Chapter Text
It was Friday evening, and you had stayed behind to do last minute floral arrangements. If you had known earlier that Jamie’s birthday party was something you were actually invited to, you would've cleared your Saturday schedule and rearranged your deliveries for Friday and Sunday instead.
But now, here you were, burning the evening hours to wrap up everything in time so you could drop arrangements off early and still make it to the party.
You felt bad for keeping Jamie behind on a Friday night, especially considering it was his birthday tomorrow. When you told him he could leave early, he looked at you with genuine concern.
“Are you sure?” he had asked you, like he actually didn’t want to leave you here alone.
Despite all the grouchy moods and eye rolls, Jamie somehow always managed to work his way into your heart.
So now you were left alone. The sun was beginning to set, and the warm light peered through the windows of the quiet floral shop. You were humming to yourself, lost in the floral arrangement when you heard the bells at the front door jingle.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” you call out with a polite and friendly voice.
When you look up, you didn’t expect to see Bucky standing at the door.
You blinked, setting the freshly cut flowers down slowly. “Bucky? What are you doing here? Jamie already left to hang out with his friends.”
“Your bathroom’s all fixed,” he explains gruffly, his gaze casually sweeping around the shop—avoiding your eyes. “Just thought I’d pay you a quick visit.”
Classic. Pay me a quick visit, but you won’t even look at me? Or even bring up your son’s birthday party that I was so clearly invited to?
You turned back to your flowers with a sigh, refusing to let him get under your skin. After Jamie had let the party slip, you hadn’t brought it up to Bucky once. He probably had no idea you even knew, which made your plan to show up without a word feel all the more satisfying.
It was definitely petty, but you didn’t care.
He deserved it for keeping it from you.
“You look busy,” Bucky commented, motioning lazily toward your cluttered workstation.
You let out an exaggerated gasp. “Wow, really ? You don’t say! It’s not like tomorrow’s one of the biggest floral holidays of the year or anything!”
Bucky crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at you.
“And Jamie’s birthday party too, apparently,” you muttered quietly under your breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” you replied sharply, jamming a rose into a vase a little harder than necessary. That poor flower didn’t deserve that.
“Let me help you,” Bucky says firmly, taking a step towards you before you could even reply.
You raise a brow and put a hand on your hip. “You want to help me arrange flowers?”
He shrugs, meeting you at the workstation. “How hard can it be?”
You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth. His son might’ve had a secret hidden talent for floral arrangements, but you’d bet good money the flowers would droop the second Bucky touched them.
“Alright then, big guy,” you say with a teasing grin. You gesture to the table full of red and pink roses, gerbera daisies, and eucalyptus all carefully prepped and waiting. “Be my guest.”
To be honest, you didn’t have the time to play around. You knew his bouquet was probably going to look like crap, and there was a high chance you would have to redo them. But the sinister part of you really wants to see the town’s grumpiest farmer try to arrange something that isn’t hay bales.
Bucky furrows his brows as he picks up a rose, the flower looking dainty and fragile in his massive strong and calloused hands. “So... how do I start?” he asks, glancing your way.
You shrug, trying to play dumb. “Just go with whatever you think looks nice.”
He hesitates for a moment as his eyes rake over the flowers in front of him.
You smirk. “How hard can it be?” you taunt, using his words against him.
He gives you a flat look, mutters something under his breath, and gets to work.
You try to keep yourself busy on your own vase, but your eyes couldn’t help but sneak curious glances his way. He kept mumbling something under his breath, and he had a grouchy look painted on his face. It was taking everything in you to not break down laughing—not because you wanted to mock him, but because there’s something inexplicably endearing about seeing someone like him, all grit and strength, struggling with something so soft and delicate.
“I can feel you staring at me,” he mumbles as he rearranges the same stubborn rose for the fifth time.
Your lips tug up into a smile. “I’m just admiring your technique.”
Bucky shakes his head, not buying it as he continues fixing up his arrangement.
“You know,” you say with a slightly teasing tone, “you should ask Jamie to teach you how to arrange flowers. It could be a pretty handy skill to have.”
He raises his brow, scrunching his face up as he glares down at his poor attempt at a bouquet. “And why the hell would I need to know how to do this, aside from saving your overworked ass?”
You roll your eyes. “Let’s say a woman comes around, if that’ll ever happen,” you explain, “it wouldn’t hurt to know how to make her a special bouquet yourself.”
Bucky pauses for a moment.
