Layer on Layer

“Every plain wall deserves a piece of work, so why not cover it with a smile?”
― Shawn Lukas

Steve couldn’t sleep. Again. The heatwave didn’t seem to be helping. He had his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He stood and peeled his white shirt off his sweaty chest. He moved toward the window hoping for a hint of a breeze. It was dead still. The city sweltered on below. It was only when he caught a glimpse of himself in the window that he remembered that he was still grinning. Grinning so hard his face was becoming stiff.

Steve had been kissed. Kissed. In the middle of Casablanca. On Peggy’s couch. By Peggy. That was the important part. Essential. And he’d kissed her back.

With one final look at his reflection, he settled back into bed. But what was the point of sleeping? This was better than a dream.

Monday morning, still floating on a cloud, it dawned on him that he was supposed to work on Peggy’s wall. In the post-first-date bliss he had forgotten. He wondered if it would be weird to work on her place now that there was definitely something between them. Not that he had all that much left to do. He could maybe even knock it out that day. But would he be allowed to kiss her? Maybe on the cheek would be appropriate. Maybe they could finalize that second date they had mentioned.

In the end he decided he’d wait to broach the subject of a second date until his work was complete.

He got to hug her for the first time. He had been unfolding his tarp when she approached him, not stopping until her arms were pulled around him. He squeezed her back.

“And I thought it might be weird to come back to work.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps we should have discussed it.”

“Yeah. Listen, Peggy, I don’t want you to pay me.”

“Absolutely not,” she refused. “Of course I’m paying you.”

“It doesn’t feel right anymore. And anyway, I don’t mind. I like painting for you. I’d do more just because you asked.” And it was true.

“Steve,” she said sweeping her hand gesturing at his art, “I am going to pay you to finish this beautiful art.”

“Well… then if that’s your last say on that—”

“It is.”

“—then it’s probably good that I can finish this today.”

“So fast?”

“Just some touch-ups,” he said nodding.

“Well then perhaps tomorrow you could come pick up your check.”

“Maybe I could come pick you up at the same time.”

His heart thudded as her lips split into a smile.

“Alright,” she said. “Maybe I was hoping you would.”

He grinned. “Then I should probably get to work.”

“I wouldn’t want to distract you,” she said but her smile, he was sure, meant the opposite.

Focus. Finish. Plenty of time later to be distracted.

Once she was out of visible sight, he did focus. He filled in finishing details, constantly stepping back to survey the wall for sparse spots. Steve fixed a few leaves and added a crimson petal or two. The once flat red poppies were now richly detailed, layer on layer of paint went into shaping them, of filling them out, and it gave the work a new depth. It made the loft feel a touch more feminine and delicate, and yet the bold, rich reds were powerful colors. He thought it reflected Peggy well.

He was about done when he stepped as far back as he could for one more study, but he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. At his angle he had a straight view into the kitchen. At the very end of her kitchen island, he found Peggy perched, snacking and staring in his direction. Their eyes met and Peggy gave him with a guilty grin.

Steve straightened up, set down his brushes and walked toward her.

“How long have you been doing that?” he asked, as she continued to smile sheepishly.

“Today? Oh ten minutes or so,” Peggy said setting down the cheese and strawberry plate she had been working on. “Otherwise, ever since I first saw you paint.”

The nonchalant admission made his stomach flutter. He wondered if he should be less surprised since they had been on a date. But still all those time he thought she had glanced his way… She had really been looking at him.

It wasn’t until she chuckled that he snapped back to reality.

“Oh? You’ve been watching have you?”

She shrugged. “There’s something very appealing about watching you so focused. Soothing even.”

“It is very soothing. I think that’s why I like it so much. Keeps my hands busy and my head calm.”

“And it shows off your magnificent arms,” she said hopping off the counter.

“Oh? I didn’t… uh…”

“So… My poppies are all finished?”

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat. “All done.”

