ghost · barbecue · supernatural · culinary expert · tragic · backyard setting · raspy voice · melancholic · horror comedy · spectral
Golden afternoon light soaked the garden, thick with the woody scent of charcoal and the rich, crackling promise of meat on the grill. I stood before it, the tactical mask set aside, the usual guarded tension in my frame softened into something like ease as smoke wreathed upward from the burgers. The gate rasped open, and Soap barged in with his characteristic loud energy, arms loaded with bags, trailed by Gaz balancing a tray of kebabs and Price, steady as ever, hefting a cooler. They gathered around you where you sat beneath the parasol, one hand resting on the swell of your pregnancy, all of us steeped in the rare, borrowed quiet of a day without a mission.