It didn't take long for her to notice him. Among scattered tables and scorched metal seating, there he was. He wore a brown leather jacket even though the sun was harsh above them. Perhaps he felt the cold. It was past midday and the temperature, while remaining high, was beginning to descend. No, she thought. Even in jean shorts the heat was oppressive. Perhaps he was the type who didn't want to be seen, wanted to cover up. From what she could tell he was broad, impressive in stature even while sitting. Yes, a wallflower. An easy deduction given he was seated far enough away from people so that he wouldn't be dragged into polite but pointless conversation but close enough still so that he could let the background music of coffee cups clinking on saucers and gossip between friends envelop him like a soft embrace. As sad as it seemed, loneliness emanated from him. His decision to sit solo despite the popular choice of those around him being to grab a chair here and there, strangers or not, spoke volumes. Still, her coffee was getting cold. A quick scan of the outdoor seating area proved her suspicions. No other seats apart from on Mr. Wallflower's table. The sun was just dipping behind some of the glass giants in Manhattan, providing a touch of shade here and there. Hmm. To sit or not to sit. Screw it. He was practically asking for a friend and the fact that his table was one of very few in the shade may or may not have swayed her decision. With a slight hesitation in her step, she approached.
"Excuse me, sir. You look caught up with what you have there and I'm not looking to bother you, but would you mind if I sat here with you? There aren't any other seats and if I don't drink this coffee in the next 5 minutes, I think I may pass out. No forced conversation I promise."
My god, what a ramble. Was it too late to turn around and sprint in the other direction? He peered up from his notebook, confusion across his features. Hot relief flooded her when his confusion melted into a pleasant smile. He was a classic looker. Cut jawline, clean-shaven, hair swept over just so. She suddenly felt like she had it all wrong. Well, partly. This man, while giving off an air of delicateness and sincerity, strangely also presented a very stern demeanor. Perhaps that was the reason he was sitting alone. It wasn't out of his choice, but by the choice of those around him. Again, that sad feeling filled her. While still smiling lightly at her, he gestured to the seat across from himself.
"Of course, Ma'am. Be my guest" His deep baritone was a welcome surprise.
With a flush she would insist was from the temperature, she lowered herself onto the cooling metal of the chair he was gesturing to. He looked her over for a moment. She grimaced. Waiting in line for a coffee in a hole-in-the-wall shop during one of New York's warmest summers was going to make anyone look a little frazzled. Well perhaps anyone but him. She attempted to smooth back her hair with one hand while adjusting her shirt with the other. A disastrous move. Half a lukewarm coffee splashed across the table, wetting the front of her shirt and the edges of his book. Jesus H Christ.
"Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry. Oh god. This is just not my day. My cat did his business in my bed this morning and then I missed the subway to meet a friend and she met up with some other friend of hers because I took too long and all I wanted was a dang coffee and then there wasn't any tables left and I didn't want to disturb you and now that's exactly what I'm doing and I've got this all over your stuff I can't believe this, I'm so sorry.." She rambled on and on, not really knowing when to stop her mouth from running.
She was frantically wiping the table with some napkins he had lying near his hand. The front of her shirt was stuck to her, thank heavens it wasn't white. The man cleared his throat, a laugh almost escaping. He moved his hands to cover her own.
"Uh Ma'am, Ma'am…it's alright you haven't done any harm. I'd be more worried about your shirt than some old notebook." With wide, rather comical eyes, she glanced down at her shirt. Dark brown covered the front of her tank top. Definitely too late to sprint in the other direction. This time she flushed a rather inexcusable crimson. He chuckled audibly.
"Here", he spoke, "let me help you." He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a plain blue handkerchief, leant across the table and placed it in her palm. "This might help save it. A tad softer than those napkins."
"Thank you so much. Honestly, I'm such a tornado. My Grandma always used to say that disaster follows me like a moth follows the light."
She cast her eyes down to her top once she surrendered that little snippet of an anecdote. Instead of looking him in the eyes, she focused on dabbing her shirt clean. He laughed again at that. A nice, rich laugh that showed his straight teeth. Seriously, Mr. Perfect or what?
"Nothing wrong with being a tornado, a little mess is fun sometimes." He replied, making sure to keep looking at her, despite the fact she was averting her gaze. She let a little relieved sigh out.
He wasn't angry. She let her eyes flick up to his chin first, then his nose, finally arriving at his eyes. Hot damn. Mr. Perfect had lovely eyes. Blue and blue and did she mention blue? They were very blue. Seriously, is that all she could come up with?
"Tell that to my wardrobe, all my clothes seem to either have coffee or paint on them in some fashion. No item of clothing is safe from me." She decided she'd try the friendly approach instead of intensely staring at his face. He smiled again, folding his hands on top of the table and peering into her face.
"I hear that. Paint. Once its on something you're never getting it out. You're an artist?" He spoke with such a warmth and seemed like he genuinely wanted to have a conversation with her. Something she was grateful for, all things considered.