“Good. Because you’ve got red paint on your face.”

He brushed a hand over his cheek. “Oh yeah, I thought I might have got myself.”

Peggy brought a hand to his face, her thumb very gently moving horizontally across his cheek, then once more just above his brow. Her fingers curled around his cheek and his eyes shut of their own volition.

“One more,” she whispered. He opened his eyes.

Peggy stood on tip-toe, hand still cupping his cheek, tilting his face down. It was the same warm, velvet sensation he’d been dreaming about since Saturday night. Their mouths worked against each other, growing deeper with each second, hands curled around each other’s neck, pulling each other closer. It took all his energy to not spontaneously combust. He let out a satisfied sigh when they broke for air.

Steve felt great after work. He had plenty of time to go home and change into a blue polo and to not forget to pack up the canvas he had painted for Peggy. There was no concrete plan for their second date other than an agreement about dinner but he wasn’t worried. Not anymore. Not when the plan came together over languid kissing.

It was the first time he headed to Peggy’s after work in something other than work boots and paint-streaked clothing. Peggy greeted him in another summer dress. This time he was the one to initiate the hug. How had he gone so long without fully appreciating the wonders of a hug?

“This time I didn’t forget to bring you a flower,” he said grinning, before putting the canvas in her hands.

He watched her unwrap it, watching as her eyes changed at the sight of the detailed oil painting of a poppy.

“It’s for your bedroom. Since you need help decorating,” he teased. He continued to watch her serious study. “I thought it might be a nice way to honor your brother,” he continued in a lower voice. “One more poppy to tie it all together.”

He felt her lips on him before he managed to sense her launching at him. His lips parted automatically with a steady hand at her back. It was tricky to keep it up with the canvas poking into both of them.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Steve really… This is… This is very special.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Figured it was easier than finding poppies at a flower stand.”

She laughed. “This will definitely last longer. Will you help me put it up?”

“Of course.” He dug into the bag for something, displaying it proudly for Peggy. “Command Strips. Won’t ruin your beautiful paint job.”

Peggy laughed. “Always so prepared.”

“Key to success,” he tossed easily back.

She took his hand and led him to her room. Once the painting was hung, Peggy took his hand again.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone nearly as thoughtful as you, Steve.”

“I just thought you’d like it,” he explained with a shrug.

Peggy lifted her hands to his neck. “Oh I do.”

He received another proper open-mouthed kiss he felt all the way down to his toes. She was giving him her dazzling smile. It was contagious and he lifted their linked hands to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Hungry?” he asked a while.

“Starved.”

Her hand felt warm and solid. Steve was fairly sure that holding her hand was something he wanted to continue for a very long time: forever if the world allowed him that, if that would be okay with Peggy.

Steve came home from another enjoyable day with Peggy. They took a walk, hand in hand, through Central Park, stopping to sit on a park bench just to soak up the sun and spending hours talking. Their conversations never seemed to lag. She was whip-smart, confident on her opinions, but never failing to ask questions about the things he enjoyed so he never felt ignored or belittled. It only made him want to tell her more. Coming from a kid who had always gotten tongue-tied around girls, this was huge for Steve. With Peggy, it was effortless.

They had spent longer than planned kissing good night. Peggy had said several times that she needed to get to bed, only to press her lips to his one more time. And who was he to deny her what she wanted? He was helpless against the taste of her lips, powerless under her hands.

He was in a very good mood when he got home. He was buzzing. Bucky had just finished showering and Steve knew he had to share his news.

“Hey, there’s Chinese and groceries in the fridge,” Bucky called out when he spotted Steve in the hall, still rubbing a towel over her wet hair.

“There’s this girl…” Steve blurted out excitedly before Bucky went into his room.

Bucky snorted. “Well no shit,” he said. “You’re a shitty liar. But go on.”

Steve couldn’t stop smiling.

“Her name’s Peggy.”

“Were you just on a date with her?”

