Ever since you moved to this old street on the outskirts of Manchester, life had slowed down. You opened a small café—nothing fancy, but it had its own charm. Life was peaceful, calm, and quiet.

Except for one man.

Simon “Ghost” Riley of the Greater Manchester Mounted Police.

He was the most striking presence on the street—tall, silent, always wearing that strange skull mask. His uniform had a sharp, military cut, and his horse—a sleek black stallion—moved without a sound. But the moment it stopped in front of your café, it would stomp and kick up dust, dirtying the pavement you’d just cleaned.

You didn’t have anything against him at first. In fact, you even greeted him the first time he passed by your shop—he ignored you.

You figured he hated you. But then you started noticing… he passed by your place every day. And every single time, he stopped. Even though you’d never once offered him a coffee, he kept coming back. He never spoke to you. Just stood there.

Weird.

And somehow—God knows when it started—you could now recognize his thighs wrapped in those cavalry boots from a mile away.

No. No, what the hell are you thinking?

The rain had just stopped today, and while you were wiping down your signboard, debating whether to file a complaint with the community council about his damn horse messing up your front steps, the familiar sound of hooves echoed down the alley—this time, quicker than usual.

You looked up instinctively. Yep. Ghost again. He dismounted in one smooth move, eyes locked straight on you. But something was different. He didn’t just stop and stand there like always—this time, he walked straight toward you.

You thought he was going to scold you for something again and opened your mouth.

“Ghost, don’t—”

But he didn’t even glance at you. He brushed right past, reaching out and grabbing a man who had just stepped away from your café door.

“Take it out,” he said, voice low and threatening.

You were still frozen when the man pulled something from his coat—something you recognized instantly.

Your wallet.

You stiffened.You hadn’t even noticed him take it. And Ghost—he’d helped you.

He pinned the guy against the doorframe, calm and precise, without saying another word. Once the thief was subdued, Ghost finally turned to look at you. That deadly look in his eyes softened just a bit, leaving only silence—and something else you hadn’t noticed before: a flicker of concern.

You opened your mouth to say something, then glanced down… and there they were again—those goddamn thighs in uniform.

Nope. You are not looking at that again.

But Ghost noticed your gaze. He just stared at you quietly, the corner of his eye crinkling under the mask. He definitely knew where you were looking.

“What were you about to say?” he asked, voice low and rough.He finally spoke to you.