It’s just past the morning rush, early enough that Steve’s hands haven’t quite settled yet and he’s still relishing the lull. He’s closest to the register when the guy comes in, so it’s natural enough to step sideways, pick up the pen, and raise his eyes to the guy approaching the counter.
"Hi," Steve says. "Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?" He adds a little actual warmth to his smile. This guy is pretty: blue eyes and black hair, just long enough that Steve sort of wants to run his fingers through it, and — stop it Rogers, you’re working. Jeeze.
The guy’s cheeks are pink, which is achingly adorable. Cutie raises one hand in a little side-to-side wave, and extends a note with the other.
"Hi," the note reads in even, neat handwriting. "Can I have a tall latte, whole milk, no room? For James. Thanks."
Dare? Steve wonders. Cute-pink-cheeks — James? — looks slightly too old for it, but okay. It’s not like one of the more obnoxious pranks that sometimes throws him off his stride during the rush hours.
So Steve recites the order back to confirm, straight faced. The guy nods, cheeks still pink, and swaps the note for his credit card. “Sure thing,” Steve says. His hands deal reflexively with the order while he scans for accomplices snickering behind their hands. Nothing obvious. Cute-pink-cheeks takes his cup and waves again. “You’re welcome,” Steve replies. Cutie smiles, a tiny bashful quirk of his lips that manages to go all the way to his eyes, and walks out alone. Not a dare then.
Steve shrugs it off, does a last scan for customers, and starts in on refreshing the pots.
Tuesday he has off, and then Wednesday he’s back behind the counter, tidying after the rush hour when James comes in again.
"Oh, hey," Steve stammers, verbally stumbling into ordering mode, because Nat has up and vanished from the register. James doesn’t seem to mind, he’s still pink-cheeked enough for both of them, apparently. "One tall latte, right?" Steve says.
James nods, but he opens the note and scribbles at the bottom “For here. Thanks.”
"Working?" Steve nods to the laptop slung over James’s shoulder. James nods, and mimes being crushed under an alarming weight. Steve laughs: "Want me to add an extra shot?" James nods again, and flashes a grateful smile.
James takes his cup, raises it in a little salute of thanks, and heads for a table.
"Oh, my,” Nat murmurs, reappearing to bump Steve’s hip.
"Shut up," Steve mutters. "It’s not like that."
Nat chuckles. “Exhibit A: he came in yesterday, exact same time, and he totally looked for you. Exhibit B: he didn’t blush that prettily when I served him, trust me.”
"Shut uu-up,” Steve sings under his breath, and Nat laughs.
It might not ‘be like that’, but Steve still finds himself watching the door next morning. James is right on schedule (as much as four days can be called a schedule), laptop over one shoulder, note in hand. The queue between the two of them takes forever.
They exchange greeting-smiles, and James passes over the note again: James is crossed out, and ‘Bucky’ has been added in its place.
"Bucky to your friends?" Steve guesses. He really likes the pleased grin that James — Bucky — flashes him. Bucky gestures at him, a question in a raised eyebrow.
"Who am I?" Steve echoes. Bucky nods. Steve’s wearing his name badge, and he fucking loves Bucky in that moment. Because the boss isn’t in sight, and because Steve never does things by half, he sticks out his hand. "I’m Steve," he says. Bucky very seriously takes Steve’s hand and shakes — his grip is warm and firm, and that grin is still dancing around his blue eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Bucky," Steve says, and he means it.
He doesn’t have to actually watch what he’s doing to make the order, so he watches Bucky in his peripheral vision instead. Bucky takes out his pad, scrawls something across it. He’s blushing again, and this time he bites his lip, which is enough to make Steve almost miss the pour. Bucky frowns at the pad, crosses something out and tries again. Steve passes the drink over, and Bucky offers him the notepad in exchange.
”Want to get a coffee not-coffee, sometime?”
"Yes," Steve says, and his laugh is giddy even to his own ears. "Yes, I’d love to get a not-coffee with you."