“Would that be something you want?” he asks in a surprisingly soft and quiet voice that throws you off guard. When you glance up, his eyes are already on you.
You freeze for a moment, then your gaze drops immediately back to the flowers in your hands. Because you know that if you keep looking at him, you’ll crumble right beneath him. And you were definitely not going to give him the satisfaction of swooning you over—whether it was intentional or not.
Especially not after he kept Jamie’s birthday party a secret from you.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, and it came out more bitterly than you’d intended.
Despite your tone, Bucky doesn’t waiver. “You’re tellin’ me,” he says, “that a florist’s never gotten a bouquet of her own?”
You narrow your brows at him. “I’m only a florist because this shop was passed down to me,” you explain firmly, going back to your flowers. “And it’s not that I’ve never gotten bouquets, it’s just… it's been a while.”
“I see,” he says simply. There was no sarcastic remark this time. No teasing jab at you like you’d expected. “How would you arrange these, then?” he asks you.
You glance at him in surprise. This sudden softness in his tone today has been giving you whiplash. You cleared your throat and walked over. You approached the bouquet in front of him, and he didn't move to get out of your way. He stays still, his arm braced on the table beside yours, caging you in without touching you.
Bucky is so close to you, you could feel his chest rising and falling from his steady breathing. You swallow, snapping yourself back to reality and tug on a rose.
“You want a balance of height and color,” you explain with a stern voice. “The greenery gives contrast, keeps everything looking natural. Here—” you reach for a handful of eucalyptus and begin weaving it between the stems. “Use these to fill the empty spaces. Like this.”
“Fill the empty spaces,” he repeats after you, his voice low and raspy behind your ear. With one hand still caging you in, and he raises his free hand to pluck a eucalyptus out of your hand and tucks it into the vase slowly. “Like this?”
You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.
The way he’s deliberately standing close to you, the way his lips graze against your earlobes when he speaks, and the words that come out of his mouth seem anything but innocent.
“Bucky,” you say quietly. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you. I just wanted to pay you a quick visit—”
“And you’ve already paid your quick visit,” you snap back. “So, you can leave now.”
“Hey,” he shifts closer to you. “What’s with the attitude?” he asks, brows furrowed. “Did I do something?”
You scoff. “Attitude?” you finally turn around to face him, only then realizing how close he is. “You see me every single day. In the mornings, when you’re fixing up my house. In the evenings, when you pick Jamie up. We run into each other at the market, your friends are my friends… and now you’re going out of your way to stop by for a so-called ‘quick visit’?”
Bucky looks down at you, caught off guard. He parts his lips to say something, but you breeze right through.
“I don’t think you’re here to pay me a visit. I think you’re here to taunt me,” you press on. “So, unless you’re here to finally invite me to Jamie’s birthday party—which, for some reason, you’ve been keeping a secret—then you can turn around and walk out, because we’re closed.”
He stares at you completely stunned, and for once, he has nothing smart to say back. You spin around, your hair probably whipping at him because of how close he’s still standing.
“You knew about Jamie’s birthday party?” he asks you. “Who told you?”
“Jamie did,” you reply flatly, focusing on the flowers again. “And apparently, I was the first person on the invite list. But you weren’t planning to tell me that either, were you?”
“I was going to invite you,” Bucky mutters.
You pause, hands stilling around the bouquet, but you don’t turn around.
“Were you?” you snap back. “Because it didn’t really feel like it.”
“I was,” he repeats more firmly. “I just… I didn’t know how to bring it up.” Bucky sighs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “I didn’t know if you’d even want to come.”
And that gets you to turn. You look up at him, disbelief and frustration written all over your face.
“Are you kidding me?” you let out a dry laugh. “You really thought I wouldn’t want to go? Bucky, I care about Jamie. You know that. Of course I’d want to celebrate with him.”
His jaw clenches and he doesn’t move. He stays exactly where he is, still keeping you caged in between the table and his body.
“I know you care,” he says quietly.
“Then what?” you press on. “Why keep me out of it?”
He takes a steady breath, making sure his words come out right. “You’re Jamie’s boss. And technically, I work for you too. You already see us enough, and only out of obligation. I just... I didn’t want you to feel like you owe us this.”
You blink at him, confused, and truthfully… a little hurt.
He sighs, looking down at his boots before meeting your eyes again. “And lately, every time I look at you, I can’t tell what we are anymore. I don’t know if you actually hate me... or if we’re friends. Or if you’re just tolerating me because we keep ending up in the same damn places.”
