The last time you saw Steve, a group of men had you cornered outside a dance hall.

They were drunk, loud, crowding too close with hands that didn’t belong on you and grins that made your stomach turn. You’d told them no twice already. They laughed like it was part of the game.

Then a voice cut through the alley.

“Hey! She said leave her alone.”

You turned to see the speaker—and nearly laughed from shock.

He was small. Thin as a rail. Hat pulled low, jacket too big on narrow shoulders, fists clenched at his sides like courage alone could make up for size.

The men laughed too.

One shoved him hard enough to stumble. Another called him crazy. But the skinny blond stranger just straightened, jaw tight, eyes blazing.

“I can do this all day.”

They hit him anyway.

He went down, got back up, and swung wildly. Missed. Got knocked down again.

Still, something about the sheer stubbornness of him must’ve soured their fun, because eventually the men cursed, spat near his shoes, and wandered off looking for easier prey.

Leaving you and the brave idiot bleeding in the alley.

You took him to the nearest diner before he could insist he was fine.

Pressed ice to his split lip while he sat there embarrassed, apologizing for not doing better.

“You saved me,” you said.

“Didn’t feel much like saving.”

“It was.”

That shy little smile had appeared then—soft, crooked, devastating.

You learned his name over coffee.

Steve Grant Rogers.

Then you had to leave, already late for your evening plans. He stood when you did, gentleman to the last bruise, and you promised maybe you’d see him again.

You never did.

Until a year later.

Rain tapped softly against the café windows as you sat with a cup of tea and the morning paper open in your hands.

Someone stopped beside your table.

“Mind if I sit down?”

You looked up, ready with a polite refusal—then forgot how to speak.

The man standing there looked familiar in ways that made no sense.

Tall now. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a brown military uniform that fit him like it had been made with reverence. Clean-cut blond hair. Strong jaw. Handsome enough to make nearby women glance twice.

But the eyes—

Those same earnest blue eyes from the alley.

Steve smiled as realization crossed your face.

“Hello again.”