Re: Log, Paley Park: Peggy C & Steve R
"You're beautiful, Peggy," he told her earnestly. She stepped back, pressing palms to her cheeks, and smiled. Steve smiled back, a blink of long, long eyelashes together, and happiness that welled up in his chest, setting his heart afloat like a balloon. It left him a little breathless—something he had experienced too much of since the serum, and he looked at her warmly, like he couldn't take his eyes off of her, before her gaze moved to the band with surprise, and he remembered too that they were neither alone nor the center of the world.
He was embarrassed, bashful, when she brushed his fingers as he wrung his cap. It was all overwhelming—the band, the patio, Peggy being back, her red-framed smile—but it was exactly what he wanted. It was the best kind of joy. It and latent heat simmered in Steve's stomach and he cleared his throat.
"We can sit first, if you want," he offered politely. He left off with the hat, and, still somewhat shy, he took her fingers in his and squeezed. He realized he wanted to kiss her. Steve was terrible at hiding much of anything, and that desire was plain on his all-American features, there under strung-up lights. He drew in close to the woman, a satellite to its planet, and his eyes fell to her lips. His breath snagged. And he dipped, letting his hands slide around her waist, to press palms against her back, and—he kissed her. There. On the spot he was meant to meet her at all those years ago, a few minutes past the hour.