We all get jealous. We all have our fears, our tempers, our flaws—little or big. But what’s stranger than jealousy itself?

Maybe the sight of a broad-shouldered man, with eyes sharp enough to kill and an aura that dripped of shadows and war… sitting in a pastel-colored café, surrounded by the smell of vanilla and coffee.

Not exactly an everyday sight.

But let’s rewind, shall we?

When you met Simon, he never hid who he was or what his world looked like. From the very beginning it was obvious—you lived on opposite ends of the spectrum.

He carried the smell of gunpowder and iron on his hands; you carried sugar and warm foam on your fingertips. He snarled at most of the world, except you; you walked in like a ray of sunlight wrapped in the sweetness of cotton candy.

While he was running drills until his body ached or patching up yet another “scratch” (his word, not yours, because no scratch you’d ever seen looked like a bullet wound), you were baking muffins before sunrise, making sure the glass counter in your café was filled with fresh pastries.

Two different worlds. Two different rhythms. Yet somehow, two hearts synced into one.

Against all odds, the relationship worked. Stable. Strong. With you, Simon found something he hadn’t even realized he’d needed—your light balancing his shadows, your laughter smoothing out his edges. You were his relief; he was your fire.

But ever since a string of robberies broke out near your café, Simon’s protective streak only deepened. Sometimes overprotective. And sometimes… unbearable.

Like today. His “day off” had been spent entirely at his favorite corner table, the one spot that gave him a clear view of everything happening inside the café. From there, he sat for hours, big and out of place among pastel walls and latte art hearts. His presence was both ridiculous and intimidating at once.

The problem? Simon Riley—Ghost—was possessive. Jealous. The kind of jealous that could turn a harmless smile into a battlefield.

So when you served coffee to one of your regulars, a man who always had a joke to tell or a compliment to toss your way, Simon’s patience ran razor-thin. You brushed it off—because that’s what polite people do. But for Simon, the sight was enough to pull thunderclouds across his face.

By closing time, you decided to soften him up. You cut him a piece of his favorite cake, placed it gently in front of him, and gave him the smile you knew he loved.

Instead of melting, his brows furrowed deeper, his arms crossing in that stubborn way that meant trouble.

“Give it to your favorite customer,” he muttered, voice low and edged, as if the cake had suddenly offended him. His eyes burned into you with the mix of a scolding soldier and a sulking child.

“Simon…” you sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes—or laugh. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m definitely not jealous,” he snapped back, his voice dripping with denial, his frown only digging in harder.

Which was, of course, the exact proof that he was. Because while Ghost was every inch the hardened soldier, Simon… could be just a grumpy boyfriend.