Under Pastel Skies

Chapter 9

Good luck on your interview xx

Bucky had just hit 'send' when Sam cleared his throat noisily, drawing Bucky's attention away from his phone. His friends were frowning crossly at him, their glasses raised in a silent toast. He set his phone face-down on the table and picked up his glass.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

Sam shot Steve a 'see?' look and Steve replied with a shrug and a little smile. They looked like two sassy grandmothers judging their only grandson. Bucky checked his phone again, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see his grandmothers share another look.

"What?" he barked, annoyed.

"Nothin," they both answered at the same time before they took a synchronized sip of orange juice.

Smacking his lips together, Sam opened the menu and began to skim through the choices. A waiter suddenly came out of nowhere to take their order. Bucky ordered a cranberry rosemary scone, smoked bacon, an eggplant sandwich, and a plate of lemon-ricotta pancakes.

"Excuse-me," Sam called out to the waiter. "Could you make his pancakes in the shape of an angel?" he asked, ignoring Bucky who was openly glaring at him.

The waiter, albeit a little surprised, kept a smile on his face. "I'll see what I can do."

"That won't be necessary," Bucky told him, handing him the menu. "Thank you."

Without another look to his friends, he grabbed his phone and checked his messages for the third time in less than two minutes. Steve snatched his phone up and sat back in his seat, waving the phone at Bucky.

"Enough! Live in the moment." He pocketed the phone and gave Bucky a pointed stare. "You'll get it back later."

"What the hell? You're not my father, give it back!" Bucky snapped, extending his hand, the palm facing up. Steve shook his head. "Give it back, you fucking meatball."

He got up and tried to reach inside Steve's pocket for his phone but Steve kept shifting in his seat. They wrestled like that for a minute while Sam watched them, eating a breadstick and looking mildly entertained.

"Okay, fine," Bucky panted, pushing himself away from Steve. "You leave me no choice, Rogers." He cleared his throat like an actor about to jump on stage. "Give me back my phone, Steve!" he said, raising his voice. "Do you enjoy stealing from disabled people?"

He nearly shouted the last two words, and to Steve's horror, the buzz of conversation around them had died. He could feel people staring at him. Cursing softly under his breath, he reached into his pocket and dropped the phone into Bucky's awaiting hand.

"It's okay, we're friends," Steve said to the people sitting behind him. They looked at him with a disapproving glare. "Jesus, Bucky, you're making me look like an asshole."

An amused expression crossed Bucky's face as he sat back in his seat. "Don't touch my stuff."

It was quiet while he checked his messages. Slowly, those around them returned to their own conversations. Sam pointed his half-eaten breadstick at Steve.

"Do you think the waiter will spit in your omelette?" he said the last word with an exaggerated French accent. Steve glared at him.

Their waiter arrived a moment later carrying a large tray with their brunch. Steve poked at his omelet with a suspicious frown, then looked over at Bucky who was still on his phone. Sam stole a slice of bacon from Bucky's plate and gave it to Steve.