Chapter Text
The tinkle of the bell over the front door made Steve raise his head from the folder of recipes he'd been pursuing as he tried to figure out what kind of line up would help turn people curious about the new place in town into repeat customers.
For a split second, he wondered whether it might be the shy, dark-haired man from yesterday, the only passerby who hadn't at least feigned interest in his flier, but it wasn't.
"Hi there. I'm sorry, but we're not officially open yet," he told the red-headed woman who had stepped into the store.
"Oh, I know," she said simply, and went back to looking around the interior with interest. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a black hoodie open over a black top. As he watched, she ran a hand over one of the four tiny formica tables, two on each side of the door. He'd got them second hand from some diner that was going out of business, and though the surfaces were scratched and scuffed, they were the perfect shade of blue to pair with the cleanly whitewashed walls.
"Um, can I help you with anything...?" he asked after a moment.
"No." Again, the response was tossed out with casual ease.
Honestly, the way she was wandering around his store like it was her that owned the place had him a little off kilter. But he was still the newcomer in town, so it was probably best to just let her do her thing.
"I remember when this was a sweet shop, back when I was a kid. Then it was basically a rat's nest for the last decade. It's kind of nice to see it come back as something in the same vein."
Steve was all too aware that the property had sat empty for long enough to start to fall apart—it was why he'd been able to buy it at such a steal. He'd got an electrician in to replace the chewed up wiring before a spark burned the whole place down then spent a week replacing the floorboards and patching up the walls himself until the place was, well, not as good as new, but passable at least. His flat above the store, on the other hand, was still a disaster zone.
The woman wandered over to the counter at the front, made of reclaimed wood that he'd waxed and buffed, and leaned on it, giving him an eyeful of cleavage that Steve studiously avoided looking at. She grinned up at him, full red lips parting to reveal white teeth. "So you're new around here, huh?"
"How could you tell?" The cheeky grin was somehow infectious, and Steve couldn't help but smile back at her.
"Must be something about that optimistic sparkle in your eye. Don't worry, we'll wipe that out of you before long."
"Darn, they didn't say anything about that in the brochure."
"Nah, I'm just messing with you. If you were looking for a slice of Americana, which I assume you are," she cast her gaze over to the banner of little American flags hanging above the counter, "then you found it." The woman laughed then pushed herself up from her elbows and held out her hand. "I'm Natasha. You can call me Nat."
"Steve." He returned the handshake.
"Yeah, I figured." When Steve looked at her a little blankly, she gestured toward the exterior of the store.
"Oh, right, of course," he smiled ruefully. "Still hasn't quite sunk in yet."
The woman—Nat—gave him a searching look, and he braced himself for the questions that would naturally come next: What brought him to Westview? Why a bakery? Why here? Was he crazy? Almost certainly was the answer to that last one.
But to his surprise, she breezed past all the potentials to pry into his life, and instead asked, "So, need someone to show you the ropes around here?"
"I don't know, how much could there be to learn about a place this size?"
"Oh, you have no idea . But if you drop by the Sharpshooter tonight around seven, you can buy me a drink and we can start to scratch the surface."
Steve hesitated for a moment. Was she asking him out? Oblivious as he could be, Steve knew that women generally considered him attractive, but they had literally just met.
But Nat seemed to read his mind, because she added, "Don't worry. Sure, you're handsome enough, but bakers aren't my type. Too much flour in unwanted places, plus my dental bills would go through the roof," and the tension quickly dissipated before it could even form.
"I'll try to swing by, if I get these recipes sorted out in time."
"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you there. Anyway, I should get going. Always things to do and people to see in the bustling metropolis of Westview." With a casual salute, she spun on her heel and sauntered to the door.
Steve watched her go with a small smile on his face. Westview was certainly a whole different ball game from Brooklyn, but he was pretty sure he was going to like it here.
—
By the time 7 PM rolled around, Steve had tested out two new muffin recipes and was well on his way to a full menu for opening day, so he figured he might as well take Nat up on her invitation. After all, it was a Friday night, and what better way to both introduce himself to the town he'd be calling home from now on, and get the word out about his store.
He took off his apron and smoothed down his shirt, suddenly feeling a little nervous about making a good impression. In a last minute snap decision, he grabbed a couple of muffins from his most recent experiment and put them in a paper bag. Yeah, trying to buy people's goodwill with free baked goods was kinda sneaky, but it wasn't his fault it worked.
The Sharpshooter was on a corner at the end of Main Street, just down from the promenade with the bakery. It wasn't hard to miss, considering it looked to be the only place open. Music and people clutching cigarettes and glasses of beer spilled from the entryway, and he found himself having to (politely) shoulder his way inside. It was a little less crowded inside, but the atmosphere was still buzzing. He hadn't been out to a bar like this in a long time, and a pang went through him when he saw a man and woman who looked like they were on a date, leaning in close to hear one another over the noise, the woman's dark curls brushing the man's shoulder— No. He caught the thought before it could go any further and purposefully turned his mind away from it, grounding himself in the here and now like he'd practiced.
