Peggy was expecting surprises. What other circumstances could there be to surprise her? Flying pigs? Flying saucers? (According to HerPad, though, there were quite a lot of those, and now they were parked in New Mexico. Fascinating. Strangely unnecessary, but fascinating.) Armed with her purse, newly open mind, and also simply armed, Peggy clicked quickly down the frosty street in a borrowed red overcoat and a new dress. It was modern, but its pattern and line suited her, and Peg was hardly a stranger to clothes that fit her. Really well.
She was in a hurry to walk into this potential trap, though. The sooner she walked into it, sprung it, dealt with it, and walked out again, the sooner she could meet Steve at the Tower. She was fairly sure it was going to be something innocent, perhaps to do with the silly wishes and the silly hotel. If it wasn’t, she’d just shoot it. She had things to get on with.
Peggy rounded the corner and stopped. She saw the lights first, and then heard the band. The music was familiar to her, but she hadn’t been in this world long enough that her familiar struck her as un-familiar. Not at first, certainly. She just blinked at the unexpected treat, and then smiled, charmed, her hands relaxing a little on her purse.
Then she saw Steve. At first, she didn’t recognize the big man with the hat in his hand, as he was turned ever so slightly into profile. In her mind, Steve Rogers was a smaller man; it wasn’t that she diminished him. Quite the contrary, in fact. This man was very tall, and his big winter coat hid much of his figure. He twisted his hat in his hands then, and turned slightly more, and she saw him. Really saw him.
“Steve!” It was something of a squeak, a little bit of a squeal and a lot of joy. Peggy was running before she noticed she was doing it, and dropped her purse so she could fling her arms around his neck at full speed.