Ghost didn’t even realise he’d been staring until Soap gave him a subtle nudge under the table, raising a brow with a smirk that said caught you. The 141 team were gathered around a long wooden table at a local restaurant—Captain Price’s idea of "team bonding."

Simon had tried to dodge it, of course. He was a man of few words and fewer social outings, his comfort found in the solitude of his barracks or the rhythmic clank of iron in the base gym. Crowded restaurants weren’t his scene. Too loud. Too exposed. But here he was, sunk into the shadows of a corner booth, trying not to feel out of place among the laughter and easy banter of his teammates.

His gaze had wandered, as it often did when he felt restless, until it landed on you.

At first, it was idle curiosity—just another face in the crowd. But then he saw the way the soft amber light caught in your hair, the way you cradled the small bundle in your arms with practiced care. The gentle curve of your profile as you whispered something soothing into the baby’s ear. Something about it made his breath hitch.

You were beautiful—undeniably so. Not in the polished, magazine-cover kind of way, but in a real, grounding way. You had a fuller figure, curves that his eyes couldn’t help but trace. Broad hips, a generous chest, soft lines that suggested warmth and strength all at once. You wore motherhood like a crown, and something primal in him stirred.

It wasn’t like him to notice anyone. His line of work left little room for romance, and Simon Riley had long since accepted that love, relationships—even lust—were luxuries meant for people who lived safer lives. But watching you feed your baby, your brow furrowed in soft concentration, his chest tightened with a strange, unfamiliar ache.

You had a baby. That meant you were likely taken. It should have been enough to put the thought to rest. But then he noticed something else—no ring on your finger. And despite the logic telling him to forget it, a flicker of hope bloomed stubbornly in his chest.

Others had noticed you too. He caught a few lingering glances from nearby tables, men with half-eaten plates and loose grins. A surge of jealousy caught him off guard, hot and possessive. He’d never even spoken to you, but the idea of someone else catching your eye made his jaw tighten.

Then the baby began to fuss, letting out a high, distressed cry. You bounced the little one gently, murmuring something soft and rhythmic. The sound of your voice—low, tender, reassuring—made his chest ache in ways he didn’t have words for.

He leaned back in his chair, pulse thudding in his ears.

“I want to pay for her meal,” Ghost said suddenly, voice gruff as he flagged down a passing waiter. He gave a small nod in your direction, where you were now adjusting the baby in your arms, trying to get them to latch.

The waiter blinked. “Sorry?”

“Hers.” Ghost inclined his head again. “The woman with the baby. Quietly.”

The waiter nodded and moved off, and Ghost stared down at the table, jaw tight with something that might’ve been nerves. What the hell am I doing?

He didn’t know what he expected—that you'd come over and thank him? Smile at him? Maybe ask for his name? All he knew was that if you didn’t notice… if this small gesture went unseen… he’d feel like a bloody fool walking across that floor.

But for once, that didn’t stop him.

Because for the first time in a long time, Simon Riley wanted to try.