I could see myself falling in love with Steve Rogers. True, I hardly knew him, he had a lot of secrets, but maybe I could handle them. Maybe he'd let me in on them one day.

The next morning, I started work at about 5 am. I was anxious Steve wouldn't come back to see me. I fretted at the news, too, that was on the TV over the bar: it was on BBC sky news and apparently, the "super heroes" from last summer had made and appearance in Eastern Europe at the blockade of the Russian renegades who had secured the borders of a mining town rumored to have a vibrainum vein under the city. They had identified some of the superheroes, most notably Tony Stark who didn't keep his identity a secret, but anybody could be in that Iron Man suit. The others did, although most of them didn't wear masks. One did, the one who wore a red, white, and blue uniform the mimic of Captain America. My grandfather had all kinds of Captain America memorabilia from World War II when he was a pre-teen and child. I remembered that. The suit didn't match up, but it was similar enough to draw comparison.

At about eight-thirty, a tall form darkened the door way, wearing a NY Yankees baseball cap, sunglasses, and his leather bomber jacket. It was Steve. "I got this one!" I cried, hopping over the counter barricade to get to him. "You made it!" I cried, kissing him on the cheek. "Let me get you the best seat in the house. How did you sleep?"

"The hotel room was great," he said. "But I got woken up early on a conference call."

"Wow, I'm surprised you didn't get called out!"

"Nope."

"Can I start you with some coffee?" I asked, blushing remembering that kiss from last night.

"That would be good, thank you."

I got the coffee for him while I heard the cooks discussing the bodies of the waitresses, who had the best rack. They didn't mention me, fortunately, but it did annoy me, although they didn't think I could hear them while I got Steve's coffee.

"Have you had a chance to look at the menu?" I asked, delivering the drink.

"I'm ready," he said and then proceeded to order 2 eggs over easy, the breakfast potatoes, two servings of sausage, a short stack of pancakes, and four strips of bacon.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked. "You can really eat that much?"

"Absolutely," he said. "Watch me!"

I realized we hadn't really eaten a meal together yet. "Tell you what: we can go to dinner next time you're in town. When's that going to be?" I knelt down beside him, mostly because my manager Ron wouldn't allow us to sit down in the booth with our customers.

"I don't know when that's going to be, but it'll be my first priority outside of work. I think a week from Wednesday?"

It was late, but I was not going to complain. "Okay. We'll write to each other." The door bell jangled and a few college students walked in, probably hungover, even though it was a Tuesday morning. "I'll be right back."

My section filled up with college kids who were hungover, but well-behaved, but weren't that interested in polite conversation as I went over the specials. Steve was right: he could eat like a horse and I wondered how hard it had been on him to not eat dinner with me on our dates. We were going to dinner a week from Wednesday, I decided. I wished I had more than a pathetic galley kitchen so I could cook for him. He had already paid for everything on our dates so far.

"Hey, Dani, is that guy in the corner booth your boyfriend?" One of the cooks called.

"What?" I asked taken off guard. "That's none of your business, y'all!" I sang, sprinkling mini chocolate chips on a hot waffle and getting out the whipped cream.

Cat calls and a whistle came from the kitchen.

"Shut up," I said, cheeks burning.

I hardly got a moment to speak with Steve, but the other server offered to cover my tables when he paid his bill.

"I'll wait with you for your Uber," I said, taking his hand as we stepped out the door. "I know you can't tell me a lot of what you're doing, but I really do want to know. I've got a long weekend on Columbus Day. I'll check bus and train fare, maybe I can come up to see you then, too?"

"Let's plan on it. I'll find a place you can stay-maybe with Nat. She's got a nice apartment-"

"Your work wife?" I asked surprised.

"I'll ask her if she's willing to host you. She probably will, just keep in mind, she's Russian, she not as friendly and welcoming on the surface. She's hard to read, but I think she likes you."

"We've only met once," I admitted. "I thought she hated me."

"Russians have a funny way of showing you they like you. They're not Southerners."