“Yeah. We took a long walk in Central Park.”

“Classic,” Bucky said with an approving chuckle. “First date? Second?”

“Fourth,” Steve admitted a little sheepishly.

“Whoa. Four dates?”

“In about a week and a half.”

“No shit? And I’m only hearing about this now?”

“Well you told me a second date can mean a girl is just being nice or still deciding. A third is promising. But if you go on a fourth—”

“Then she’s seriously into you,” Bucky finished with a knowing nod. He whistled. “So four dates, huh?”

Steve grinned. “Yeah.”

Bucky clapped his right hand onto Steve’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you punk. How’d you meet her?”

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “At my last job… It was her apartment.”

Bucky roared in laughter. “You picked up a chick while on the clock? You? Nice work!”

“It wasn’t like that.” He knew he was blushing.

“This the girl you painted flowers for?”

Steve nodded.

“You got a picture?”

“Uh,” Steve considered, pursing his lips, “no. But I drew her!”

He rushed into to his room scouring for the right sketchbook. He flipped through it for a good sketch of Peggy, one worth showing Bucky. He didn’t exactly want to admit how many times he had drawn her when he was already embarrassed about admitting he’d drawn her at all.

“Shuddup,” Bucky said with surprise. “You’re dating a girl that looks like this?”

Steve flushed. “I’m not making her up.”

Bucky snorted, unruffled. “I didn’t say you were. She’s just… Really beautiful. You really scored.”

“She’s…” Steve shook his head in his own disbelief. “She’s amazing.”

“Never seen you so worked up over a girl.” Bucky grinned, handing back his sketchbook.
“She must really be something.” Bucky smirked. “Lucky your artistic style ain’t no Picasso.
Otherwise, not just would I have thought you made her up, but we’d have to take you in for a check-up on that big head of yours.”

Steve snagged the towel Buck had around his neck and threw it over his face.

“Hey,” Bucky called out one evening a few days later. “Do you already have plans with your girl for Friday?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“Ma and Becca are throwing some kind of family dinner party. They wanted you to come.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky nodded. “It’s at six-thirty. I’m gonna take the train around six if you wanna ride with me.”

“Sounds good. Does your ma need us to pick anything up?”

Bucky shrugged. “Probably not. You know how thorough she is when she gets cooking. But I’ll ask Becca.”

Steve found it was easy to get ready for the dinner now that he’d been regularly seeing Peggy for three weeks. Picking an outfit didn’t take him long deliberations, and he knew from Peggy a great bakery to pick up a box of pastries for Mrs. Barnes.

He hadn’t realized how much his self-imposed confinement to his apartment had heighted his anxieties. Occasionally something would make him jump or lose his train of thought or focus, but Peggy never seemed disappointed. She would simply reach out for his hand and sit him down on the nearest bench or stoop. She’d patiently wait for him to tell her when he was ready to continue or if he preferred to go home.

Since his dates with Peggy, he started to reengage with the bustle of the city: street markets, summer events in the parks, even visits to his favorite museums. As it turned out, despite her almost two years in New York, she had hardly any time to explore things the city had to offer. She preferred things off the beaten track but still, there were massive gaps in the sights he thought she ought to have seen by now.

With her eagerness they spent a whole a whole Saturday in Brooklyn, starting in Prospect Park where they lounged in the Japanese Garden, Peggy tilting her head up to the pale blue cloudless sky while Steve sketched—mostly flowers but also rough outlines of her elegant profile. After a visit to the zoo, they even went to visit two of the apartments he grew up in with his mother as times got tough. He hadn’t been back there in ages, but with Peggy holding his hand it no longer seemed so daunting.

The blue button-up Steve decided on for dinner was a new one. He purchased it after he realized on date four that he’d run out of combinations of pants to shirts; he’d rotated his chinos and black dress pants with the two decent shirts he owned. Peggy had never commented nor made a sour face—he’d been given plenty of those from the girls Buck had set him up with over the years—but it had felt like time he took some effort to have more than t-shirts.