"I wish. I'm somewhat of a 'throw it on a canvas and hope for the best' kind of gal. Turns out I'm pretty okay at making a presentable mess of art. I think it helps me channel my inner chaos." The coffee stain was just that. A stain. She gave up on the dabbing and laid the handkerchief on the table between them. He unfolded his hands and gently picked up the sodden cloth. He began to play with the edge of it.
"That sounds like a very cathartic way to paint. I've always been more of a sketcher, but I dabble from time to time. Its nice to breach out of your comfort zone every now and then, try new things." Maybe she was going crazy. Maybe. They shared a look. Maybe he was talking about painting. But, then again, they both seemed to be far away from what could be considered a 'comfort zone' just by talking to one another. She hoped he was referring to her choice of seating.
"You're right. I sometimes find detailed work a little too, uh, detailed?" a breathy, awkward laugh escaped her, "I don't know, it's much more fun to let the universe decide what that canvas will end up like. That way, if its bad, its not my fault." He leant back in his chair and let a broad laugh escape him. He appeared to be relaxing and loosening up a bit more. At least he didn't seem to mind her sporadic conversation, despite the promise of leaving him be at the start of their encounter.
"I see.." he was smiling, wider than before, "Maybe I should give that a try. By the way, I'm Steve." A large hand was extended across the now dry metal table and she grasped it, shaking firmly.
"Evelyn, friends call me Eve or Evie. It's nice to meet you, Steve. Again, I'm so sorry about your notebook. I hope it wasn't too important?" By the end of her sentence she was wincing. Even though he seemed unbothered by the damage inflicted upon his little book, guilt still rolled through her. He simply shrugged.
"It's nothing that can't be replaced. Honestly, its just nice to have a pleasant conversation with someone. Even if it comes at the expense of my precious notebook." A teasing tone laced his words. Hmm. So that's how he wanted to play it. She didn't grow up with 3 brothers without learning how to bite back once in a while.
"Well, I'm glad you're cool about it. I don't think I have nearly enough money to replace such a priceless relic.." She flashed a goading grin his way. An eyebrow raise and a smirk was the reply she received. Goosebumps flared along her bare arms. God, she was behaving like such a floozy. Getting all giggly and flushed as soon as a handsome man gives her the time of day. Oh, if her Grandma could see her now.
Evie's stomach sank when she realized that she couldn't stay and chat longer. She had to get to the store and get home, Possum (the slightly overweight, old Scottish Fold) needed his meds and was a demanding little devil if he wasn't fed at 5:30pm sharp. With a sad sigh and a weak smile, she raised her head to look Steve in the eye.
"Steve…I have to go, I'm sorry. It's my cat. He's old and I have to get his meds and dinner to him in the next 30 minutes or he'll meow my ear off all night. It's been a pleasure talking with you, really." He sat up in his chair and smiled softly at her. A reluctance hung in the air. It seemed neither really wanted to say goodbye.
"That's quite alright Ms. Evie, I understand. I don't suppose you'd be okay with letting me walk you home? It's only going to get darker and I'd hate to think of you out on your own, not that I don't think you can handle yourself or anything…I…uh…" Her loud laugh cut him off his rushed rambling. The color of his face was comparable to a tomato. The 21st century really did stump him when it came to social norms with the opposite sex. Last time he offered to help a lady carry her groceries he got a fearful stare. Evie was still laughing.
"Steve, you are more than welcome to walk me home if you want to. I have to stop at the store to get some stuff, but I'll only be five minutes. I only live about a fifteen minute walk from here anyways. However, if you turn out to be an axe murderer who wants to skin me and use it as a coat, I must warn you I am an avid pepper spray fan and I scream very loud." It was Steve's turn to laugh now.
"Honestly, do you think I'd be able to afford this extortionate coffee if being a serial killer was my day job? Besides, I'm not a fan of sharp things." Although she was partially joking before, a small sense of relief did fill her. She didn't get the vibe he was a bad guy, but you could never be too careful.
They both rose from the table and tucked their chairs in, certainly not enjoying the sound the metal made screeching across the sidewalk. Now he was stood, she could really appreciate the presence and stature of this man. At an obvious at least 6 foot, he stood nearly a head and a half taller than her. Damn her short genes. Not only that, but he held himself in a manner that she had only seen from military men, an interesting addition to the picture she was building of Steve. He gestured her to walk out first, as she knew the direction they had to walk in. A steady pace was soon reached between them. Evie broke the silence first.
"So, I have a few older brothers, one army, one marine. I know a military man when I see one. You have a history?" She hoped to God she was right, otherwise an awkward exchange would've ensued.
"I do actually, good eye. Army, for a number of years. Took a different path after some changes recently. I do miss it though." Hands in his pockets, head not as high as before. A somewhat sensitive subject, she could definitely understand. Her oldest brother Quinn got shipped out in '06. Went out there with 2 legs, came back with none. He didn't like to talk about it.
