His Girl(Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Two: Nick

*Y/N's POV*

I've always found comfort in the mundane—the predictable rhythm of the espresso machine, the soft hum of conversation filling the café, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans that wraps around me like a warm blanket. Here, in this small corner of New York City, I can lose myself in the simple tasks that keep me grounded, that make me forget the life I once lived.

The café is busy this morning, filled with the usual crowd of early risers seeking their caffeine fix. I move behind the counter with ease, my hands working automatically as I pour coffee, steam milk, and offer smiles to the regulars who've come to know me as just another barista. They don't know my name, don't know my past, and that's exactly how I like it.

I'm wiping down the counter, preparing for the next rush, when I hear the familiar chime of the door opening. I glance up, expecting to see one of the usual faces, but instead, I freeze.

He's taller than I remember, and the years have added a certain gravitas to his presence that makes the air in the room feel heavier. His dark trench coat hangs from his broad shoulders, and the low brim of his hat casts a shadow over his face, but there's no mistaking the black eye patch that covers one eye, giving him an aura of mystery and danger.

Nick Fury.

My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. I haven't seen him in years—not since I disappeared without a trace, determined to leave that life behind and bury the past where it belongs. And yet, here he is, standing in my café like he belongs here, like the years haven't changed anything.

His good eye locks onto mine, and in that instant, I know he's not here for a casual visit. There's something more, something urgent in the way he looks at me.

"Good morning, miss," he says as he approaches the counter, his voice deep and commanding. There's a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, but his gaze is intense, searching. "Black coffee. No sugar."

My hands tremble as I turn to the coffee machine, fumbling with the controls. I've never been this clumsy before, but something about seeing Nick here, in my safe space, throws me off balance. I manage to pour the coffee into a cup, my movements stiff and mechanical, and set it on the counter in front of him.

"Thanks," he says, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. But there's a seriousness in his tone that sends a shiver down my spine. "We need to talk."

I feel a knot form in my stomach. Those four words carry more weight than I care to admit, and I know I'm not ready for whatever conversation is about to unfold. But I nod, forcing myself to speak. "I'll take my break."

Nick nods in return, taking his coffee and heading to a secluded corner of the café. I watch him walk away, the familiar swagger in his step, before I inform my coworker that I'm stepping out for a bit. My heart races as I approach the table where Nick sits waiting, his posture relaxed, but his eyes never leaving me.As I sit down across from him, I can't help but notice the lines etched into his face, the weariness in his expression. He looks older, but the fire in his eye is still there, burning as fiercely as ever. I try to read him, to understand why he's here, but he's always been an enigma, and today is no different.

"I wasn't sure if you'd recognize me," Nick says, breaking the silence. There's a trace of warmth in his voice, almost as if he's glad to see me.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "I could never forget you," I reply softly. "But what are you doing here, Nick? How did you find me?"

He takes a sip of his coffee, his eye studying me over the rim of the cup. "You didn't make it easy," he admits, setting the cup down. "But I've got my ways."