“Well,” you lean against the table, crossing your arms. “What do you want us to be?”
Bucky swallows, and his blue eyes bore into yours. You’re not even sure why you asked, or what kind of answer you were hoping for—if any.
“I want…” Bucky treads carefully, his brows narrowed slightly as he watches you carefully. Like he’s trying to read you. “I want you to be someone Jamie can look up to. And I want you to be someone I can call a friend.”
Your arms fall slightly at your chest and your shoulders slump. You let out a shaky breath and your eyes fall to the floor, half-lidded and heavy. You didn’t know what answer you were bracing for, but somehow, this wasn’t it.
Friend.
You should be glad. It’s something, isn’t it? A solid place to stand aside from all the glaring and snappy one liners.
But friends don’t pull you into their arms and hold you close in their kitchen, tickling you, and spanking you with a wet dish towel. You don’t eyefuck your friend while they fix up your yard and house. And a friend wouldn’t be unreasonably jealous at the mention of their ex showing up to their own son’s birthday party.
No. You two aren’t friends. You knew better than that. And the way those words came out of his mouth made it seem like he wasn’t very confident with that title either.
“Friends, then?” you say, not as confirmation, but as a question—a challenge.
Are you sure that’s really what you want?
Bucky’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and they stay there. “Friends.”
You stay perfectly still, studying every detail of his face. “Friends,” you repeat in a low voice.
He lets out a deep breath, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. “My most aggravating, stubborn, smart-mouthed friend.”
You watch him carefully, your lips tugging into a slow smirk. “Must be exhausting for you, being friends with someone as infuriating as me.”
Bucky’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but he doesn’t. “It is,” he says in a rough and deep voice. “Every damn day.”
You tilt your head, taunting him. “Poor you,” you say sarcastically. “How do you survive it?”
He leans in closer, his hands once rested on the table to cage you and now found your waist, firm and strong. You let out a gasp as he lifts you up like it’s nothing, setting you on the edge of the table as he settles himself in between your legs.
“I don’t,” he growls, leaning in even closer so that your lips are grazing. “Not when you’re always so close yet so far away, and especially not when you’re looking at me like that.”
“Bucky—”
He interrupts you before another word can leave your mouth. With his hands warm around your waist, his mouth finds yours, kissing you and swallowing up whatever snarky comeback you were going to say.
And when he’s kissing you, it’s anything but friendly.
You melt into his warmth, instinctively groaning against his lips as your fingers tangle into the hair you’ve been aching to touch for far too long. You give his hair a gentle yet needy tug, and Bucky moans into your mouth, deepening the kiss as his tongue slides against yours.
His hands wander hungrily all over your body. His movements are desperate but surprisingly gentle, like he’s scared if he lets go for even just a moment, you’ll disappear.
Bucky continues kissing you, groaning against your mouth while you whimper softly beneath him. With one hand steady on your waist, his other tangles up into your hair, tugging it until you're both breathless.
Eventually, he pulls back to press his forehead against yours. You both breathe heavily, recovering from the unexpected heated moment.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says in a quiet and raspy voice, catching his breath. His hands caress your cheeks gently, holding you still so that you’re forced to look at him.
“I want you to come to Jamie’s birthday,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheeks.
“I had every intention of showing up,” you say between steady breaths. “But if you feel uncomfortable—”
“Did you not hear me, flower girl?” he interrupts you with a strained voice as he gently pinches your cheek. “I just said I want you to come.”
Your puffy lips tug up into a teasing smile, your chest rising up and down to catch your breath. “Do you?”
“I do,” he says without hesitation.
You purse your lips, tilting your head and taunting him. “I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like it.”
Bucky scoffs, his hands coming back down to snake around your waist, pushing you closer against him. “I just kissed the ever-loving hell out of you,” he says. “And this is how you’re paying me back? With that smart mouth of yours?”
Your grin grows wider. Even though you’re not in the position to be poking at him, you can’t help but do it anyway. It’s just something about getting him riled up that does something to you.
You lean in, lips brushing against his, “I don’t think friends kiss each other like that.”
“No?” he questions, his hands tightening on your waist possessively. “I don’t think they do either.”
The next day came fast, and with a flood of orders and deliveries demanding your attention, you barely had time to process what had happened. After Bucky kissed you, he stayed behind in the shop to help you out. Then, just as abruptly as he’d kissed you, he left. “I’ve got something to take care of at the farm,” he told you, not meeting your eyes.
