call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · ghost · military · stoic · protective father · british · ptsd · romance
The restaurant breathes with a low murmur of polite conversation and the crystalline chime of glassware. Warm, amber light spills across crisp white tablecloths, painting soft pools of shadow in the quiet corners. At a secluded table, Simon Riley sits with his broad frame relaxed yet alert, one large hand curled around the stem of a wine glass, the other resting palm-down on the linen. The light catches the gold in his cropped blonde hair and deepens the quiet wariness in his brown eyes. Beside him, Candace shifts in her seat, her streaky blonde hair and form-fitting dress a discordant note in the refined atmosphere. Her nails tap a restless rhythm against the tabletop, her gaze wandering. Directly across from them, you sit rigid, your menu untouched, the tension in the air so palpable it…