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Chapter Text

She hadn’t expected the train ride north to feel like a pilgrimage.  As the land shifted from London’s dense sprawl to the rolling green of the Scottish countryside, something in her chest loosened.  It became easier to breathe.  Stress slowly melted away. The sky stretched wider here.  A pale winter blue brushed with silver, and every mile carried her farther from the noise she’d been drowning in back home.  Grief, expectations, the constant hum of people needing her.  All of it softened as the train pulled into Glasgow. 

This trip was supposed to be theirs. 

She pressed her forehead gently against the cool window, watching farmland blur into clusters of stone cottages and frost-kissed fields.  Thirteen-year-old versions of herself and her best friend had planned this adventure with the kind of certainty only kids could dream of. They had scribbled lists and ideas in journals. They’d circled photos of Scotland’s coastlines. They had cut out any image from magazines that they’d stumbled across. Somewhere between the gathering and brainstorming, they had made a promise they’d ring in a new year somewhere ancient and beautiful. They would celebrate somewhere that had felt like a beginning. 

Now she is twenty-two.  The diploma is still practically warm in her suitcase.  This trip was being completed alone.  But she was doing it.

By the time she reached the inn on the bay, dusk had settled like a soft shawl over the water.  The building rose from the shoreline with the kind of charm that made her stop on the gravel path and stare. Admiring the inn and all of its beauty.  The inn had whitewashed stone, dark timber beams, and windows glowing gold from the inside. There was an Old Scotland feel on the outside, sleek modern touches on the inside. It felt like stepping into a storybook that had been quietly updated for the present day. 

The inn’s lobby smelled faintly of cedar and citrus with a hint of the woodfire.   The bar gleamed with warm brass accents, velvet seating, and a curated playlist that hummed with a youthful energy.  Downstairs, the restaurant buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses.  The vibe attracts the younger crowd.  Across the road, she could already hear the rowdy cheer of the old pub, locals spilling out into the cold with pints in hand. 

And then there was the hostess. She greeted her like an old friend rather than a weary traveler.  Within minutes, they were laughing, swapping stories, and the knot in her chest eased again.  The inn felt alive, welcoming, almost enchanted. She could see why people returned year after year.

Her room sealed the deal.

The room was everything she’d researched. It was part of the dream she'd had as a teen. A private balcony. A seating area in front of a small fireplace.  A steaming jacuzzi tub overlooking the bay. Farmland stretches into the horizon like a watercolor painting. The kind of view that made you breathe deeper without realizing it. A king-sized bed that she could roll around in for days. It was heaven.

She stepped outside on the balcony, letting the cold air bite at her cheeks as she looked out over the darkening water. For the first time in months, she felt something spark. It started small, fragile, but real.

Hope.

This was where she would start again.
Where she would honor the promise she made at thirteen.
Where she would let herself heal.

Grief reared its ugly head long enough for her eyes to well with tears. Her friend should be here. Life was too short not to take risks. This had been one of the biggest she’d taken. She whispered into the air, “If you could see how beautiful it is here, you would know we’ve accomplished our dreams.”  The tear trickled down her cheek, but she was quick to catch it.  

And somewhere in the days ahead, though she didn’t know it yet, this was where she would meet a man who would change her life forever.

First, she wanted to unwind. She had a thought of scoping out the inn and taking in the scenery.

Chapter Text

Steam curled around her like a cocoon as she stepped out of the shower. Her skin flushed from the damp heat. The long travel day had settled into her bones, but the water had worked some of the stiffness loose, leaving her feeling lighter. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded across the room. The soft hum of the bay drifted through the cracked balcony door.

She dressed slowly. Savoring the ritual of getting ready. The cream-colored sweater dress slid over her skin like a warm sigh, hugging her curves without trying too hard. She twisted her hair into a loose bun, letting a few strands fall and curl where they wanted. Painted with a touch of mascara, a hint of blush, and a swipe of lip gloss, she was ready. She felt put together and not over the top to feel like she was performing for anyone.

Tonight wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about existing and enjoying herself in a foreign but familiar place. She slipped on her ankle boots, grabbed her room key and purse, and headed downstairs.

The restaurant was already bustling with life. She had just before the entrance to take in the room. Most of the voices carried the familiar cadence of London or the rolling warmth of Scottish accents. Young couples leaning close over shared plates. Groups of friends laughing too loudly. Solo travelers like her, tucked into corners with books or phones or simply their own thoughts.

At that moment, she remembered that she was a foreigner. She had been untethered from the reality of home. She was anonymous here. Free to observe without judgment or familiar people observing her with judgment.

The hostess from earlier spotted her and lit up with recognition, waving her over with the same warmth that made check-in effortless and comforting. “You clean up beautifully,” she said with a grin and guided her to a small table near the window. From the seat, she’d be able to see the room, a portion of the bay, and the guests walking by outside. From this seat, she was able to take in the life that felt magical.

A glass of wine arrived before she had even asked or ordered anything. The waitress was quick and ready to pass out the menu after delivering the wine. “House red, on the house. The first night is always special.”

She smiled into the rim of the glass, letting the warmth from the wine bloom across her tongue. For the first time since she boarded the plane, she felt something close to peace. Grief and real life seemed to disappear. It was replaced with a quiet, steadying feeling that she was right where she was meant to be.

Her gaze shifted out to the bar across the road. It seemed lively. People were funneling in and out. It was clearly a hot spot for the area. Once she paid her check, she headed outside the inn to take a walk and get a little air before bed. The cold air hit her and caused her to embrace her sweater dress more tightly. Across the road, the old pub was still roaring. Music and laughter spilled out when someone opened the door. A group of locals stood clustered beneath the yellow street light. Their cheeks flushed from drinking. Their voices were thick with accents she couldn’t quite decipher.

The bay grabbed her attention more. She crossed the small path from the inn that led towards the water. Her boots crunch over the gravel until they meet the wood of the docks. Fog drifted low across the surface of the bay, curling like pale smoke above the black water. The deck lights cast long reflections and shadows that wavered with the tide.

She breathed it in.
Salt. Cold. Wood.
That moment felt like she owned it.

