches the tail end of his calls as he’s wrapping them up, just before Tony turns to greet Steve and ask about his day.
Besides the business calls, however, Tony also talks to one specific person quite often. Steve can always tell whenever he is on the call with this person, because the lines of Tony’s face are a lot more relaxed, his lips always on the cusp of curling up into a smile.
Steve thinks his name might be Rhodey, although Tony calls him many things — honeybear, sourpatch, platypus. He has noticed that Tony is quite liberal with his terms of endearment, and Steve just—
Maybe sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be Tony’s honeybear, that’s all.
This week, Tony comes on a Friday instead of a Thursday.
And if that alone isn’t enough of an anomaly, this time, he also comes in accompanied by a handsome man Steve has never seen before. He is about Tony’s height, with dark brown skin, a buzz cut, and broad shoulders.
Steve watches them make light chatter as they stand at the back of the line leading up to the counter, easy smiles on their faces. From this far away, Steve can’t quite make out anything they’re saying, but to anyone who pays attention it is easy to see the easy atmosphere between them — the kind of comfortable air that only comes from knowing each other for years.
At one point, he catches the sight of the man leaning in close to whisper something that is apparently so funny it results in Tony breaking into soft laughter, resting his forehead on the man’s shoulder.
Steve then finds himself having to look away and draw in a fortifying breath to appease the nausea rising within him—out of longing or misguided jealousy, he doesn’t know. Perhaps a combination of both.
He continues stealing glances at Tony and the mysterious man as he serves customer after customer. When they’re almost at the front of the line, however, Tony steps away and heads outside of the bakery to take a call.
Steve takes in the general state of the bakery. The place does seem to be busier than usual.
When the man’s turn comes, Steve can admit to himself that he is more than a little curious about his identity, his eyes constantly cataloging little details to peruse at a later time.
Still, he maintains his professionalism.
“Good morning! Welcome to Rogers Bakery. How can I help you?”
“Morning.” The man gives him a small smile before letting his gaze skitter away to review the food items on display. “Could I please have a slice of the lemon meringue pie?”
“Is that for here or to go?”
“To go, please. And the cookies . . . Which kind would you recommend?”
“Our chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies are best sellers.”
“Mm. I’ll have two of each then. Also, I’d like to have one cappuccino to go.”
“Alright.” Steve enters the information into the cash register before uncapping a marker and grabbing a paper coffee cup. “What name should I write on the cup?”
“Rhodey.”
Steve stills.
Oh. Rhodey. Tony’s Rhodey.
Okay. It’s cool. Everything is fine. Steve can be chill about this.
He can. So he has no idea what comes over him, because as he scribbles ‘Rhodey’ on the cup, his mouth then decides to blurt out:
“And for your boyfriend?”
Rhodey blinks.
Steve freezes, horrified at himself. He begins to feel heat creeping up his face.
“Um. I mean. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just—you said Rhodey. And—Tony’s a regular.” Steve swallows as he nods quickly. “And—a friend. And he mentions your name a lot while on the phone. Sorry—It’s just—You’re—”
Rhodey stares at him.
“You’re Tony’s . . . Rhodey.”
To his relief, Rhodey just huffs an amused smile. There is a flicker of private amusement in his eyes, like he is thinking of an inside joke Steve isn’t in on.
“I suppose I am.”
Steve nods again, a quick jerk of the head. “Right. So . . . Um. Does he want anything?”
Rhodey’s smile then tips into a smirk.
“Yep. The boyfriend wants a cup of plain black coffee and two blueberry donuts.”
“Right.” Steve reaches for another cup and writes Tony’s name on it. He slides the cups over to the side, relaying the drink orders to Nat, their resident barista. “One cappuccino and one plain black.”
“Noted,” Nat calls out distractedly as she steams some milk.
After repeating Rhodey’s order back to him, he processes the payment.
“We’ll call your name when the drinks are ready. Thank you,” Steve says, handing Rhodey his card back along with the receipt.