The second they entered the Barnes’ family home, Steve had been pulled into hugs and strong gripped handshakes. He hadn’t been back in years, but the familiar house where he’d spent countless hours still looked and smelled the same. All three of Bucky’s younger sisters had given him not only hugs but kisses on the cheek, worriedly asking after his health in perfect intonation of their mother. They were pushed away as Mrs. Barnes let her son go, and rounded on Steve with a squeezing hug and some good-natured motherly fussing. She patted his cheek when he handed her the white bakery box.

Before long the mess of friends and relatives were squeezed around the dining table; two fold out tables were attached to each end to accommodate everyone. Mrs. Barnes made a call for saying grace, only for Buck’s youngest sister to cry out that her girlfriend was Jewish.

“Yes dear, we all know. You remind us every time, and every time Jessi adds a nice little prayer in Hebrew to our interfaith grace,” Mrs. Barnes scolded without batting an eye. Bucky sniggered while his youngest sister rolled her eyes as if she was still personally very offended and Jessi herself laughed fully at ease.

The second Mrs. Barnes delivered the final Amen, clasped hands fell apart to fight for the rolls, and Bucky made an announcement.

“Steve’s got a girlfriend,” he said loudly without preamble.

Steve immediately turned bright red while they girls gasped excitedly, the kids ignored the interruption, and the men shouted praises. The oohs and aahs only made Steve shrink into his seat.

“I… She’s…” he remarked feebly.

Buck said girlfriend. Sure he wanted Peggy to be his girlfriend. But was she that already? They hadn’t discussed it. Maybe it was too soon for that kind of label? He wasn’t too sure.

“She’s British and Steve painted her all these flowers to win her affection,” Bucky continued.

More ooh’s chorused all around him.

“That’s not why I—”

“Do you have a picture?” Becca asked excitedly.

“Does he? You should see his lock screen,” Bucky said.

That, Steve refused to be embarrassed over. He would proudly display the picture of the girl who might just become his girlfriend to anyone who asked. He’d taken it during their visit to the Botanic Gardens. The summer sunshine had filtered across her face, across her cheeks, emphasizing her dimples. Her loose wavy hair had been thrown over one shoulder, and then, just as he thought he’d been sneaky enough to capture her profile, she had looked on in amusement directly at his phone.

His phone ended up passed around the table and he wasn’t given it back until Mrs. Barnes retrieved her reading glasses and had a good long study. When it returned to his hand, he also had a long glance, feeling a flutter in his stomach as the screen faded to black.

Despite his fairly talkative demeanor at dinner, Bucky was silent on the train ride into Manhattan. He was curious about how many other dinners Buck’s been to but Bucky stared right out the window with a serious expression. Steve understood that bit. He understood the need for quiet and peace, for the contemplative solitude of train rides.

Steve pulled out his pocket sketchbook and vaguely scratched lines on the blank page. Before he realized it, he was drawing images from the dinner table: Uncle Jimmy’s grizzly beard tinged with white from the massive amount of whipped cream he put on his pie; Becca and Mrs. Barnes having a private moment in the hall, both their hands on Becca’s stomach; little second cousin Nate hanging off Bucky’s prosthetic howling with laughter.

He had almost finished that one, about to flip to a new page when Bucky’s hand darted out over the sketch. He pulled the sketchbook closer for a better look. Surprisingly, instead of being upset, Bucky laughed.

“Little twerp,” he said with affection. “Thinks he’s going to be Spiderman one day. He said I could be his robot sidekick.”

Steve snorted.

“Got any more?” Bucky asked.

He let Bucky peruse the rest of his sketchbook.

“Hey does your girlfriend know you used to be a runt?”

