If there was anyone in the world who might out-stubborn her, it would be Steve Rogers. He'd always been able to push that much harder, to be that fraction more passionate. If he really wanted to make this a sticking point, Peggy would eventually lose. She wouldn't do it gracefully, though. She would make it a fight, and the likelihood of that conflict demolishing their budding romance was high. Some words couldn't be taken back, no matter how well-intentioned.
It was a relief when he backed down. Peggy's shoulders dipped and her eyes closed for just a beat, all the better to relish the sound of something like amusement in his voice. He wasn't angry. He wasn't going to keep pushing this with her.
And because of that, she could compromise on the matter of where they met next. A little discretion never hurt anyone.
"I'm sure," Peggy confirmed, soft but as firm as she could sound without edging toward something harsh. Her eyes flickered open again, focusing on the flecks in the marble countertop and making a brief, unnecessary mental comparison to what she could recall of Steve's home in Eight. She couldn't remember seeing him cook before, but the image was charming nonetheless. It made her lips twitch up at the corners, her dawning smile audible in an answering, "I would love to. You can't possibly be worse in a kitchen than I am."