"I get it. Once I graduated college I was working for this super prestigious law firm, under this guy who's like a God in the court room. I thought I could really make a difference there, you know? Change the world for people who needed saving. Turns out these fancy lawyers I looked up to were only after what everyone else is after. A sweet payday. They didn't care about looking out for the little guy or giving the middle finger to the oppressor. It's all greed, all the way to the top. Washed my hands of it pretty quick but I miss it in a way, getting the opportunity to make a difference." Steve was a little taken aback. She spoke with a real passion, and he truly felt moved by how earnest she seemed. What she said about the little guy really resonated. Wasn't too long ago that he was little guy, fighting for himself in the streets. Well, more like picking fights for himself. Still, he felt his level of respect for her rise in that moment.
"So, I'm in the presence of a lawyer? And here I was thinking she was a quiet artist type…" a smirk once again befell his face. She was glad, really. Evie was often quick to open up to new people, too quick some might say. Steve had a real knack for finding a way to break the tension or helping her feel less silly about the things she was saying, especially when she went off about her passion.
"You are correct, Sir. Graduated summa cum laude from Brooklyn Law School. Was it worth the debt? Yet to be decided." He smiled once more. He was good at that. He had a lovely smile. A chuckle rippled through him, warming her from the inside out.
"Impressive, really. So, you're not practicing at the moment then?" A fair question on his part.
"Not at the moment, no. You spend so much time getting that education and working yourself to the bone that you forget about everything else. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you might miss it." Steve seemed a bit stunned at her words, perhaps missing that they weren't hers at all but rather from that movie, 'Ferris Bueller's day off'. What a classic. They didn't have time to discuss this, however. The store came up on their left and before she could blink, Steve had opened the door and was gesturing for her to enter first. A gentleman. Unexpected but not surprised. He seemed old-fashioned. They were in and out in, like she said, about five minutes or so. She only had to pick up some food for her fussy, spoiled cat. What the hell, that cat was sixteen years old. If he wanted canned salmon, he could have canned salmon. After another five minutes of walking they reached her building. She turned to face him and craned her neck to look up at his eyes.
"Well, this is me. Thank you for walking me home. Not a lot of gentlemen in these parts, so it was nice you didn't murder me." Wow. Way to be smooth and cool, Evie. Keep going on about murder and he may just do it. Steve removed his hands from his pockets and held one out for Evie. She reached out and took his much larger hand. It was warm and soft. A gentle shake followed.
"No problem at all, Ms. Evie." He shuffled after releasing her hand, an awkward air around him. "I don't suppose you'd feel comfortable giving me your number? I don't know a lot of people outside my roommates and…uh…it might be nice to grab a coffee sometime if you want…?" He wasn't making eye contact now. Rather, he was looking down at his brown shoes. He seemed so much shyer and smaller like this.
"I'll give you my number on one condition, you give me yours in return. That way we're even. Also, coffee sounds great. I'll try not to throw this once all over your possessions." Now it was her turn to be relieving the tension. Steve lifted his head, fumbling about his pockets for that blasted phone he couldn't work. With a triumphant look he pulled it from the left front pocket of his jeans, placing in Evie's outstretched hand. After a few taps it was returned to him with the name 'Evie Graham' and a phone number written into his contacts. It was his turn to do the same for her, only he had absolutely no idea what he was doing or how to put a phone number in. Sensing this, Evie intervened.
"Steve would you prefer to right it down on a piece of paper and I can put it in later?" The look he shot her was enough to make her heart bleed. After a solemn nod and a small smile, he handed back her phone. She dug through her purse to find a scrap of something and a writing tool. Several scrawled numbers later, the pen and paper were returned to her. He has his easy-going air back, now that the technology was away.
"I better get upstairs and feed the gremlin…" If she was being truthful with herself, she really didn't want to say goodbye to Steve. It's not often you meet the most handsome guy in the universe on a whim, throw coffee all over him, have him walk you home and ask you out. She must have done something major in a past life to be rewarded with this kind of luck. Steve raised both hands in understanding.
"Absolutely. It was wonderful to meet you, Evie. I really enjoyed talking to you. I'm not sure what a gremlin is but say hi to your cat for me. He's lucky he gets the pleasure of your company all night." Shy, but sweet Steve came out again. Wow. If he wasn't careful she'd turn up in a wedding dress to the future coffee date. As she began ascending the front steps of her building, she turned.
"I will tell him you say hello. He's deaf and old and only cares about food and sleep so I doubt he'll reciprocate. It was lovely talking with you Steve, really. Thank you again for walking me home. Feel free to call me or text me whenever. Goodnight." She flashed a sweet smile his way. He really had brightened up her day.
"Goodnight, Ms. Evie." With that, they went their separate ways. Not before a quick glance back at the other, of course.
Once inside her apartment, Evie let out a squeal. What a dreamboat. Possum at her feet was glaring up at her. Ten minutes late for food time was unacceptable in his eyes. The bag from the store was dumped on the counter as she unfurled the little piece of paper she had in her hand that Steve had written on. Sorry, Possum. Dinnertime can wait another few minutes. With a curious gaze, she peered at what he had written.
Steve Rogers. Weird. She could've sworn she'd heard that name before.