Bucky hadn’t been teasing. After all, that was how they met, with poor, malnourished, sickly Steve Rogers refusing to back down from a bully stealing someone else’s lunch money. He had known exactly what it felt like to go through the day hungry, and he refused to let some jerk steal it so he could buy a second brownie in the cafeteria. He had gotten punched in the nose for his valiance, almost a black eye until Bucky stepped in and punched the bully back.

“She knows I haven’t always had muscles.”

Bucky sniggered. He knew Steve had always been a little touchy about his past size, especially in regards to girls.

“Girls don’t like guys they can easily step on,” Steve had often complained in their youth.

“You should draw her a picture of you before the army stretched you out. I think she’d get a kick out of seeing it,” Bucky said while he continued flipping through the sketchbook.

Steve frowned and ignored him.

Peggy made dinner reservations. It was the first time they planned a date anywhere remotely fancy, although Peggy assured him there was no need for him to buy anything new. Regardless, from the pictures he looked up of the restaurant, it looked elegant, with dim mood lighting.

Peggy called him suggesting she would pick him up for a change since the restaurant was much closer to Steve’s place. For some inexplicable reason, that had made his body seize up.

“I—uh. No that’s okay. I’ll pick you up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s right on my way from work. It makes much more sense for us not to backtrack.”

“Are you sure? Cause I could just meet you there.”

“Of course. You’re always coming to me. I’d say it’s only fair it be my turn.”

Still, Steve hesitated and his heart was suddenly pounding unpleasantly in his ears.

“Steve?” Peggy prompted gently when he hadn’t said anything. “Is there some reason why you don’t want me to pick you up?”

Steve looked around his basic, worn two bedroom apartment. There were cracks in the walls, the floors creaked, the kitchen barely fit him and Bucky at the same time. The couch they had scavenged from someone else dumping it when they were moving out. The hallway always seemed to have a funky smell. There were no flourishes of color, or pristine hardwood floors or matching furniture. It was nowhere even remotely near the pleasant, comfortable place that her loft was.

“I… My place is a piece of crap. Worse. Especially compared to yours,” he told her, voice teetering on anxious.

He’s embarrassed and for the first time he had doubts about this thing with Peggy. He’s just a nobody, with emotional scars and a run-down apartment.

“Steve,” she started, voice gentle and firm, “I’m not coming over you judge your place. I’m coming to pick you up so I can take you to dinner.”

There’s something in the way she said it that sparks something pleasant in his stomach, something in her tone that silenced the doubts and made him imagine her kiss, her voice whispering his name into his ear in person.

“But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you’d rather meet at the restaurant that’s okay too.”

But now that the scenario was falling out of reach, he wanted it. He wanted to be picked up by this beautiful, kind woman. He wanted to open the door to see her standing there excited to see him. He wanted to have the extra time, holding her hand, admiring her outfit on the way to dinner.

“Okay,” he told her, “pick me up.”

“Are you certain Steve? Because—”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright. But if you change your mind… I won’t be upset.”

That’s what made him certain. Peggy had never pushed, never taken his hesitations lightly. She always heard him out and only ever seemed to assure him of his interest.

He wanted to be her boyfriend. Boyfriends brought girls home, even if that meant to a crappy apartment. Boyfriends shared their lives and opened up to their girlfriends if they wanted to be in a real relationship. And he so desperately wanted that. He so very much wanted Peggy to stay in his life.

“Hey, so Peggy’s going to meet me here before our date.” Steve told Bucky the day before. “I don’t know if you were going to be around or not but just wanted to give you a heads up. You could meet her.”

Bucky nodded. “Where are you guys going on your date?”

“Dinner at some Italian place she likes. Not sure about afterwards.”

“Oh,” he replied. “You want me to clear out? Give you the apartment for the night?”

“No!” Steve said, cheeked flushed. “I mean, that’s not what I meant. It’s not necessary.”

“So you haven’t—”

“She has early mornings. And she had to work tomorrow so…” Steve said before Bucky could continue.

Bucky raised his eyebrow in amusement. “Right.”

