"Life is fifty wrong turns down a bumpy road. All you can hope is that you end up somewhere nice." - Punk 57
*I don't own any of the characters except the OCs.
Melanie Lovett was a former CIA Agent. She decided it wasn't in the cards for her to kee...
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A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this one! Let me know what ya think!
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November:
It had been a couple weeks since I had started a relationship with Bucky. We had been good at keeping everything a secret. Sneaking touches. Going into each other's rooms after everyone was asleep or out. It was honestly kind of fun. Exhilarating. We knew there were camera's watching but both Bucky and I were able to hack into the tower's cameras to erase any evidence of us sneaking around.
Tony loomed over the kitchen sink, staring down.
"Whose putting coffee grounds into the disposable?!" Tony complained, stuffing his hand inside and taking out a chunk of black goo.
Everyone who was currently in the room turned their head to look at my direction. Of course they would think it was me. I was the one who often had a coffee in my hand.
"Not me," I quipped. "I actually know how to use them."
Wanda lifted an eyebrow as her eyes flashed red. I glared at her. At this point, there was no use in fighting with her about her need to get into peoples heads.
"She's telling the truth."
She turned her head, looking at everyone until she stopped at Steve. His gaze darted from mine to Tony's as if I was going to be able to help him get out of this.
"You," she smirked. "It was you."
Steve pursed his lips, grabbing a piece of toast from the table.
"In my defense, I wanted to be able to make coffee like Mel does without her help. I don't know how she does it but it comes out so good every time."
I chuckled, shrugging my shoulders.
"It's an art I have perfected over the many years of being on my own. A lot of trial and error. You'll get it someday, Steve," I smiled.
He rolled his eyes, grabbing an empty mug that was near him. "Or I can get it today. Can't you just show me? We're done eating anyways."
I stood up, glancing over at Bucky, who was straight-faced, looking back at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. Whether any of this bothered him or not. I had learned over that last couple of weeks that he was quite the possessive type. It was hot most of the time but sometimes it got to be too much.
"Fine, fine. Here," I walked over to grab the french press.
He leaned over watching as I gave him step by step instructions on how to make good french pressed coffee. The other's also quieted down to pay attention.
"Okay so you gotta start with a coarse grind," I said, pouring the coffee beans into the grinder.
