Saving Steve (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter 14 - A Bag of Flour

"No way," you counter. "How?"

Steve simply grins and points one finger at his ear. "Sharp hearing."

"Mhmm," you hum, arching one brow skeptically.

Steve pushes himself from the floor, stretching briefly before reaching down and grabbing the blanket and pillow, replacing them on the couch.

"I should be going," he says quietly, turning back to face you.

Your heart sinks. But you know there's no good reason for him to stay.

"Okay," you answer.

But neither of you move.

"Or," you say shyly, filling the quiet. "You could...you could stay for breakfast?"

Steve's eyes seem to glimmer for a moment, and although his expression doesn't change you watch as the corners of his lips twitch into what might be the ghost of a smile.

"I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome," he counters, but his tone lacks much resistance.

"I...I would feel better if I knew you ate something," you say bashfully. "You know, before you go back out there to save lives."

"Breakfast it is, then," he answers quickly.

A smile lights your face as Steve meets your gaze and smiles back.

"Eggs?" you ask, walking past him to the kitchen.

"Sounds great."

You busy yourself, pulling out a few bowls and several dry ingredients after deciding to throw together some biscuits too. It isn't difficult, and only takes a few minutes.

As you start mixing and whisking, you hear Steve take a seat at the kitchen table behind you. And you can feel his eyes follow you as you work.

"You could help you know," you tease, casting him a glance over your shoulder.

Before you know it, you can feel him behind you as he reaches around, and grabs the bowl of dry ingredients from in front of you.

"Awaiting your orders, ma'am," he says, holding the bowl in one hand, and a whisk in the other.

"You chose the hardest job," you laugh as you start beating the eggs. "But okay. Here's the recipe," you say, handing him an aged notecard. "I've already gotten almost all the dry ingredients in there. You just need to add the flour. Then combine with the wet ingredients. Got that?"

"Yes ma'am," he says in a teasing tone.

For the next few minutes the two of you work in silence, dancing around one another as you grab various pans and spoons. Steve asks for your help turning on the oven before sliding in the tray of raw dough.

You turn the stovetop on as he shuts the oven door, ready to pour the eggs in the frying pan. But you're short a spatula. You whirl around to reach for the drawer of utensils only to bump straight into Steve, who holds the bag of flour as he searches for the clip to close it.

Trapped in a massive cloud of white powder, you both cough for a moment. But it seems you're the only one covered in the stuff.

Steve's eyes widen as he sets the bag down on the counter and starts brushing off the flour on your shoulder. You catch your breath, eyes watering  as Steve lifts a hand to your face, gently wiping away a smudge leftover on your cheek.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry I-"

But your coughs turn into laughs and Steve cocks his head, confused by your reaction. Clearly he expected you to be angry.