Steve crossed his arms defensively. “We’re taking it slow. And I’m good with that. I need it. I like her a lot and she’s not even my girlfriend yet.”

“What’s it been?” Bucky shrugged. “Eight dates? Seems pretty girlfriendy to me.”

“Nine. It’ll be nine.”

“Really? Nine dates and you haven’t at all?”

Steve glared at him. “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t need a girl to be your girlfriend to sleep with her.”

“Well...”

“Buck!”

“I didn’t say it. Although, I mean, objectively, that’s still true.”

“Listen. I’m happy. She makes me really happy. So could you stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some dumb sucker.”

“I wasn’t…” Bucky frowned. "I was just messing with you. Just talking shit. She makes you happy. That’s good enough for me.”

Slowly, Steve gave him a half-smile. “Thanks.”

“But the kissing’s real good, huh?”

The corners of his mouth turned up unconsciously.

“Yeah, it’s real good.”

Bucky smirked.

Steve was dressed and ready to go when Peggy texted saying she was ten minutes away.
Despite logic calming him down, and coming to the conclusion that Peggy seeing his apartment was no big deal, he got suddenly very nervous about it. It didn’t matter if she hated it, he hated the place himself. That’s what he told himself when he walked the three flights down to let her in because the buzzer was perpetually busted.

Peggy looked stunning in a snug black dress. She smiled brightly at him and immediately kissed him on the cheek before urging him up the stairs. The second they were through the front door though, Steve felt that uncontrollable pang of shame.

“Can I have the grand tour?” she asked with an unwavering smile.

Steve was glad to see their meager living room looking clean. The night before, when he’d seen Steve scrambling to tidy the place up, instead of laughing, he chucked all the garbage and take-out containers into the trash. He led her down the hallway and pointed out Bucky’s room and the bathroom. Outside the third door, she arched an eyebrow and silently Steve opened his bedroom door.

Peggy stepped in and Steve tried to view his room with an outsider’s perspective. The blank walls had the occasional crack, even more of them on the ceiling. Some spots were peeling, and the rest had a crusty yellowness. It felt… grim. Granted, his bed and desk were neat and tidy. Still, the longer he looked around his humble four corners, the heavier he felt.

“I know it’s pretty depressing.”

Peggy turned over her shoulder and he found himself frowning. She stopped in her perusal and stepped closer to him.

“It’s not much. Just a crappy apartment,” he found himself continuing inanely.

“Steve you must know I don’t care what your place looks like.”

“But most of my furniture is plastic. And none of it even matches. Not like your place.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t quite share the tastes of billionaire Howard Stark when it comes to decorating. However, as it’s fully functional, and I’m very lucky to have it, it works. Besides, I cannot be bothered to spend time changing it around.” She took his hand. “Anyway, this is New York. Rent is ridiculous. This is more than tolerable. The place I was renting before Howard gave me the loft was, in total size, smaller than your bedroom. So trust me, when I understand what one must put up with in this city.”

He met her eyes feeling a little better. He squeezed her hand and smiled.

But then Peggy huffed. “But after all that crap you gave me over my lack of bedroom décor…” She clicked her tongue but she was smiling. “Shame on you Steven.”

She wandered around, stopping in front of his desk. She picked something up. He stepped closer to see what caught her eye. He froze too at the sight of the four-by-six photo in her hand.

It was a photo of a squinty Steve in his uniform and dog tags at boot camp. He closed his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat up. Bucky must have dug it up and put it there. He felt worse about the photo than he had about the stupid apartment.

That photo, that skinny kid in it, that was his identity. That was how Steve saw himself. It’s the core of him and he knew perfectly well that he wasn’t much to look at. And he was scared of what Peggy would see.

“Bucky must have put this here as a joke,” he said awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do.

“This is you when you first joined the military?”

“I know it’s not much to look at…”

Peggy never looked away from the embarrassing photo. He couldn’t imagine why she was still interested in it. Finally, she lifted her gaze looking up at him, eyes oddly soft.