She hadn’t noticed the man on the bench until he moved. A shape shifted in the corner of her vision. He had been slumped over, elbows on his knees, head hanging. When he lifted his face, she caught the unfocused glaze in his eyes from where she stood.

“Oi,” he called out. His voice slurred, but loud enough to carry. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t ya?”

She stiffened.

He pushed himself to his feet, wobbling as he tried to steady himself. His coat hung open, scarf half-dragging on the ground. He took a few uneven steps toward her, breath visible in the cold air. “Didn’t see you in the pub,” he said. He grinned in a way that made her stomach twist. “You should come back with me. Warm up a bit. My room is just up the road.”

She took a step back. Her body is already sounding its own alarm. Her pulse is racing. “No, thank you. I am just out for some air.”

He laughed and stepped closer. “C’mon, love. Don’t be shy. I’ll show you a good time.”

His hand had lifted to reach for her arm. The fog seemed to thicken around them. This space felt less like a sanctuary and more like a trap. The drunk man lurched even closer. His shadow stretched across the damp wooden planks. She kept stepping back, trying to keep a distance between them. The fog had been so thick that the edges of the deck seemed to disappear.

“Don’t run off, sweetheart,” he slurred, reaching again. “I just want to be friendly.”

She took another step only to feel that there was nothing there, and it was too late. The world seemed to tilt and disappear. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as her foot went off the deck. The railing was too far away for her to catch herself. The fog, the lights, the man; all of it had blurred as she fell into the bay.

The water hit like a fist. Icy shock swallowed her whole, stealing her breath, dragging her under before she could even scream. The cold was so absolute that it felt like her whole body forgot how to move. Her dress ballooned around her, heavy and dragging. Panic clawed up her throat as she tried to find a way to swim to the surface. The weight of her dress was holding her down, and as she tried to swim up, she felt caught on something.

Somewhere above, she heard a voice. It was sharp. It cut through the rest of the night's noise.

“Hey! Oi! Get back!”

Boots pounded across the deck. A splash followed. Strong arms wrapped around her waist, hauling her upward with a practiced force. She broke the surface with a gasp that burned her lungs. The night air is somehow just as cold as the water.

“I’ve got ye,” the voice said softly against her ear. A Scottish accent that was thick, unmistakable, and grounding. “You’re alright. Stay with me.”

She blinked through the blur of fog and water, trying to focus on the face inches from hers. Short-cropped hair plastered to his forehead. Blue eyes are sharp even in the dim night light. A jaw set with determination. This man, whom she did not know yet. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish.

He kicked them toward the ladder at the edge of the deck, keeping her head above water with one arm as if it were nothing. “Deep breaths,” he said. His voice is low and firm. “You’re safe now.”

Her teeth chattered too hard to answer, but she clung to him anyway. The shock is still rattling through her bones. Above them, the drunk man had already vanished into the fog. She wasn’t thinking about him anymore. Her focus was only on the man holding her. The warmth of his voice against the cold. She’d only cared about the way her world had narrowed to the steady strength that somehow guided her back to solid ground.

Chapter Text

When their feet had hit the deck, Soap didn’t waste a second.  He kept one arm around her, guiding her toward the inn with quick, purposeful strides.  She was shivering so hard that her teeth ached, her soaked dress clinging to her legs, but he held her upright as if she weighed nothing. His arm was solid around her.  Corded muscle beneath the wet fabric, warm even through the cold.

The lobby doors burst open before they reached them. 

The energetic and friendly hostess had heard about the commotion from other guests who rushed inside the inn. She approached wide-eyed and breathless. One look at the two of them dripping onto the entryway floor and she gasped.  “Oh my god! What happened? Come on, come on, this way!”

Soap did not even bother explaining. “She fell in,” he said.  His voice was clipped with urgency. “Need tae get her warm.”

“Of course! Her room is just upstairs.” The hostess spun on her heel, practically sprinting toward the staircase.  “I’ll grab blankets and hot tea.  You get her settled.”  She’d divulged information as they headed to the room.

Soap followed, keeping a firm hand on the small of her back to steady her as they climbed. Her legs felt fluid, like the icy water she’d just escaped.  Her fingers were numb, but his presence anchored her.  He was solid and warm despite being soaked himself.  His broad shoulders, strong arms, and the kind of physical steadiness that came from years of training and surviving things most people never imagined.

By the time they reached her room, the hostess had already thrown the door open and was tearing through the wardrobe for extra bedding.  “Sit her by the fire. I will be right back with more,” she spoke breathlessly.

Soap guided her to the armchair closest to the fireplace, lowering her into it with surprising gentleness. “Try tae get the wet layers off,” he murmured.  “Blankets will do the rest.” 

She tried to lift her hands to peel the soaked fabric away from her skin, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate. They shook violently, slipping off the buttons of her sweater dress. Each failed attempt made her chest tighten. Her brain felt like it was buzzing from all of the sensations at once. The cold. The heavy, wet fabric clinging to her skin.  The fire’s heat on her face.  The awareness of someone watching her struggle.  That someone was hot.

A frustrated, breathless sound escaped her. It was half whimper and half shiver. Stupid. Why can’t I just do this?  It’s just buttons. 

Soap noticed instantly.  

“Easy,” he murmured. His voice was low and steady. He reached out, his large warm hands dwarfing hers as he gently pushed her trembling fingers aside.  “You’re shakin’ too hard. Let me.”

Her stomach dropped.  Embarrassment flared hot under her skin, feeling hotter than the fire.  He thinks I’m helpless. Why can’t I just act normal?

She froze, not from fear but from the sudden awareness of him.  She absorbed the heat radiating from his body and the strength that his arms held as he leaned in.  All of her wanted to protest.  Her mind tried to catalog every sensation at once. His fingertips brushed her chilled skin as he worked through the buttons.  His hands are warm. He was too close. Cursing herself not to make eye contact, but those eyes. 

He worked with a gentleness that was unexpected for someone built like him. Her eyes grazed over his broad shoulders, powerful forearms, and a chest that looked carved from discipline. His touch was careful and almost delicate.  

Soap paused briefly.  His eyes flicked to hers and checked for permission before proceeding. “I’ve got you.”