"You're hilarious."

"But I've said good things about you to her."

"I guess staying with you is out of the question."

"I don't want my friends or neighbors assuming things about you."

I almost snorted. "Steve, it's perfectly normal to have your long-distance… girlfriend ," I used the word carefully, "stay with you over the weekend. I am your girlfriend, aren't I?" I teased, although I had regretted using that word.

"Well, of course," he said as if I were being completely goofy. "We've been out three times, that's pretty serious."

I almost burst out laughing: with joy. Men dated me for long periods of time and then came out about being polyamorous as an excuse to not settle down. That was not polyamory, it was just wanting to be a player and use women. I briefly thought of Chad, and grimaced. "I'm glad you're taking this seriously," I replied as the Uber pulled up.

He leaned in to kiss me goodbye, but I pulled away. "Hey," he said, surprised. "Can't I kiss my new girlfriend goodbye?"

"You're supposed to ask?" I suggested.

"I have to ask to kiss you? We didn't ask last night."

"I made an exception. You need to get consent, I'm a lady."

"Oh, alright, fine. Can I kiss my girlfriend goodbye?"

"Yes, you may."

When I got back inside and went to check on my orders, Kevin the cook asked me, "Do you say goodbye to all your customers that way, or only the guys?"

"Y'all need to mind your own business," I retorted, cheeks growing red. All I got was cat calls. "And only handsome ones. Y'all can wonder why I never kiss any of you goodbye!"

A collective groan came from the cooks line. "That was stone cold! Savage!"

"And we only talked about your rack when you weren't in the kitchen!"

I taught my ballroom dance class for mostly senior citizens after class after a two hour long class. My favorite guy in the classes was a widower named Berney Schwartz. He was a little hard of hearing, but did stand up comedy, and always had a smile on his face. My ego liked him too, because he told me I was a pretty girl, while usually having a cute, clean joke for me. He was pretty spry for his age, almost 85. I loved having him in my class. He missed tonight, though.

I typed a note to myself to find out what a train ticket would cost me to get to New York for Veteran's Day weekend when I got home, but on my way to the Metro, my phone rang.

"Hi, Mom," I said.

"Well, if it isn't my long-lost daughter finally returning my phone calls," she sneered.

Well, damnit, I thought. Momma had never forgiven me or Lauren for choosing to live with Daddy over her all those years ago when they divorced. Some days, she was fine, others, like today, she bit my head off for just existing.

"Momma, I did call you back on Sunday, you didn't answer."

"If you had, I'd have seen it!"

"Check your missed calls, Momma," I said, irritation rising.

"You act like you're so special since you got into George Washington U," she slurred. Ugh, This was a drunk dial. I hated getting these. I was reluctant to speak to my mother when she was sober, but I did it. When she was drunk, it was ugly because she had been stewing in things about things she didn't like about me. She didn't do it to Lauren as much as she did it to me. I couldn't tell you why I put up with it. A girl needs her mother, doesn't she? Guessed I did. "Do you really think anybody's going to go to someone as crazy as you to get psychological help when you treat your own mother like shit? I'll expose you to everybody next time you ignore me!"

"I don't appreciate being threatened," I said into the phone in a low voice. "It's abusive, Momma."

"Why am I always the one that's abusive and controlling?" she asked.

"Because you just threatened me. I'm getting on the metro, I might lose you."

"Don't you dare hang up on me, I'm your mother!"

I stepped forward into the Metro and my phone beeped three times. I sighed in relief when my phone said I had lost my call. I had an excuse to let her go for once.

I couldn't tell you why I didn't go no-contact with her. If I was able to do my internship and dealt with someone with a parent as messed up as my own mother, I'd have recommended that. But there was a part of me that couldn't let it go.

I found a seat and closed my eyes. It was moments like these I understood why Steve hated communicating by cell phone and being connected all the time. Sometimes, you just needed some distance from everything.

At my apartment, I took a shower in my tiny shower stall in the bathroom and checked my fridge. The box of wine I had in there was tapped out, and I sighed. I made some tea and sat down to do some reading from school.

