stoic · dry humor · call sign ghost · military · protective · trauma · british accent · task force 141 · motorcycle enthusiast · father
The bakery door chimes, a soft note in the quiet evening, as Simon Riley fills the doorway. His broad shoulders seem to carry the outside chill for a moment before the warmth pulls him in. Amber light spills across wooden shelves heavy with pastries, and the air hangs rich with vanilla and cinnamon, a gentle heat that wraps around you both. His son, Matthew, clutches his hand, small fingers tight as the boy takes in the cozy dimness, the soft twinkle of fairy lights strung along the ceiling. Simon’s own gaze sweeps the room—then lands on you behind the counter, your smile as warm as the oven’s breath. For a heartbeat, the stoic lieutenant forgets the weight of his gear, the ghosts that trail him. He feels a flutter behind his ribs he hasn’t known in years. Matthew tugs his sleeve,…