The reassurance grounded her just enough for her to nod.  Her teeth chattered too hard to speak.

He eased the wet fabric off her shoulders, keeping the blanket pulled up to preserve her modesty.  The moment the air hit her skin, she shuddered violently. Soap immediately wrapped the blanket tighter around her, tucking it in with practiced efficiency. 

“There we go,” his voice a warm, comforting rumble.  “Let’s get you warm again.”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing.  He’s not judging you. He’s helping. You’re okay. 

Only then did he crouch in front of her, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair.  Those blue eyes were scanning her face with that steady, grounding focus. “You with me?” His voice was quiet and barely above a whisper.

It was the first time she’d really gotten to look at the man who rescued her.  She nodded in response, though her body trembled uncontrollably. “J-just cold.”

“Aye, I’d imagine.”  His tone softened. “You took quite the tumble in the frosty bay.”

The hostess returned with an armful of blankets, draping them over her shoulders and legs until she was wrapped like a cocoon. “I’ll get the tea,” she said as she rushed out again.

Soap stayed where he was. He had been close enough that she could still feel the heat radiating off him. He didn’t hover or fuss. He just watched with a steady, assessing calm. He watched with the kind of attention that wasn’t demanding, but present. He noticed the way her eyes kept flicking to the corners of the room instead of meeting his, the way her fingers tapped anxiously against the mug, the way her breathing hitched whenever silence stretched too long. None of it bothered him.

With a practical sort of decisiveness, he stood and began stripping off his wet clothing. First, the shirt, then the heavy trousers, and then his briefs.  He was left standing in nothing before he’d quickly wrapped the blanket around his waist and shoulders to warm up.  It wasn’t to be showy or self-conscious.  The movement drew her eyes like gravity.

His muscles shifted under his skin as he worked.  She watched the flex of his back, the ripple along his abdomen, the way his thighs tensed as he stepped out of the wet fabric.  Every motion was efficient, controlled, and impossibly strong.  She knew she shouldn’t stare, but her gaze kept coming right back to him like a rubber band. 

Her brain immediately overloaded itself.  Cursing herself immediately.  Don’t look. No, look a little. Not too much. Oh god, he’s right there. Why is he built like that? Why is he so calm about this? Why am I looking? Stop staring.  Stop thinking about how his shoulders look. Stop.

Her fingers tightened around the mug. She forced her eyes down, then up, then away, then back again in a frantic loop she couldn’t break. Her cheeks burned. Her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears.

Soap noticed her breathing.  It was the way her breathing hitched. It was the way her shoulders curled in. It was the way she seemed to be fighting her own thoughts. He didn’t comment. He didn’t tease. He simply wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and sat back down across from her. He wanted to give her more space.

“Alright,” he said gently, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The firelight softened the sharp lines of his jaw.  “Let’s start simple.  I’m John MacTavish.  My friends call me Johnny or Soap. What’s your name?”

She blinked.  She was still trying to catch up. Her name tumbled out in a stutter, which caused her to wince at herself, mortified. “S-sorry,” she blurted.  “I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t mean to stare or… I’m sorry you had to save me, and I’m sorry you got soaked.  I’m sorry I ruined…”

“Mmh.”  Soap lifted a hand slightly.  He smiled. A smile that could light up any room. It was not to silence her, but to steady the air between them.  “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

But her brain didn’t stop. He saw me staring. He definitely saw. He’s going to think I’m weird or rude. Both maybe.  She moved her lips silently to mimic what his name would sound like on her lips. The feeling of Johnny on her lips felt good, but she wouldn’t admit that.

He noticed that too. “Aye,” he said softly.  There was no judgment or awkwardness. There was just quiet understanding.  As much as he wanted to joke, now wasn’t the time.  “The hostess gave me your name when she grabbed the blankets. Drink up.  It helps with the shock.”

She had taken a long sip and allowed the warmth to bloom through her chest.  Johnny watched for a moment.  He wasn’t staring or analyzing, just making sure she was still present.  

“You gave me quite a fright out there,” he said.  Her breath hitched again, another apology rising, but he shook his head before she could speak.  “You’re safe.  That’s what matters.”

The fire was popping softly, radiating a steady warmth that finally began to seep into their bones. Her shivering had eased, but her thoughts still felt scattered. Johnny sat across from her, elbows on his knees, watching with that same calm focus he’d had in the water.

She swallowed, fingers tightening around the mug.  “Why… why did you save me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. Too blunt. Too vulnerable. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she stared down at the steam rising from her tea.  Her eyes flicked to the scar on his head.

Johnny didn’t laugh. Didn’t brush it off. He leaned back in his chair, blanket draped loosely around his shoulders, considering her with a softness she hadn’t expected.  “Because you needed help,” he said simply.  “And I was there.”

She blinked, startled by the clarity.  No bravado. No heroics. Just truth.  “B-but you didn’t even know me,” she stuttered.

“Aye,” he said.  “But I saw you. That was enough.”

Something in her chest tightened. Something she had been holding in for months, maybe years.  She wasn’t used to being seen so plainly. Not without judgment. Not without someone expecting her to be more or less than she was. Her best friend had been the only person who ever understood her without needing explanations.

She set her mug down, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I… I don’t always understand people.  Or what they want. I don’t always know what I’m supposed to say.” Her voice wavered. “But I understand that you were kind.”

Johnny’s expression softened even further. “You don’t owe anyone explanations for how you or your mind works.”  He held her gaze, steady and warm.  “Least of all me.”

The words landed like a warm weight in her chest.  And because her brain never cooperated when her emotions got too big, she blurted out.  “I’m sorry.”

Johnny’s brows lifted, amused. “For what now?”

She winced. “I don’t know. Everything. Talking too much. Asking weird questions. Staring at your scar. Existing in your general direction.”

A slow grin tugged at his mouth.  Playful, but gentle. “Ach, so that’s what we’re doin’ now? Apologizin’ for lookin’ at me?”

Her face went hot, which earned a bigger grin. “I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t… I wasn’t staring, staring.”

“Aye, you were.”  He leaned forward, chin propped up on his right hand. He laughed with his eyes shining with mischief. “Right at the scar. Thought maybe you were tryin’ tae read it like a map.”

