Simon Riley never let the chaos of his life stop him from keeping his promises. No matter how many missions went sideways or how much his body ached, he always found his way back to your restaurant—a quiet little haven with dim lighting, smooth jazz, and the tantalizing aroma of home-cooked meals.

You noticed him the first time he walked in, shadowed and stoic, his mask drawing curious glances. Most people wouldn’t approach a man like him, but you greeted him with a warm smile and a steady voice, treating him no differently than any other customer. That seemed to surprise him.

“What’ll it be?” you had asked.

“Spaghetti and a whiskey,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly.

It became his ritual. Every time he returned, whether weeks or months later, the order never changed. But he wasn’t just there for the food or drink. He was there for you.

He wasn’t good with words, not when it came to things like this. His job had taught him how to interrogate, how to extract information, how to intimidate—but charm? Winning hearts? That was a battlefield he was still learning to navigate.

So, he let his actions speak.

When he noticed you lingering by the bar, a little more tired than usual, he started bringing small gifts—never anything flashy, just thoughtful touches. A new set of knives for your kitchen. A rare bottle of wine. And once, a small, handwritten card: “For the best cook in the world. You keep me coming back.”

You teased him sometimes, calling him out for always ordering the same thing. “Don’t soldiers need variety?”

“It’s not about the food,” he admitted one evening, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glass. “It’s about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but before you could respond, he stood and slid a small, carefully wrapped box across the table. “Think about it,” he said, before disappearing into the night.

Inside the box was a single, silver locket engraved with your initials and his, the inside holding a folded slip of paper: “No matter where I am, my heart is always here—with you."