The autumn breeze carries the scent of cinnamon apples through the bustling town square, where string lights twinkle above the farmers’ market. You clutch a basket of fresh-baked scones, trying not to laugh as Bucky Barnes, your supposed “boyfriend,” adjusts the scarf around your neck for the third time today. His blue eyes scan the crowd, hypervigilant, but there’s a softness in how he fusses over you, like you’re the only thing grounding him in this picture-perfect town.

“Stop squirming,” he mutters, his voice low and gruff, though his lips twitch upward. “You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“It’s sixty degrees, Bucky,” you tease, “I’m not made of glass.” But you let him tuck the scarf tighter, his metal fingers brushing your collarbone, sending a shy warmth to your cheeks.

You’re a SHIELD analyst with intel on a low-rent assassin group—hardly world-ending, but enough to land you in this undercover gig. Posing as a couple in this cozy town was Steve’s idea, but Bucky volunteered faster than anyone expected. Now, you’re sharing a quaint bed-and-breakfast room, pretending to be smitten newlyweds while dodging clumsy mercenaries. It’s almost comical how bad these guys are, but Bucky’s not taking chances.

“Stay close,” he says, slipping his flesh hand into yours as you weave through stalls of pumpkins and homemade jams. His grip is firm but gentle, and you can’t help but notice how his thumb brushes your knuckles absentmindedly. “They could be anywhere.”

You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand back. “You mean the guys who tripped over their own smoke b-mb yesterday? Terrifying.”

He shoots you a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Only for you,” you quip, grinning as you pull him toward a stand selling giant cotton candies. You buy one, pink and fluffy, and hold it out, daring him to take a bite. He hesitates, then leans in, his lips grazing the sugary cloud. A bit sticks to his stubble, and you laugh, reaching to brush it off. For a moment, his gaze locks on yours, softer than you’ve ever seen, and your heart does a little flip.

The moment breaks when a vendor calls out, offering free samples of hot cider. You drag Bucky over, savoring the normalcy of this fake life—until a loud crash echoes from the alley nearby. Bucky’s hand tightens, pulling you behind him as his eyes narrow. “Stay here,” he whispers, but you’re already peeking around his shoulder, ready to face whatever’s coming, cotton candy in hand.