Her brain short-circuited.  He’s teasing me. He’s actually teasing me. Do I smile? Do I look away? Don’t freeze. Oh no, I’m freezing.  Smile. No, not like that, you dullard.

Johnny’s grin softened when he saw her shoulders tense. “Hey,” he said quietly.  “I’m only havin’ a bit of fun.  You’re alright.”

She exhaled shakily, grounding herself in the warmth of the mug and the steady crackle of the fire.   He noticed her relax.

Johnny nudged her foot slightly with his under the blankets.  It was a small and playful tap.  “If you’re curious about the scar, you can just ask. I don’t bite.”

Her eyes widened in horror again.  “I wasn’t… I mean… I didn’t want to be rude.”

He chuckled again. Amused by her shyness.”You’re not rude.” His voice was soft and warm. It was warm enough to warm the frost that still clung to her nerves.  “You’re honest.  I like honest.”

Her heart thudded once, hard.

Johnny leaned back again, blanket slipping slightly to reveal the strong line of his shoulder.  “Besides,” he added with a teasing tilt of his head, “if you’re goin’ tae stare at me, I’d prefer you didn’t apologize for it.”

Her brain promptly exploded into static. Telling herself to abort. To unplug and plug it back in.  Unsure of what to say.  She had made a small strangled noise that might have been a laugh.  Johnny’s smile widened even more. He was delighted with her reactions.

“There she is,” he chuckled.  “Thought I’d lost you to your own thought for a moment.”

“You did,” she admitted softly.  “They’re loud.”

“I can handle loud.”

Her breath hitched at the idea of him handling anything.  Somehow, his presence allowed her pulse to steady.  For the first time since the icy water swallowed her, she felt something warm and unfamiliar unfurl in her chest. 

Safety. 

And maybe something else.

They kept talking, quiet and slow, the kind of conversation that only happens when the world outside has gone still.  The fire crackled softly, filling the spaces between their words.  Bit by bit, they learned each other’s edges.

She told him about her childhood dream of traveling and about the place she had traced on maps long before she ever saw them. She spoke of her best friend, the one who’d made her promise to take this trip, the one she was trying so hard to honor.  Her voice wavered sometimes, catching on memories.  Johnny listened intently without rushing her. He just listened and maintained his steady and warm presence. He nodded when she needed reassurance that she was not rambling. 

He told her about growing up near the bay, about the winters so sharp they felt alive, about how he’d learned to read the water like a second language  He even shared pieces of his military life. He avoided the dangerous parts for now and made sure she knew the human parts.  The camaraderie. The discipline.  The strange comfort of routine, which she understood. 

At some point, the chairs felt like they were too far apart.  The floor, with its thick rug and the fire’s heat, felt closer, safer, softer.  She slid down first, curling into the blankets like a creature seeking warmth as she stretched out in front of the fire..  Johnny hesitated only a moment before joining her.  He lowered himself behind her with a careful kind of gentleness, moving slowly so she wouldn’t startle. 

He stayed just far enough away that she could choose. She did not choose distance.  She leaned into him, drawn by the steady heat radiating from his body.  His arm wrapped around her automatically, instinctively, like he’d done it a thousand times before. The embrace was solid and protective. It had been a quiet promise without words.  He pulled her against his chest, and she felt the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the quiet strength in the way he held her. 

Her brain, always too loud, softened under the rhythm of him.  It was safe and warm. Present.

“You’re warm,” she whispered. She was already drifting. Her voice was thick with sleep. The comfort gave her something to lean into. 

Johnny huffed a soft laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Military trainin’. We run hot.”

She rolled toward him. The heat from the fire on her back.  She smiled into the fabric of the blanket. Somehow, he still smelled like woodfire, leather, and saltwater. The scent grounded her in a way nothing else had all night.

The fire crackled. Somewhere between one breath and the next, they drifted into sleep.  She was tucked safely in his arms with his head lightly on top of hers. The last thought passing through his head was that he felt he was meant to be there, holding her all along.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived before she was ready for it.

Pale light filtered in through the curtains of the sliding doors.  It was a soft, hazy light that brushed over the room in a muted gold.  The fire had burned down to a bed of glowing embers. The blankets were still wrapped snugly around her, but the solid, steady heat that had been next to her was gone. 

She blinked, disoriented, sitting up slowly as the world came back into focus. On the low table in front of the fireplace sat a glass of orange juice and a plate of toast. Beside it, weighed down by the mug she abandoned last night, was a folded note.

Her heart thudded once. Hard. 

She reached for it with trembling fingers, nerves buzzing beneath her skin. Her stomach flipped as she unfolded the paper. Johnny’s handwriting was neat, sharp, unmistakably his. 

Didn’t want to wake you.

You were safe.

You’re still safe.

-J.-

Her breath caught. When she exhaled, it came out shaky.  Safe. He had written it twice.

She pressed the note to her chest, letting the words settle into her like the lingering warmth of the fire. Her cheeks heated, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the memory of his arms around her or the mortifying realization that she had fallen asleep on him. Not just a stranger either. He was a big, solid, unfairly attractive Scottish military man who pulled her out of the freezing bay like she weighed nothing.

The room felt different now.  Warmer.  Like something had shifted in the night.  It was subtle and undeniable.  She wasn’t sure she had the vocabulary to name it. 

She groaned softly and buried her face in the blankets. “Oh my god… I slept with him.” Not slept, slept.  But she had spent the night wrapped around him like he was the only source of heat in the world.

She sat up again, rubbing her hands over her face.  Her mind was already racing. Thoughts stacking, looping, spiraling, and replaying every detail she could remember. The way his voice softened when he spoke to her.  The way he kept checking her breathing. The way his burning blue eyes held kindness and something deeper, something simmering beneath the surface, unspoken but unmistakable. 

And now he was gone, leaving warmth, toast, and a note that said safe twice.

She hadn’t spoken of the drunk man.  The man who slurred his way into her space, crowding her until she backed up too far.  She hadn’t said how his hand had clamped around her arm, or how she had tried to pull away. She did not speak of the slick boards beneath her feet and how the length of the dock betrayed her.  She didn’t have to. Johnny had been there. Somewhere close. He had watched it unfold with those sharp, steady eyes of his. He must have seen enough to understand.

