A/N: This is a little spin-off of my other story, Bucky and Pearl, but you don't need to read that to get this. In this, Sam Wilson walks into a restaurant and meets a woman. This is probably going to be four short chapters.
The title is cheesier than a serving platter at a cheese tasting, but I got it in my head and I couldn't get over it, so that's that.
Intro
Sam Wilson is sure there are better ways to spend Wednesday night, than roaming around Brooklyn, looking for a formerly psycho assassin and hoping he happens to be in a good mood, but he's promised Steve not to stop until he's scanned every square foot, trying to find his long lost best friend. So far, he's got nothing except two days worth of footage from the cameras he set up near abandoned buildings and the testimony of a homeless guy, who swears he saw Bucky flying off in a hot air balloon, and the whole endeavour is seeming more and more pointless by the second, but there he is, walking down yet another street that looks exactly like the other five hundred and contains no trace of the mysterious Bucky Barnes.
Rain starts pouring heavily from the sky. Sam swears under his breath and retreats to stand under the awning of what seems to be a bakery and wait it out. He checks his email and sends another status update to Steve, because he wants to be up to date and because Sam enjoys sending blank, useless reports where nothing ever happens, as a way of silently rebelling against Steve's old-school method for finding somebody. They have the cameras, too, and nifty facial-recognisition software scanning around the world, but according to Steve, this is the way to go.
The rain doesn't seem to let up, so Sam looks down the street and spots what seems to be a restaurant. He lifts his Army jacket over his head and runs through the rain. As he opens the heavy, mahogany door, he discovers a small, dimly lit restaurant with small round tables covered in crispy white tablecloths. Heavy red velvet curtains hang around the windows and dark cherry paneling runs across the walls. In the corner, a small dance floor is topped off with an even smaller stage with a live band playing jazz.
The place is packed with couples enjoying a candle-lit meal, so Sam heads for the bar, where he orders a beer. The bartender slides over his drink and places a bowl of peanuts in front of him.
"Thanks, man."
The bartender nods over towards the stage. "Did you come to see the band?"
"The band? No, I just wanted to get out of the rain," Sam says, slightly confused as he looks over his shoulder.
The band, though technically really good, seems just like any other band at any other restaurant, playing the same easy-listening songs they all do, the kind of music that's nice, mellow, but yet, doesn't draw much attention, and Sam wonders if there's something he's not getting.
He digs in his pocket to find his phone. Steve hasn't replied to his email and Sam is just about to call him, mostly just to let him know there's no point in searching in this weather and also to try and convince him to just let the technology work its magic.
Sam's thought process is interrupted as the people around him at the bar begin turning around in their seats, nudging each others arms and just generally focusing their attention towards the stage. The band is playing softly. Sam turns around in his seat to see a young woman walking up the little steps that lead onto the stage. She's wearing a blue halter dress that shows off her shoulders. Her skin is like caramel, the kind that goes on top of an ice cream sundae, and her hair is long and black. It looks like silk running down her back. She's tall, he notices. Taller than the bass player next to her, at least.
She reaches the microphone. A guy next to Sam whistles, making the woman chuckle.
"I haven't even started and already I'm a hit," she says with a smile.
As she starts singing, Sam begins to understand the bartender's question. Her voice sounds kind of like she's been smoking for the past sixty years, which is impossible because she's definitely still in her twenties, but in a beautiful way, without the throat noises and the coughing and the cracking. It's just sort of husky and low and it fills the entire restaurant as she sings something, that sounds like it could have been played at the last dance Steve went to, seventy-something years ago. Sam doesn't recognize the tune. He watches as her full lips wrap around each word, telling a love story from another era, her voice sending shivers down his spine. As a couple reaches the dancefloor, she smiles and gives them a little wink.
As her set progresses, Sam finds himself almost enthralled by her, and he's not the only one. The guy next to him has moved to a table to get closer to the stage, which seems to be annoying the waiters, as it takes him thirty minutes to eat a small basket of garlic bread and he doesn't order anything else, but she doesn't notice him any more than she notices anybody else, as she makes quick eye contact with everyone during her songs, including Sam. He doesn't recognize half of what's she's singing, but whatever it is, her interpretation of it is worth staying for, even though the rain outside has subsided.
People dance. Sam orders another beer. Garlic bread guy keeps ordering more water. The singer finishes another song, this time slightly more contemporary, a request from someone on the dancefloor, and people clap. Garlic bread guy whistles again.
"I'm going to take a quick break now," the singer says. "I'll be back shortly."
She gets off the stage. Sam sees garlic bread guy rushing over and thinks he could possibly be her boyfriend. For some reason, he feels a little disappointed, but quickly brushes it off, because it's no big deal. He turns back towards the bar, picks up his phone from the counter and dials Steve's number. Lifting the phone up to his ear, all he hears is beep after beep. Steve doesn't pick up. Sam shoves the phone in his pocket and rifles through his wallet to leave a tip for the bartender. If he leaves now, he might actually get enough sleep to wake up bright and early tomorrow for another day of searching.
"Hey, Jack, do you know if Mike's coming in tomorrow?"
Sam hears a familiar voice coming from behind him. He turns his head to see the singer walking up to the counter. Garlic bread guy is nowhere in sight.
"I think so, yeah. Why?" The bartender, Jack, replies and pours a glass of water for her.
"I need my paycheck in advance," she says before taking a sip. Sam tries to focus on finding anything besides a fifty-dollar bill in his wallet, but he can't help but look, because she's right there. Her smooth skin looks glowing under the light from the chandeliers hung up from the ceiling. She looks younger from up close than she did up on stage.
Jack raises an eyebrow. "Again?"
The singer playfully pushes Jack's shoulder. She notices Sam looking.
"I'm not a gambler or a compulsive shopper or anything," she says, turning to face him, leaning her slender arm against the counter.
Sam shakes his head. "That's not what I was thinking."
She tilts her head to the side. "No?"
Sam swallows the lump in his throat. Her upturned dark brown eyes are looking at him with expectation as he tries to find the words.
"I was just trying to gather up the courage to tell you, that you have a beautiful voice," he finally says, because saying she's beautiful might be too much, too upfront, especially if that was her boyfriend earlier, but she is. Beautiful.
"Oh. Thank you," she says with a smile. Sam wonders how many hundreds of people she's heard that from before and curses his own unoriginality. One of the band members hollers her over and she gives them a nod before turning back to Sam.
"Tomorrow, I'm doing strictly musical numbers. Grease, Sound of Music, Les Mis, all that. You should come out," she says, lightly touching his shoulder, flashing him another winning smile.
And with that, she's gone. On his way out, Sam shoves his fifty-dollar bill into the tip jar by the stage. The short bass player gives him a thumbs up and a goofy grin, that makes him chuckle.
He really wants to come back tomorrow.