The sun sank lower over the Louisiana bayou, casting long shadows across Sam’s boat. Bucky and you had agreed to help Sam with his parents’ boat, while he and Sarah cooked dinner. You and Bucky were drinking beers, watching the sun slowly disappear into the sea.

Bucky tightened a bolt, his focus intense, until your approach caught his attention. You handed him a toolbox, your fingers brushing briefly against his.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary.

You leaned against the railing, taking a swag of your beer as you watched him work. “That bolt giving you a hard time?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Something like that.”

The silence between you was comfortable, the gentle rhythm of the boat rocking beneath you. Bucky glanced up again, the golden light catching in his eyes. He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the gesture casual and familiar, almost absent-minded.

“What?” you asked softly, your heart quickening.

“Your hair was out of place,” he replied, his voice low, as if lost in thought.

The moment lingered, quiet and unspoken, as the sun dipped below the horizon.

In his eyes, you saw it—the quiet, unmistakable look of love.