The thought alone made her chest tighten. 

Words had spilled out of her last night in a way they rarely did. Her brain had trusted him before she even understood why. Pressing her fingertips to her lips, she remembered the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the weight of his arms around her.  Her stomach was fluttering. It was a nervous, giddy swoop she did not know what to do with.

“You’re American,” she muttered to herself.  “He’s… him.”

Him being the handsome Scottish soldier with a jawline that could cut glass and a voice that could melt it right back down.  Beneath all of that, she knew one thing with a startling clarity.  She was not alone in this place anymore.

She peeled herself off the floor after eating a few bites of toast. As she showered and dressed, her eyes kept darting to the note on the table like it might sprout legs and disappear.  She propped it against the lamp so she could see it while she did her makeup.  If she ran into him, she didn’t want to look like she’d rolled out of a makeshift bed after nearly drowning.

Jeans and a warm sweater felt right for the day. Practical. Comfortable. It was still flattering for her body.  She pulled her hair into a loose half-up style and then changed it. Twice.  Finally settling on something simple, because she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. Though she absolutely was. 

Leaning toward the mirror, she applied mascara with slow, careful strokes. Her hands were steadier than they had been. Her heart was still doing that fluttery, traitorous thing. 

What if I see him?

What if I don’t? 

Both possibilities made her stomach lurch. 

She grabbed her coat, hesitated, then tucked the note into her pocket. There was one last look in the mirror.  Her cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and nerves buzzing. She gave herself a quick pep talk before stepping out.  When she was ready, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway with a mix of dread and hope swirling in her chest.

Somewhere in this city, John MacTavish was awake. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run into him… or if she was already hoping she would.

Stepping out into the cold morning air, she felt the bite of it on her cheeks. She pulled her coat tighter.  The city was waking up. Mist clung to the rooftops and drifted across the bay like it had the night before. She felt lighter than she had any right to feel after everything that happened.  As she walked, that note brushed against her hip with every step, sending little sparks of warmth through her chest. 

A taxi pulled up to the curb. The driver gave a friendly nod as she climbed in.  “Where to lass?”

She gave him the name of the shopping district she had researched.  It was somewhere busy enough to distract her and bright enough to keep her from spiraling about a certain Scottish soldier with the brightest blue eyes.

The cab pulled away from the inn.  The tires crunched over frost and gravel.  She leaned her head towards the window, the cold glass pressing against her temple. She watched the scenery shift as they got closer to the city.  Rows of stone buildings blurred past, their windows glowing with early morning light.  People bundled in scarves hurried along the sidewalks, breath puffing in the cold. 

But her mind wasn’t on any of it. Her thoughts kept circling back, looping, replaying every detail she could remember.  The thought that lingered the most was the weight of Johnny’s arm around her. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. The way he’d said you’re still safe, like it was a vow he meant with his whole body. 

A flutter rippled through her, sharp and warm.  She pressed a finger to her lips, trying to steady herself.  Ridiculous, she scolded herself silently. 

She barely knew this man. They were strangers.  She was just a silly American girl on a trip she’d barely managed to take.  And he was… Mr. Scotland himself. A man who looked like he had been carved out of the Highlands and dipped in danger and kindness in equal measure. 

And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop feeling the phantom weight of his arm around her.  She couldn’t stop remembering the way his voice softened just for her.

The taxi turned onto a busier street, neon signs flickering awake above storefronts.  Cafes were opening, and the smell of fresh pastries drifted through the cracked window.  She inhaled deeply, grounding herself in the moment. She had wished her friend were here to experience this with her.  Somewhere, her friend would be telling her she was crazy and that she deserved this feeling of adventure, healing, and this spark of something new.

She was here to explore.  

To breathe. 

To dream. 

To live again. 

Still, she caught her reflection in the window and instinctively smoothed her hair, checking her makeup with quick, nervous touches.  Just in case.  

Just in case she ran into him.  

She couldn’t imagine it happening. This city was big, and he was probably off doing something a burly man like himself would be doing. Something mysterious and soldier-y. 

The cab slowed as they reached the heart of the shopping district. Bright awnings stretched over storefronts, colorful displays spilled into the windows, and people wove in and out of boutiques with the kind of energy that reminded her of New York.  She paid the driver, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and let the hum of the city wash over her. Finally allowing herself to feel alive in this foreign place.

The bell above the boutique door chimed as she stepped inside.  Warm air wrapped around her.  The air was scented with lavender and something faintly citrusy.  The shop was small but curated with care.  The shelves are lined with handmade items like pottery, jars of sea glass sorted by color, candles poured into mismatched teacups, and watercolor prints of the bay pinned along the walls. 

She paused just inside the doorway to let her eyes roam.  Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch everything to memorize the textures and colors of every item. The same way her brain processed when something felt safe and interesting.  Her senses are reaching for all of it at once.

But underneath that familiar pull, thoughts of Johnny kept slipping in.  She wondered if he’d like something like this or maybe that he’d tease her for enjoying it.  Maybe he would even smile in a way that would melt her into a puddle on the floor.  No matter how many times she tried to pull her brain from thinking of him, it kept circling back to him. 

A young woman behind the counter glanced up. She had been leaning back in the chair, appearing bored with indifference as she chewed her gum.  “Hi. Let me know if you need anything,” the woman said. Her gaze was already shifting back to her phone.

She offered a small smile and wandered deeper into the shop.  She stopped at a display of sea glass arranged in shallow wooden trays. Various shades of green like old bottles, blues like the bay at dawn, and whites like the frosted windows.  She lifted a piece between her fingers, holding it up to the light.  It glowed softly.

Her mind drifted again.  His eyes were that color. That deep, icy blue. Somehow still warm when everything else had been cold. She swallowed, annoyed at herself.  She was supposed to be looking at sea glass, not replaying the way his voice had wrapped around her like a blanket.

“You won’t find pieces like that in the tourist shops,” the young woman spoke again. Her tone is flat. “But, uh… Americans usually go for the brighter stuff over there.”

The implication stung more than it should have. She set the sea glass down gently, as if it might shatter under the embarrassment. 

