Expecting a call right after a date was silly, and Peggy was not that kind of girl. It had been a lovely evening, certainly. Steve was as much of a gentleman as she'd always expected (barring that little hiccup at the hotel unveiling, but that was chemically induced and nothing she could hold against Steve's better nature), fulfilling every quietly hoarded fantasy of candlelight and quiet conversation and the warm grasp of his much bigger hand wrapped around hers on the way back home. By all appearances, he'd enjoyed the evening as much as she had, and that was reason enough not to worry.
They did things in their own time. A few days without any word was nothing to fret about, especially when she was busily trying to keep up with and subsequently quash some unfortunate rumors about Bucky's... bedroom habits. Really, gossip might take all forms, but some things were better not whispered anywhere near Peggy Carter's ears.
She was at home when Steve called; or rather, at her childhood home. Her father was, as he'd always been prone to do, working late. That left her at loose ends, pottering around a house that she kept gently reminding was too large for one man, especially a man with her father's penchant for living at his shop. He was never coming to come to the Capitol, though, and Peggy wasn't going to relent and stick around to run the business, so they were at something of an impasse. No one had ever really had to ask where she got her stubborn streak.
The jingle of her phone drew attention away from a fairly disapproving survey of the kitchen, and Peggy brightened at seeing Steve's name on the display. Answering, she balanced phone between ear and shoulder and didn't hesitate with a cheerful greeting that didn't falter until his response seemed unusually subdued.
"Steve, it's nothing to apologize about," she assured, mouth quirking into a soft, wry smile. "Honestly, it's fine. You're calling now."