When you offered to help him out at the farm, he told you, “Just take care of your shop,” and left in a hurry.
He hadn’t reached out at all this morning. You told yourself he was probably just swamped with last-minute party errands, but a part of you was worried that maybe he regretted it. Because there hadn’t been a text. A call.
Nothing.
With too many deliveries on your plate to handle by yourself, you called in backup. Steve offered to help without hesitation, his car now filled with carefully packaged bouquets. You sat in the passenger seat, one arrangement sitting gently on your lap as he drove through the town.
“Thanks for helping me out, Steve,” you sighed, adjusting your dress—the one you were already wearing for Jamie’s party, thanks to the tight schedule.
“It’s no trouble,” he reassures you, switching on his turn signal. “But I’m surprised you’re running around like this when you knew Jamie’s party was today.”
You frown. “I didn’t know. Bucky only gave me the official invite yesterday.”
“Really?” Steve glanced at you with raised eyebrows.
“I was invited this whole time, but Bucky kept it from me,” you sighed, looking out the rolled down window, taking in the breeze. “You’re his best friend, aren’t you? Do you know why he would do that?”
Steve shrugged, eyes back on the road. “I don’t think it was anything personal. Buck’s not the type to do something like that out of spite. He probably had his reasons.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. You weren’t sure how much Steve knew about whatever it was between you and Bucky. All of your friends still thought the two of you barely tolerated each other. But with Steve, being Bucky’s closest friend, maybe he knew more than everyone else.
But as you turn to look at Steve, he seemed blissfully unaware as his fingers thump against the steering wheel to the beat of the music playing on the radio station.
“Bucky kissed me yesterday,” you blurt out.
If Bucky hadn’t planned to tell anyone, well, that was on him. You weren’t going to be someone’s secret. Not like that, and especially not with him.
Steve looks at you completely wide-eyed. “Did he?”
So, Bucky had kept it to himself. You just gave him a simple nod.
“Jesus,” Steve muttered with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Well? Was he any good?”
You rolled your eyes, elbowing him lightly. “That’s not the point, Steve. I just don’t get it. He avoids inviting me, kisses me and tells me he’s been wanting to do that forever, leaves abruptly, and then doesn’t even follow up. Like it didn’t happen.”
Steve pressed his lips together and let out a hum, deep in the thought.
“It’s been a long time since he’s kissed anyone, or even been with another woman at all,” Steve explains as he turns into a street. “He’s probably nervous and doesn’t know how to handle it.”
You frown, clutching the bouquet for comfort. Bucky seems like a strong and self-assured guy, so Jamie’s mom must’ve done a number on Bucky for him to not be with another woman for years.
Either that, or he was just comfortable choosing solitude.
“Jamie’s mom is coming, isn’t she?” you ask softly. “How terrible is she?”
Steve glances at you. “Terrible. Very terrible,” he sighs. “Talia always acts like she knows what’s best for Jamie, but she’s barely present. She loves to give Bucky shit, but she doesn’t lift a finger to help raise him.”
Your jaw clenched as he went on.
“She lives in the city, only a couple of hours away. But she barely visits,” he explains further. “The only reason she’s showing up today is because Jamie begged her. If he didn’t, then she wouldn’t have even made the effort.”
“So… she’s a total bitch?”
Steve pulled up to the next delivery, putting the car in park.
“I don’t really like to call women that,” he ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his seat, giving you a tired smile. “But yeah, she’s a total bitch.”
Once all the deliveries were finally done, Steve drove the two of you straight to Bucky’s house. By the time you pulled up, the front yard was already decked out—tables arranged neatly under strings of balloons, music playing—definitely Jamie’s playlist, and food laid out across a folding table.
Bucky emerged from the front with a couple cases of beer in his arms. His eyes found you as he noticed you stepping out of the car, one hand clutching Steve’s as he helped you out while you held the hem of your dress down against the breeze.
Setting the beer next to the cooler, Bucky looked between the two of you, brows narrowed and arms folding across his broad chest.
“You came with Steve?” he asked flatly.
No hello? Not even a ‘glad you made it’? Or a ‘hey, Steve’? you thought, biting back a sigh.
“He helped me finish up deliveries this morning,” you replied casually, smoothing your skirt as it rode up your thighs.
Steve approached next to you, giving Bucky a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day, buddy,” he says in a playful voice with a grin.
Bucky’s eyebrow twitches. His blue eyes flicker between you and Steve, then to your hair tousled from the car drive, then his gaze dropped down slowly to the short hem of your dress. He took his time taking you in, his jaw clenched the entire time.