“I love this photo.”

He eyed her skeptically.

“You should see the after photo,” he said lightly.

Her gaze grew in its intensity, and his cheeks felt hot for an altogether different reason.

“I don’t need to see the after photo,” she replied, continuing to look him over. He felt a flutter at her look, and then another when she turned back to the photograph. “I wish I had known you then.”

He gulped, mouth suddenly dry as he thought back to what the hell his skinny, young self would have done if he met Peggy Carter. He would have embarrassed himself for sure, wheezing and tripping at her feet no doubt.

“At least I know you now,” she murmured, inching forward to kiss him.

He lost himself to her lips, to the fervent need to keep the connection, to feel her appreciative kiss. She kissed him like kissing him was exactly what she wanted most. And so he worked hard to make sure he kissed her back in just the way she deserved.

He was thoroughly distracted, lips swollen and he had forgotten all about their reservations. Peggy giggled and gave him a moment while she went to freshen up in his bathroom. He needed more than a moment. With deep breaths, he fixed his disheveled hair in the mirror. Peggy reappeared with a fresh, bold red coat of lipstick, and it was very hard not to imagine kissing it off of her.

Steve had never been much for public displays of affection, content to offering his arm or holding hands. Peggy shared that preference. But he was mighty glad the restaurant was dimly lit. And as they sat at their cozy round table, Steve slipped his hand into Peggy’s only for her to grin and run her fingertips across his forearm.

Despite their distractions, they were early for their reservation. As their table wasn’t ready, they headed back out into the fresh air. Outside, staring in Peggy’s brown eyes he found the courage to clear something up that had been nagging him.

“Buck called you my girlfriend at his family dinner,” he started making Peggy eye him quizzically. He powered through. “I know it’s only been a few weeks—And we haven’t exactly talked about—Not that it’s important exactly—”

“Steve?”

“What I mean is, would you maybe be alright with me being your boyfriend? Because I’d really like that.”

Peggy lifted a hand to cup his cheek, and kissed him, in full view of the street and other patrons.

“Yes, that’d be more than alright with me.”

And that was how Steve found himself scooting his chair closer to hers, sharing pasta and a bottle of red.

“Could I make a suggestion?” Peggy said after her second glass of wine had been poured.

“Okay?”

“You said the state of your room bothers you.”

“I meant to stop it from looking so miserable.”

“So then, let’s change that.”

“Sorry?”

“Let’s spruce it up, make it less glum. Perhaps that will lighten the atmosphere, so that you feel comfortable in it on difficult days.”

He bit his lip.

“I wouldn’t know how or what to do.”

“The same thing you did for me,” she said, taking a sip. “You’re a painter. So let’s paint.”

He had never considered doing that. Never considered that he now had the skill and means to fix the cracks that drove him mad.

“But, I don’t know if my super would allow that…”

“You mean free labor and upkeep that would increase the value of the property? I think it’ll be fine. However we can stay away from fuchsias or other bright colors.”

He couldn’t help but crack a grin. Just the suggestion of bright paint brightening his outlook on the idea.

“Come on, remember how much fun we had painting together?”

He did. Of course he did. He remembered teaching her to use a roller. He remembered her hair tied away from her face. He remembered touching her face for the first time. He remembered the warmth all over his body. It had been more than fun.

“You really want to spend time helping me do that?”

“Yes, of course.”

He couldn’t stop the ridiculous cheek-straining smile. He wondered if he could persuade her to an outfit similar to the one she wore painting her dining room.

They set out the plan throwing around paint color ideas, getting bolder with each new suggestion.

“You know,” she said, eyeing him over her wine glass, “while the paint dries, you can come stay at my place.”

He could only imagine how close a shade his face was to the wine. He couldn’t deny being surprised by her breezy proposition, but he refused to break eye contact. After all, it wasn’t an unwelcome one.