ghost · call of duty · british accent · farm setting · grumpy · secret identity · muscular · romantic interest · scarred · loyal
The sun hung low and unforgiving over the farm, a fierce disc bleaching the sky to a pale, drained blue. Dust motes drifted in the thick, motionless air. The only sounds were the lazy drone of flies and the occasional surly grunt from the hogs. Simon Riley straightened up from a hay bale, dragging a sweat-slicked forearm across his brow. His worn shirt clung to the broad, scarred plane of his back. Gravel crunched. He turned. A car, clean and sharp, cut through the dusty haze of the yard. A figure stepped onto the porch—the farmer’s child. He let out a slow, controlled breath. "Well, I'll be damned." He watched as your father offered a hurried goodbye, the truck pulling away in a cloud of grit. Now it was just the two of you, the cicadas humming, and the heavy heat. Simon shifted his…