Her brain had started spiralling again.  Of course, she thinks you don’t belong here. You’re obvious. You’re foreign. You’re too much, even shopping. And then, unhelpfully, she thought, Johnny didn’t make me feel that way. 

“Oh, don’t mind her.” The voice came from the back of the shop. It was warm and touched with age and humor. An older woman emerged from behind a curtain. Her silver hair braided down her back, and her apron was dusted with clay.  Her dark eyes crinkled kindly as she approached.  “She thinks anyone under thirty is incapable of appreciating subtlety, especially if they’re from across the pond.”

The young woman had rolled her eyes, but didn’t look up from her phone. 

She exhaled slowly, grounding herself in the warmth the older woman offered.  Her thoughts settled like snowflakes drifting to the ground… but only for a moment. Her mind drifted back to Johnny again and the way he looked at her like she wasn’t too much at all. Spiraling thoughts and awkward moments were something that seemed normal to him. He understood rather than tolerated.

The tension from the earlier interaction eased.  Her shoulders loosened.  “I like to look at everything you have here,” she said softly.  “Everything is so beautifully detailed.”

“Aye, that’s the point.”  The older woman smiled and gestured for her to follow. “Come, let me show you the pieces with stories.”  She led her to a shelf of handmade cups.  Each cup is slightly different, and each one is shaped by hand rather than machine. The older woman picked up a mug glazed in deep ocean blue. “My husband made this one,” she said.  “He collects the sea glass you were admiring. Says the ocean does half the work for him.”

Her fingers ran along the rim of the mug, absorbing every curve, every uneven brushstroke. Her brain memorized the textures automatically. The smooth glaze, the cool ceramic, and the faint grit of sand caught in the grooves. It was grounding. Comforting and safe. 

Yet, even here, surrounded by all of this beautiful art, her mind drifted back to him.  Johnny would like this color.  Or maybe not. Maybe he’d tease her for overthinking it.  But he’d smile while he did it.  That thought alone sent a warm flutter through her chest and a small gasp. 

Every item in the shop felt specific and beautiful, like Scotland had touched each one. She and the older woman exchanged easy conversation, and she left with a woolen scarf.  It felt like it belonged to her, like it carried a piece of this place that she was slowly falling in love with.

She wandered into a few more shops before finding the next boutique tucked between a bakery and a bookstore.  Bells chimed once more as she entered. The scent of cedar and bergamot drifted through the air.  Warm and woodsy. This place felt different. It had been more curated and more intentional. Shelves held hand-carved trinkets, leather-bound journals, and small metal pendants shaped like Celtic knots and thistles.

She had not been looking for anything in particular. She had to remind herself of that twice. But then she saw it.

A small, polished pewter charm shaped like a wave cresting over a rugged coastline.  Simple. Strong. Beautiful.  Something about it tugged at her immediately.  It reminded her of the bay.  It reminded her of him.

Her fingers brushed over the charm, and a warm flutter bloomed in her chest again.  This is him, she thought. 

It was quiet strength and a steady presence.  A piece of Scotland shaped into something she could easily hold.

As much as she’d normally overthink the situation, she bought it before she could talk herself out of it.  The clerk had placed it in a small box, and she tucked it into her coat pocket beside the note Johnny left.  

When she had stepped outside, she slammed straight into a wall of muscle.

Except it wasn’t a wall. 

It was a man.

A very massive man.

Chapter Text

The man was massive, truly massive. He felt double her size, maybe triple.  When she crashed into him, he didn’t move an inch. She, however, ricocheted backward as she’d slammed into a brick wall disguised as a human being.  

“I-I-I…” The stutter burst out before she could stop it. Her brain short-circuits under the sudden overload.

“Watch it,” the man rumbled. His voice was so deep that it vibrated through her ribs. He squared his shoulders like he was ready to fight whoever dared collide with him.

Her gaze lifted, and she froze.

A skull-patterned balaclava. Broad shoulders that could blot out the sun. Eyes sharp, unimpressed, and assessing her like she was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.  

Simon “Ghost” Riley.

Her thoughts scattered like startled birds.  Oh no. Oh no no no. Of all people I crash into…

And standing beside him, mid-argument, was Johnny.

“Mate, I’m tellin’ ye, the place on Argyle Street has the best pizza…” Johnny stopped mid-sentence the moment he saw her. His whole expression shifted.  His determination melted into surprise, then into something warm and bright that lit up his face. “Mornin’ lass,” he said softly.  That mischievous spark lingered in his eyes. Almost as if he’d just been handed the best plot twist of the day.

Her stomach dropped straight through the pavement.  “Oh,” she breathed, mortified.  “Sorry. I am so sorry. I-I wasn’t looking…” Her words tangled together, and her brain began to spiral in the familiar panic loop.  Too clumsy. Too much. Escape now. 

She tried to sidestep. Slight desperation to flee before she embarrassed herself further, but Johnny was already moving.  He was stepping toward her with a grin that was entirely too pleased.

“Easy there,” he said.  “Didn’t expect ye tae go barrelin’ into Ghost first thing in the mornin’. Most folk try tae avoid that.”

Ghost grunted, unimpressed. Johnny beamed. 

Her heart did something traitorous.

Johnny blinked and stepped forward, the mischief in his eyes flickering into concern. His voice dropped to the soft, grounding tone that she remembered from the night before. “Are you alright?”

Her face burned so hot that she was surprised the frost on the sidewalk didn’t melt. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I.. I am just… I am sorry.”

The words tumbled out in a frantic rush. Her brain is firing alarms in every direction as she continues to embarrass herself. She pivoted and attempted to speed-walk, but was closer to a panicked escape. She was practically fleeing down the street.

Behind her, Ghost muttered, “She nearly knocked me over.”

Johnny let out a snort. “She weighs, what, a hundred pounds? You’re dramatic as hell.”

Ghost grumbled, “Didn’t expect her to come flyin’ out the door like a bloody missile.”

“Jesus, Ghost,” Johnny’s voice was half exasperation and half laughter. He was delighted by the chaos she’d caused.   And even as she was trying to flee, she could hear the smile in Johnny’s voice.