“Thank you.” Rhodey smirks. “It’s nice to meet you, Steve.”
Steve smiles and hopes that it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Likewise.”
He breathes a sigh of relief when Rhodey saunters away to a table in the corner of the bakery. The man was the last customer in line and Steve is incredibly grateful for the brief respite.
Turning around, he rests his back against the counter and presses the back of his knuckles into his eyes.
“That was a disaster,” Nat sings.
“Shut up,” Steve mumbles weakly.
Nat laughs softly. A short distance away, the espresso machine begins to hum.
“So that’s Rhodey,” Nat muses. “I gotta admit, even I started to wonder what he looked like.”
Steve lets out a noncommittal hum, opening his eyes again and blinking the stars away from his vision. Nat comes up to stand close behind him, and they both quietly observe Rhodey at his table, the man tapping away at his phone.
“He has great shoulders. And arms.” Nat hums appreciatively.
“No need to rub it in, Nat.”
“I’m just saying,” she says, but her playful smirk tells Steve she knows exactly what she is doing.
“I hate you,” Steve calls out as he watches a new customer walk in through the bakery doors, one last retaliation before he has to slip back into his professional persona.
“You love me,” Nat sings back at him.
When Steve finally calls out Rhodey’s name, he’s surprised—okay, and secretly pleased—when Tony ends up being the one to get up and collect their food and drinks.
“Hey. Thanks.” Tony accepts the paper bag filled with baked goods. The two cups of coffee sit between them on the counter, but Tony makes no move to grab them yet.
“You’re welcome.” Steve nods. “There are some tahini cookies in there, too. They’re on the house. In return, just let me know what you think about them next time you come by.”
“Ah! Another baking experiment.” Tony grins, his eyes lighting up with anticipation. “How exciting. I can’t wait to try them.”
“Well, I’ve never worked with tahini before. So maybe don’t expect too much,” Steve says, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.
“I’m sure they’ll taste great, Steve,” Tony says, his smile soft and his eyes are—
Tony should really stop looking at him like that, his gaze impossibly gentle and kind. He never knows what to do when Tony gets all sincere like that. It makes him feel like what he does matters, like he matters.
“Can’t wait to hear your thoughts,” Steve says instead, smiling shakily. Then he clears his throat. “So, I finally met the infamous Rhodey.”
“Yeah.” Tony huffs out a laugh. “That’s him. He flew in a couple days ago for some government business—he’s a colonel in the Air Force—and I’ve just been trying to spend as much time with him as possible while he’s in town.”
He sounds heartbreakingly fond when he talks about Rhodey, and Steve tries his best to swallow his disappointment.
Of course Tony has a boyfriend—a handsome Air Force colonel boyfriend with amazing shoulders. Of course.
It’s not surprising at all, Steve tells himself consolingly. What would be surprising is if Tony were available.
“It must be tough, doing long distance.” He offers Tony a wan smile. “You must miss him a lot.”
“Well, yeah. But as you know we do talk on the phone a lot, and he does fly in every couple of months. I only get him a few days at a time, though. In fact, he has to fly back to DC tomorrow in time for his girlfriend’s birthday. And since today’s his last day here, I figured I just had to take him to my favorite bakery in town before he leaves.”
Steve frowns, his brain stalling on the word ‘girlfriend’.
“His . . . girlfriend? But I thought—Aren’t you two—”
“What?”
“Together?”
“What?”
Steve blinks a few times, taken aback by Tony’s shock and bewilderment. “But I thought—Rhodey said—”
“Rhodey said? What did Rhodey say?” Tony whirls around just in time for Rhodey to quickly avert his gaze, the man hiding a grin against his hand. “That motherfucker.”