Scanning the room, he spotted Nat's red hair at the bar beside another woman also with red hair, though hers was longer and darker. Taking a breath, he put on his best smile and slipped onto the empty barstool beside them.
"Steve! You came!" Nat seemed genuinely pleased to see him, though that might have been partly thanks to the several empty beer bottles in front of her.
"Well, you know, I did have other big fancy plans, but the offer of buying you a drink was just so tempting."
"Lucky you, you also get to buy my friend a drink," she indicated the woman beside her. "This is Wanda, and it's her first night out in—how many weeks is it?"
"Too many," Wanda said, taking a sip of her drink then reaching around Nat to shake Steve's hand. She spoke with a slight accent that sounded familiar to Steve's ears, but it was hard to tell over the general hubbub of the bar.
"Before I forget, I brought 'hi, I'm new here, please like me' offerings." Steve set the paper bag down on the bar. "There's one banana muffin and one blueberry cream. You can go ahead and fight over them."
Nat peeked into the bag. "I get it, this is what they call free advertising, isn't it?"
"Oh, Tommy loves banana… But Billy is not so much of a fan," Wanda said.
"Those are her kids, and she literally never shuts up about them," Nat rolled her eyes then addressed Wanda. "Go ahead, you can take them both, but make sure they know they have Auntie Nat to thank."
"You're the best!" Wanda said chirpily, stowing the muffins away in her bag. Steve suspected she'd known all along what the outcome would be.
"What are we drinking then, ladies?" he asked them.
"Since you're buying, I'll take a martini," said Nat.
"A Sex on the Beach for me, please."
"Wanda!" Nat sent her a faux-shocked look and Wanda giggled, her cheeks obviously flushed even in the dark.
Steve looked down the counter and saw a man with a fauxhawk tending the bar. He was dressed all in black, and Steve could easily imagine that the collection of archery bows hung on the wall above the shelf of liquor bottles belonged to him. After a couple minutes of unsuccessfully trying to signal the man, Nat saved him the trouble by leaning far over the bar and yelling, "Clint!"
A moment later, the bartender came over to them and addressed Nat. "You know I have other customers, right?"
"I know," she said sweetly, "and there's one right here." She gestured toward Steve, and when Clint looked his way, he suddenly realized that he recognized the man.
"Oh, hey, I helped you carry some timber into your store the other day, didn't I?" Clint asked. "What's it gonna be again, a coffee shop?"
"Bakery," Steve said. "And thanks for the help, I was about to cause permanent damage to my back."
"No problem, my dude. We got each other's backs around here. Now, what're you drinking?"
"I'm drinking a martini, and Wanda'll have Sex on the Beach"—Wanda giggled again—"and Steve here will have…"
"Just a beer for me."
"One martini, one Sex on the Beach, and one just a beer, coming right up."
Clint got to mixing the cocktails, wiggling his butt as he shook the shakers and making Nat laugh. The two of them were clearly good friends, and he wondered vaguely at the history there, but he wasn't about to start prying.
Once they all had their drinks, Nat looked at him, chewing on the olive from her martini. "So tell us about yourself, Steve."
"Um, what do you want to know?"
"Whatever you want to tell us."
That made things easier. "Well, I'm originally from Brooklyn. Joined the army fresh out of high school, did that for a while, then did nothing for a while, and now I'm here about to do something completely different for a while."
Of course, there was a whole lot missing from that abridged summary of his life, but he wasn't here to dwell on the past.
"Cool. And why Westview? I mean, of all the places you could have picked."
"I'd love to tell you that fate brought me here, but it was more like I was presented with an opportunity and I took it."
"That sounds like fate to me," Wanda chimed in.
"I suppose you could look at it like that," Steve mused.
They chatted for a while, Wanda telling them about the various scrapes her twin boys had been getting into lately, Nat getting progressively more giggly, and Clint occasionally coming over to join them when there was a lull in customers. They didn't touch on any really personal topics, and Steve was glad for it, but he felt a sense of camaraderie nevertheless. He was also glad for the opportunity to kick back and unwind after the last few intensive weeks getting the store ship shape.
Later that night, after Nat had decided it was time to take Wanda home before she fell asleep face down on the counter, Steve arrived back at his unfinished flat feeling pleasantly buzzed. As he got into bed, he thought back on the people he'd met so far; Nat, Wanda, Clint, and the many people he'd handed out fliers to. They seemed like good people, and there were no doubt plenty more good people in town who he hadn't yet gotten to know. Like the man with the prosthetic arm; he'd clocked it right away given all the veterans with varying levels of physical trauma he knew. There'd been something else familiar in the man's eyes, too, a haunted look he'd seen in those who'd come back from the front lines—maybe they had something they could connect over. Or maybe not.
Either way, he felt like he could make some real friends here, and though he knew he'd never completely fill the void that had been left in his heart, having the right people around could at least cushion the jagged edges. He felt the sharpness of those edges now as he said goodnight to the photo beside his bed, but thankfully, sleep soon crept in like a soft, comforting blanket.