Their bickering faded as she rounded the corner.  Her heart hammered against her ribs, cheeks flaming hot enough to rival the morning sun. The little gift box in her pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. She pressed a hand over it, trying to steady her breathing. She was cursing herself for crashing into a man built like a military-grade refrigerator.

Her mind replayed Johnny’s face.  It was the way his expression had shifted the moment he saw her. Like he remembered every second of last night. That thought sent heat rushing through her, her stomach fluttering wildly.

Suddenly, this trip was getting complicated in ways she had not planned for.

She was halfway down the block when she heard footsteps behind her. They were quick, purposeful.  Mortification surged into her throat. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.  He called her name, and her breath caught like someone had hooked a finger beneath her ribs and tugged.

She turned just as Johnny jogged up. Her cheeks flushed from the cold and embarrassment.  His smile was soft, crooked, and a little breathless. The warmth from his smile was too much for her to handle.  

“Ye alright?” he asked.  His voice was warm enough to melt frost.  “Didn’t mean tae scare ye off.”

Her gaze darted everywhere but at him. Eye contact felt like too much. Too intimate, too real. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she couldn’t break.  “I wasn’t scared. Just… embarrassed.”

Johnny’s grin widened, bright and boyish.  “Nothin’ tae be embarrassed about. Happens tae the best of us.”

She let out a tiny, helpless laugh.  He lit up like she’d handed him the sun. 

A few paces back, Ghost stood with his arms crossed, watching them with the silent intensity of a man who saw everything and commented on nothing.  But his eyes flicked between them with a knowing sparkle, like he was already ten steps ahead of both of them.

Johnny cleared his throat, suddenly a little shy but still beaming.  “Listen, we were just headin’ tae get lunch. There’s a pub nearby. Best pizza in the city, if ye ask me.” He said it casually, but his eyes lingered on her like he was hoping she’d say yes.

Ghost whispered from his spot a few feet back, “It’s not,” but Johnny ignored him completely.

“I’d like it if ye joined us,” Johnny said.  “If ye want.”

Her heart fluttered so hard that she felt it in her throat. “I… sure. Yes.”

Johnny’s smile lit up his whole face.  It was bright and boyish. He was completely pleased by her answer.  “Brilliant.”

Behind him, Ghost’s brow lifted behind the mask. Smug as sin.  It was as if he’d just witnessed the opening scene of a drama he fully intended to enjoy. 

They fell into step together, Johnny close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him in steady waves. Her brain immediately began cataloging everything. She noted the sound of his footsteps and how they matched hers. She smelled the faint scent of soap and the cold air that clung to him.  She had noted the way his shoulder hovered just close enough to brush hers if either of them leaned a fraction of an inch.

He kept glancing at her. Quick, subtle looks he probably thought she didn’t notice. She noticed each glance.  Her brain noticed it too. 

“You look beautiful today,” he said casually.  It may have been too casual, as if he wasn’t dropping a verbal grenade directly into her nervous system.  “And warm. Much better than last night.”

Her face heated instantly, cheeks darkening in a way she could feel.  “Thank you, I tried.”

“Tried?” He chuckled with his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ye succeeded.”

Her stomach swooped once more. Brain spinning. Her hands suddenly didn’t know what to do with themselves, so she fidgeted anyway she could.

Ghost snorted behind them.  “Christ, Johnny. Dial it down.”

Johnny shot him a glare.  “Ignore him. He’s allergic tae joy.”

Ghost shrugged. “Allergic to watchin’ you flirt like a teenager.”

Johnny shot him a look over his shoulder.  The look is half annoyance, and the other half don’t ruin this for me. He turned back around to give her a grin that made her heart race.

She had the distinct realization that John MacTavish was flirting with her.  Openly. In public. In front of his friend. Boldly.  And he had absolutely no intention of stopping. 

Chapter Text

They had walked a few blocks to get to the pub.  The cold air nipped at their cheeks.  Inside, warmth wrapped around them instantly.  The place was bustling. Clicking glasses, low chatter, and the smell of fresh dough and herbs drifted throughout the pub. Johnny held the door for her with a little flourish, and Ghost followed them in with the resigned air of a man who knew he was witnessing something inevitable, and he wanted no part of it.

They were seated at a table near the window. Johnny pulled out a chair for her.  A simple, old-fashioned gesture that made her stomach flip and heat rise in her cheeks. He sat across from her, Ghost settling in beside him like a silent, looming shadow. 

Johnny clapped his hands once.  “Right. Proper introductions.”  He gestured between them.  “This is Simon Riley. Ghost is what we call him. Don’t let the mask and size scare ye. He’s mostly harmless.”

Ghost turned his head slowly. “Mostly?”

Johnny waved him off.  “Semantics.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table.  “I’m John MacTavish. Johnny or Soap is good, but ye already knew that.”

She introduced herself, voice soft, a shy smile tugging at her lips.  Johnny’s eyes softened at the sound of her voice and the way she said her name.  He was storing that moment in his head.

Ghost leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His gaze flicked between them with surgical precision. “You two done making heart eyes, or should I come back later?”

Johnny kicked him under the table. “Oi! Behave.”

Ghost didn’t even flinch. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

Johnny and Ghost had made eye contact briefly. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a threat, but the server arrived before he could escalate.

“Her drink’s on me,” Johnny said immediately, turning that warm, crooked smile toward her. “Order whatever ye like.” She had already known what she wanted when she’d walked in the door.  When she ordered, Johnny’s eyebrows lifted in a pleased surprise.   “Good choice. That’s my favorite scotch.”

Ghost snorted. “Of course it is. Sweet, smooth, and dramatic. Suits you.”

Johnny shot him a glare. “It’s refined.”

“It’s pretentious,” Ghost countered.

She hid a smile behind her menu as she pretended not to watch them. “Do you two always argue like this?”

Johnny beamed, “Aye, it’s how he shows affection.”

Ghost stared at her.  “If I ever show affection, you’ll know.  There’ll be a warning label.”

Johnny grinned. “See? Harmless.”

Johnny ignored him again and turned back to her, eyes warm. “So, tell us about ye. What brings ye tae Scotland besides nearly drownin’ and crashin’ into my brother in arms?”