“Um—”
“Sorry. That was crass. Listen, just ignore whatever Rhodey said, okay? We—” Tony takes a deep breath. “We are not together. Not like that. He has a girlfriend whom he is very much in love with, and I’m single. And ready to mingle. Or whatever.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Glad we cleared up that misunderstanding. Haha.” Tony grabs a coffee cup in each hand and begins retreating away from the counter. “Thanks again. For the coffee. And the food.”
As Tony walks back to his table, Steve feels the ends of his lips tugging up into a small smile without his permission. Rhodey has a girlfriend. Tony’s single.
He doesn’t even know why this new piece of information makes him so happy. It’s not like Tony would ever like him back, but still—he can’t quite wipe the smile off his own face.
Steve is still in the middle of processing everything when he notices Tony walking back up to the pick-up counter, this time sans the paper bag and cups of coffee. A quick glance to his and Rhodey’s table, and Steve finds Rhodey staring back at him, the man smiling around the rim of his coffee cup as he takes a sip.
He quickly averts his gaze, addressing Tony who is once again standing before him.
“Tony? Did you forget something?”
“Ah. Uh. Not . . . exactly,” Tony says, wringing his fingers and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “It’s just that—I’m single.”
“Yes, you’ve made that very clear.”
“And I just figured since I’m single . . . I was wondering if you would like to get coffee with me sometime? If you’re single, that is. And! If you’re willing, of course.”
Steve stares at him with wide eyes.
“Not here. Someplace else. Someplace nice. Not that this place isn’t nice—it is, it really is, it is my favorite bakery after all—but I just figured your workplace wouldn’t be the ideal location for a date, and—”
“A date?” Steve asks, and he sounds breathless even to his own ears. His heart is pounding in his chest.
“Yes, a date. If you want—”
His breathing turns shallow, breath coming out in short pants. Tony stops mid-speech, concern etched into his facial features.
“Hey, are you okay—”
Steve starts to feel around the pockets of his pants before finally fishing out his inhaler. With practiced ease, he removes the mouthpiece and shakes the inhaler before bringing it to his mouth and breathing in deeply, pressing down on the canister. His other hand grips the edge of the counter to stabilize himself.
“Um—Oh God. Oh my God. Are you okay?” Tony leans close, hand reaching out like he wants to touch Steve to comfort him but hovering awkwardly in midair like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. “Listen—It was just a suggestion, you don’t have to—”
Steve curls his fingers around Tony’s forearm instead.
“I want to,” Steve says in between inhales. “The date. I want to go on a date. With you.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s great. That’s . . . awesome.” A slow, hesitant smile blooms on Tony’s face. “But are you really okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I was just—Overwhelmed.” Steve takes another inhale. “You make me nervous. And excited. Mostly excited.”
“You make me nervous too. And excited.” Then, for a split second, Tony’s smile turns lewd and mischievous. “And maybe if the date goes well, we can find new ways to . . . excite each other. If you know what I mean.”
He wiggles his eyebrows, and Steve can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he looks.
“Yeah.” Steve nods, eyes flicking between Tony’s honey brown eyes and the wet sheen of his lips. “Maybe.”
“Okay. So how does this weekend sound? Saturday? I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Y-yeah. Sure.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
“Oh, and one last thing before I go?”
Steve’s eyes widen as Tony leans in real close. He feels his heartbeat ringing in his ears as Tony raises a hand to caress a line across his cheekbone with the side of his thumb.
It comes away white.
“Flour. On your cheek,” Tony whispers, and Steve can feel his breath against his own lips, a brief puff of warm air there and gone in a split second. Then he pulls back and flashes a grin that makes Steve weak in the knees, the tightness in his chest having nothing to do with his asthma. “See you on Saturday.”
As Tony walks back toward his table, Steve turns around, closing his eyes.
“Nat,” he says through gritted teeth, the back of his neck heating up, “tell me that streak of flour hasn’t been there this whole time.”
“That streak of flour hasn’t been there this whole time,” she recites verbatim, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“You are a terrible, terrible person.” Steve sighs.
“You’re welcome.”