I laid in the bed while Lourdes Marie curled up in a ball beside me, sleeping soundly.

My mind needed to clear so I could concentrate.

Steve.

That kiss had left me breathless and elated. It was like riding a roller coaster. I wondered if he felt it, too. He was shaking when he let me go.

He was wonderful. I laid my head down on my pillow and considered what could have happened if he had stayed with me. We sure as hell wouldn't have gotten much sleep. I couldn't have slept beside him, my heart racing like it did when we were close. It was racing in a good way. I wanted to feel that way again.

It had been a year since Chad and I had broken up. A year since I had had felt desirable and worthy. I had tried to bring Steve in to have sex so I didn't have to feel those feelings of being ugly and worthless. Chad breaking up with me had pushed me into going to grad school, it had been the straw that broke the camel's back. I knew I could get in to the school of my dreams, but I was pursuing school to make up for how ashamed I was when it came to how Chad had left me.

Chad cheated on me.

There's nothing worse than being cheated on. We had talked about getting married. I had thought he was a constant for me. I had thought I wasn't going to end up divorced and miserable like my mother. But the admission of cheating… I immediately felt like I wasn't good enough for him. I wasn't enough. I had caused this because I hadn't done more freaky stuff in bed with him. I had embarrassed him. I blamed myself. Laren had held my hand and promised me that I was perfect and Chad was just a piece of trash. But that hadn't stopped me from taking him back… and of course, he cheated again with someone new. She was prettier than me, blonde and put together, she worked with him at his law firm. After an enormous shit-show of an argument when I had told him that he was sick, he had tried to turn this around on me. He confirmed my fears; I was lousy at sex, unattractive, not enough. He actually said it to me. I didn't wear my makeup right, I didn't work out enough, those ten pounds I had gained after college were disgusting, along with the stretch marks, my family was a shameful thing because my father had faked being a straight family man until he left my mother.

Leaving Nashville had been a fresh start for me. I had lost most of that weight when I got to DC, and it was a new start. Steve was supposed to be a fresh start, too. I saw eerie similarities between Steve and Chad: the gentlemen, the chivalry, the secrets. I had tried to smooth things over with sex last night. Sex without knowing someone was just faking intimacy. Maybe Steve was right: we needed to wait, and I needed to make sure he was the real deal and that I could trust him with these awful feelings, I wanted to know that he wouldn't use them against me. That I was safe with him.

I wished I was completely safe with someone.

I sat up and got my computer out to continue writing my letter to Steve.

Steve came to DC the next Wednesday, and we went to see the DC Capitals play the Nashville Predators. I was elated to see my hometown team playing and winning. As always, Steve left me at my apartment door with a kiss and a promise that this was a good time for me to come for Veteran's Day weekend, he'd work out a place for me to stay. Again, I realized I knew nothing new about Steve. A part of me was elated that he hadn't asked to stay the night for a third time, but also, terrified.

I bore the jealous and scared idea that there was another woman. I tried to search him on the internet, but the vast thousands of men named Steven or Stephen Rogers in the United States slowed me down. I didn't even know his birthdate.

Was I the other woman? Was he married and that was why he was encouraging me to stay with Natasha and not at his apartment? Maybe his wife lived in the country and he had an apartment in the city? Was this why he insisted on hand-written letters and not electronic correspondences, because his wife knew his passwords?

I thought I was over all that Chad did to me.

Now, my imagination was running wild and getting paranoid.

I got a letter from him four days after he left.

Dear Dani,

I'm sorry to keep this letter so short. This morning, I woke up thinking about you, and how much I want to show you around my hometown. Natasha is ready to host you, she's making up a bed in her spare bedroom...

He hadn't changed his mind about me staying with Natasha. I wondered if he was waiting for me to worship the ground he walked on for his own narcissistic reasons. The secrets he kept spoke volumes.

I reminded myself to keep my distance until Steve really revealed who he was, deep down as I read the rest of his letter.