You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous as you adjusted the strap of your dress as his gaze burned into your skin, burning hotter than the sun.
“Yeah,” Bucky grits through clenched teeth. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Without sparing you another glance, he turned back to the cooler and started arranging the beers.
You look up at Steve. “What the hell was that all about?”
Steve shrugs, just as clueless as you are as he makes his way over to Bucky to offer his assistance.
Before you could follow them, the sounds of footsteps on the grass caught your attention. Jamie was jogging towards you, cheeks pink from the sun and a bright grin stretched across his face. Behind him trailed a few boys around his age, probably his friends, and Camila, who waved briefly from a distance.
“You came!” Jamie says happily, which throws you off guard. He looked so happy today.
You smiled, approaching him and ruffling his hair.
“Of course I did. Happy birthday, Jamie,” you said warmly, holding out a wrapped gift. “I brought you something. Hope it’s good enough for the coolest kid in town.”
Jamie takes the gift, his eyes going a little wide with surprise. “You didn’t have to—”
“Don’t go all shy on me now, Jamie,” you wave your hand dismissively. You nod your head towards the gift, a proud smile on your face. “Go on. Open it.”
He hesitates before giving you a sheepish smile. He began to peel the wrapping paper away. Inside the box, there were different vintage cartridges messily arranged inside the box. Most of them didn’t have their original cases, but you hoped they were good enough.
“This…” he looks down at the box, stunned as his eyes scan the contents. “You… you got these for me?” He looks up at you with wide eyes in disbelief.
You rub the back of your neck, suddenly feeling nervous. Crap, maybe you went overboard. Or maybe it wasn’t enough.
“D-do you… like it?”
Jamie looks back down at the cartridges, then up at you again, and this time, his smile comes back even wider. His expression was pure, genuine excitement.
“Do I like it?” he scoffs, his fingers gently sifting through the games. “I’ve been wanting these forever . Especially this one—” he holds up one of the Pokémon games. “I’ve been dying to play this!”
You let out a breath of relief, smiling. “I got really lucky finding this set.”
“Nah, you didn’t get lucky,” he shakes his head, his grin widening, “you’re just cool.”
You raise your eyebrows. Being called cool by the coolest teenager in town makes you feel like you just won an award. You laugh, pulling him into a hug. “Alright, come here, you big softie.”
He stiffens, caught off guard by the hug. But eventually, his arms wrap around you, and he slumps against you with a soft sigh. “Thanks. This really means a lot.”
Your heart melts at his words. All you want is for this kid to be happy. You pull back, smoothing down his hair without thinking. It’s always a little long and messy, just like Bucky’s. And the way his wide, innocent blue eyes look up at you makes your smile go soft.
And in Jamie’s nature, he playfully swats your hand away. “Alright, stop petting me like I’m a dog.”
You chuckle and shake your head. “Sorry. You know I can’t help it.”
Jamie rolls his eyes as he turns around, motioning you towards the group of teenagers behind him. “These are my friends,” he says, nodding towards the boys. They all gave you a quick and shy wave and smile.
“This is Peter,” Jamie motions to a boy with brown hair and a kind expression. “I go to school with him. We play games together and stuff.”
Peter steps forward and actually offers you a handshake. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely.
Well-mannered. You already like him.
“You must be Spidey Peter one three three seven.”
Jamie’s face flushes in embarrassment.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Peter chuckles. “Jamie talks about you a lot. You’re Mr. Barnes’ girlfriend, right? I don’t know how you can do it. He’s kind of scary–”
“Peter, oh my god, shut up,” Jamie groans, nudging him hard in the ribs.
Peter laughs along with the rest of the boys. One of them slings an arm over Jamie’s shoulder, nodding to the gift box. “C’mon, let’s check out the new games.”
They drag him away, already teasing each other. You hear one whisper, “Think your dad would notice if we snagged a beer?”
“Dude,” Jamie hisses, eyes darting around. “Don’t speak so loud. He’ll hear us.”
You can’t help but snicker and shake your head. You turn around to make your way back to greet the rest of the party, maybe getting back to Steve and Bucky. But as you turn, you’re immediately stopped in your tracks when you see a woman standing directly in your path.
This woman had long brunette hair, a beer in hand, hip cocked to the side. And now that you're close, you see the slight resemblance to Jamie.
She eyes you up and down, a smug smirk creeping on her lips. “Mr. Barnes’ girlfriend, huh?”