It was genuinely fair that Bucky didn't really know what time COFFEE closed because neither Clint nor Kate had really decided on a set time. They just worked until they didn't feel like it anymore and then closed shop for the night. It wasn't as if the demand for coffee in a town of fifty was particularly high, especially when the two most likely to want it were the owners of the place, and Stark had a habit of just getting an entire pot to go before it got too late.
But right about now was the right time, since Clint really was cleaning things up for the night -- the tables in the place spotless already, and he was there, bent over by the espresso machine, cleaning out all the small bits that had a tendency to get mucked up if left alone for too long.
Still, it was pretty clear that Bucky was a welcome distraction when he entered, if the way Clint's face lit up was any indication. Bucky was, after all, Clint's very favorite mythical creature. Well, more than that. Obviously more than that, but Clint had never been exceptionally good at putting words to his feelings and thoughts. "I keep telling everyone that I don't have fraps. And that I absolutely refuse to get decaf," he said, dropping his soapy rag down next to the machine and moving to lean over the far counter, closest to the door.
"You're not usually in so late," he observed, and it wasn't quite a question, but it might be taken as one, if Bucky wanted. Mostly, he was just glad to see that Bucky was up and about, considering he'd been pretty low the last time they'd really -- well. Hung out probably wasn't the word for it. Seen each other. So this was good, really good. And Clint was genuinely delighted to see him.