You’re on the dock, barefoot, your sundress brushing your knees as you lean over the side of the boat. The breeze smells like salt and old wood. The engine hisses once, then sputters again.

“Try it now,” Bucky calls from below deck, voice muffled and gruff.

You twist the key roar. It rumbles to life.

You grin and shout, “You’re magic, Bucky!”

His head pops up from the hatch, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, grease on his cheek. He gives you a crooked smile. “Told you I was useful.”

Before you can quip back, Sam steps onto the dock, holding a paper bag. “Y’all working hard, or just flirting loud enough for the whole bayou to hear?”

You snort, hopping off the boat. “Why not both?”

Sam smirks, but there’s something behind his eyes—familiarity. Want. He hands you the bag. “Still remember your favorite. Fried catfish and hush puppies.”

Before you can thank him, Bucky’s beside you, wiping his hands with a rag. “I didn’t get a bag?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you liked Southern food.”

“I like whatever she likes.” Bucky doesn’t even blink when he says it.

You freeze for half a second. Sam notices. So does Bucky.

“Alright,” you say slowly, heart thudding. “I see what this is.”

Sam leans on the railing beside you. “Do you?”

Bucky crosses his arms. “Maybe we should make it clear.”

Two sets of eyes on you one full of old memories and slow-burning fire. The other sharp, focused, hungry in a way that makes your breath catch.

You’ve never been wanted like this. And part of you thinks… maybe you don’t have to be pulled in two.

Maybe they’d let you have it all.