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DAY 80
Sunsets during June in New York City were breathtaking.
The way the golden rays of sunlight washed over the tall skyscrapers, or the way the honeyed film cascaded over the region right before day transformed into night. It was Honey's favorite time of day to ride her yellow bicycle through the streets when it wasn't freezing cold outside, reminding her of all the times that her brother had begged her to take him on her sunset bike rides through the city.
She missed Jeremy.
Pushing through the front entrance doors of her apartment building, Honey briefly let her eyes close as she felt the sunlight absorb through her face and her dark waves that fell down her shoulders. The warmth felt good against her skin, almost as though it was soothing to the soul. As her brown eyes flickered open, she froze in her tracks as they laid on the sight of Steve Rogers perched comfortably on a motorcycle next to her dainty bicycle.
His long, dirty blonde hair was slicked back per usual, but his beard appeared to be freshly trimmed since the last time she saw him. He donned a black, leather jacket with some slacks and a rugged pair of black boots - the bad-boy look only making her mouth salivate more the longer she stared at him.
"Steve?" she piped up, making his head pop up at the sound of her voice.
"I realized that after all of this time, I still don't have your number," he explained quietly, one hand resting on the handle while the other was on his thigh. "So I decided to stop by instead, and I saw your bike..."
"You came here to see me?" Honey asked dumbfoundedly, the words slipping from her full lips as she intertwined her clammy hands together.
"I came here to see if you wanted to take a ride with me."
Honey's eyes averted to the large, scary death machine that he was sitting on, swallowing the wad of cottony saliva in her throat as her lips formed a nervous, thin line. There was only one helmet that she could see, which didn't make her stomach settle anymore as she licked her lips.
"On that?"
Steve glanced down at his motorcycle with furrowed brows as his eyes peered back up at her with an incredulous look flashing through them. "What? Don't tell me you're scared to ride on this," he sounded like he was holding back a laugh. "After flying like hell around on that yellow piece of scrap metal."
"Hey," she narrowed her eyes teasingly in his direction. "I didn't forget how terrified you were to get on the back of that scrap metal, Rogers."
