First Date
You giggled like a high schooler when Natasha texted you and asked you out on a date. A few customers may have left your store when you shrieked over a text, but you didn't have it in you to care. What you liked the most was that Natasha replied instantly, you hated the games and three-day rule that people played. You believed that If you liked someone, then just go for it.
Turns out, scheduling a date was harder than actually asking each other out. Natasha was a doctor and her days were very busy, which you understood. You proposed a date on the weekend, but her weekends were spent in the hospital, whereas you worked on weekdays.
Tuesday was her day off, so both of you decided to meet in your shop. Usually, you didn’t have many customers during noon, you wouldn't mind having her around while you worked.
After awkwardly hugging and laughing with you on the first date, Natasha didn't know how to initiate a conversation with you. She had spent more than a month dreaming about you and now that you were here, she didn't know how to talk.
“I really liked the centerpiece,” Natasha said as you wiped the counter, settling some flower pots on it. “And the cookies. And the bouquet.”
Natasha felt like she had lost her communication skills. She was here on a date with the girl she had been dreaming of for a month, and now she wasn't able to get a sentence out with fumbling. She cringed inwardly at how dumb she must have sounded to you.
“Thank you. You saved me huge trouble the other day.”
Natasha waved her hand nonchalantly in a manner that said it was not a big deal. Truly, it wasn't. Well, it would have been if you weren't you, but she cognized not to voice this out.
“I can make you some,” you offered, “I mean, cookies. If you'd like that.”
Natasha smiled, “I would love that.”
“I like your hair,” you said in hopes of making conversation. Moreover, hair? Natasha was fucking gorgeous and you choose to compliment her hair? What do people even say on dates?
“I like your eyes,” Natasha seemed to have the same inner monologue as you, and both of you burst into laughter at each other's awkwardness.
And that was all it took for the conversation to start flowing. She told you about how hectic her work was, you told her about your family or how dysfunctional they were. You felt it would be better not to talk openly about them because you wanted to avoid complaining about your family when you knew she didn't have one. She picked on that, but didn't press on it nonetheless, which you were grateful for. She also told you about her days in the foster care.
“You did not!” you gasped.
“Yeah, I kicked the foster dad in the balls,” she continued, “In my defense, he was being super touchy.”
You raised your hands, succumbing, "Understandable. What happened after that? ”
“Well, they returned me,” Natasha said in a tone that made it seem she was unfazed, but you could see through her facade.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologized immediately.
“Don't be,” she assured, “I’m glad that they did because that's when I met my real family — Steve and Bucky and now Sam.”
You smiled sweetly at her, and it made her feel overwhelmed. She realized she wanted you to look at her like that forever. Swallowing, she schooled her emotions. It was too early to feel that way, so she changed the topic by asking, “What about you? Are you still in touch with your family?”
“I still talk to my mom and sister. Dad — not so much. He’s been in and out of the house since I was a kid. It seems fully out now cause I haven't seen him in years.”
Anyway,” you quickly reverted the conversation, hoping she didn't catch on. Again, if Natasha did, she pretended as if she didn't. “I’m putting a stall in the fair next month. Would you like to… I don't know, maybe —”
“Yes,” replied Natasha instantaneously, cutting you off. She cleared her throat, “I mean,” she shrugged her shoulder calmly, “Yeah.”
“It’s a date?” you decided, but it came out as a question.
Natasha walked towards you, taking your hands in hers before placing them on her shoulder. You didn't need a memo to understand what was happening, and you snaked your arms around her, situating them behind her neck. Natasha wrapped hers around your waist, pulling you flush against her chest. Slowly, she leaned towards you — lips almost touching yours, but it still felt so far. It was a question, you realized. She was waiting for your approval. You answered her question by closing the distance and pressing your mouth against her in an eager kiss.
When both of you parted. Breathlessly, she whispered a promise against your lips. “It's a date.”