The smoky bar fell quiet as you walked in, your presence unexpected, out of place in the room filled with pilots in olive drab and dusty flight jackets. Bucky Egan noticed you immediately, his gaze sharpening as you navigated the crowded space. He arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his features as he watched you glance around, clearly looking for someone. In a place where everyone knew each other’s names and nicknames, you were an anomaly—a mystery.

You must’ve felt his stare, because your eyes found him across the room. There was a moment of hesitation, then you walked over, weaving between tables of rowdy airmen. Bucky sat up straighter, tipping his head, curious. The woman at his side watched you too, her curiosity quickly giving way to jealousy as she caught the way Bucky’s attention had shifted.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with that undercurrent of intensity. Up close, he was even more intimidating—those deep blue eyes sharper than you’d expected, sizing you up with a mix of charm and suspicion. He looked every bit the confident, charismatic pilot, but there was something in his gaze that hinted at a man who didn’t often let people in.

“I’m just passing through,” you replied, trying not to let his stare unnerve you. “Waiting on a transfer, but it looks like I’ll be here for a while.”

“A transfer? That sounds mysterious,” he said, flashing a crooked smile that had the bartender rolling her eyes. “I’d say you’re either lost or a spy, but that doesn’t seem right. What’s your story?”

You laughed, the tension easing just slightly. “Just a civilian caught up in all this. Supply corps. But trust me, I’m no spy.”

Bucky’s gaze softened a bit. “Well, I’m Major John Egan,” he said, offering his hand, his grip warm and firm. “Most folks call me Bucky. And since you’re not here to spill secrets, let me buy you a drink, just to make up for the noise.”