Ghost added, “Twice.”

Johnny kicked him again.

She laughed.  A soft and surprised sound that both men needed to pause.  They hadn’t expected her to react, but they were pleased all the same. 

Ghost and Johnny kept sniping at each other, relentless and ridiculous in equal measure.  She’d never seen Johnny like this.  He was playful, sharp, and sparring with someone who clearly knew every button to push was endearing.  Disarming. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with weapons. 

She laughed, unable to help it. Johnny’s expression softened instantly as something tender flickered across his face.  That made her chest tighten even more.

The drinks arrived. Johnny lifted his glass toward her. “To new friends.”

Ghost added dryly, “And to Johnny not drowning anyone yesterday and today.”

Johnny groaned. “For the love of…”

She clinked her glass against his, grinning.  “To new friends and no drowning.”

Johnny’s jaw dropped. “Et tu, lass?”

Ghost snorted approvingly.

She laughed again, and Johnny’s gaze lingered on her a moment too long. The stare was warm, bright, and full of something neither of them dared name. Ghost watched them over the rim of his glass, silent but observant.  He was taking mental notes like a man studying to use the notes for ammunition. 

The server dropped off more drinks. Her special cider steamed gently. Johnny’s pint glowed amber.  Ghost’s drink looked like it had been brewed in the underworld.

Johnny lifted his glass again. “So, tell me something about ye. Anything.”

She blinked.  “Like what?”

“Anything,” he repeated. Leaning forward, he propped his chin on his hand. “What ye like, what ye hate, what makes ye smile, and what makes ye run for the hills.”

Ghost muttered, “She already ran from you once.”

Johnny kicked him in the sore part of his leg. Ghost growled. She rolled her eyes. “Okay, children,” she said, lifting her mug.  “Let’s use our inside voices and behave.”

Johnny choked on a laugh. Ghost’s shoulders shook once, which was his version of losing it.

She had traced the rim of her mug.  “I… like quiet places.  Warm drinks are always good.  I love a good bookstore.  I really love the ocean.  And I like people who are gentle.”

Johnny’s eyes softened. “Aye, I can see that.”

“And you?” she asked. Surprising herself with the boldness and the steadiness of her voice.

Johnny’s grin had turned boyish. “I like loud places. Strong drinks. Fast bikes. And I fancy people who are honest.”

Ghost snorted. “He also likes blowing things up.”

Johnny waved a hand. “Occupational hazard.” 

She arched a brow. “Should I be concerned?”

Johnny leaned in, smirking.  “Only if ye plan on standin’ too close.”

Ghost muttered, “She already does.”

Johnny kicked him again.  She smiled, and his gaze dropped to her lips. Staring just a moment too long.  Ghost noticed. Of course he did. 

In Ghost fashion, he didn’t say a word. 

But the tilt of his head said everything to anyone who noticed.

Ghost spoke dryly, “So, this is the part where you two pretend you’re not making heart eyes at each other.”

Johnny choked on his drink. She nearly dropped hers.

“We’re not…” she blurted.

“We are just talkin’,” Johnny said at the same time.

They both froze.

Ghost raised a single brow. “Sure.”

Johnny shot him a murderous look. “Ignore him, please.”

She giggled. Johnny’s expression melted into something warm and unguarded.  He had waited all day to hear it.  She turned to Ghost with a teasing tilt of her head. “Alright then, Mr. Observant. What about you? What do you like?”

Ghost stared at her for a long, silent moment.  Long enough that she wondered if she’d accidentally offended him.  

“Silence.”

Johnny burst out laughing. “He’s serious.”

Ghost shrugged. “And dogs.”

She brightened. “Dogs are good.”

Ghost nodded once, slow and deliberate. It was a nod that felt like she had passed a test that she did not know she was taking.

Johnny leaned back in the chair, smirking. “Careful. That’s practically affection from him.”

Ghost didn’t deny it.  Which, coming from Ghost, was practically a love letter.

They had been at the table for hours. Empty glasses crowded the wood, half-eaten slices of pizza sat forgotten on plates, and the pub hummed around them.  It was loud, warm, and alive. Their little corner felt like its own world, tucked away from everything else. A bubble of laughter and heat and something steadily, dangerously softening between them. 

Johnny had drifted closer over the course of the evening. His elbow propped on the table, his knee brushed hers every so often.  Each accidental touch sent a spark up her spine, sharp and bright.  She wasn’t sure if it was the cider or him, but her whole body felt unsteady.

“So, ye came all the way tae Scotland alone?” Johnny asked to reassure his memory. His voice wasn’t as loud as the drink had made him a little quieter and more gentle.  “That’s brave.”

She shrugged. “Or stupid.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, eyes steady on hers.  “Brave. Takes guts tae visit somewhere new or start over somewhere new.”

Ghost hummed, low and unimpressed. “Or she’s runnin’ from somethin’.”

She stiffened, breath catching.  Johnny reached out before panic could bloom.  His fingers brushed the back of her hand, slow and careful. “Everyone’s runnin’ from somethin’,” he murmured.  “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

Her breath hitched. His touch was warm and grounding. Slightly too much for the moment.

Ghost watched them like he was narrating a wildlife documentary. “Christ. You two are hopeless.”

Johnny didn’t even look at him. “Shut it.”

She giggled, covering her mouth.  Laughing more than she should have and more than she normally would. “You two fight like brothers.”

Ghost deadpanned, “Don’t insult me.”

Johnny burst into laughter, nearly falling from his chair.  

It didn’t take long. Soon, they were all giggling. Even Ghost.  However, he would deny it until the end of time.

Johnny pointed at Ghost’s drink, squinting.  “What even is that? Motor oil?”

Ghost shrugged. “Tastes like regret.”

She snorted into her cider, and Johnny stared at her as if she’d just handed him the moon.  His eyes were soft.  Those crystal blue eyeswere  bright enough to feel as if the stare was full of something that made her even more drunk in the moment.

“Yer laugh,” he said, his eyes blinking slowly, “is my new favorite sound.”

Her face went hot so fast that she thought the cider might actually start steaming. “Johnny…”

Ghost groaned loudly enough for nearby tables to hear.  The tension was building. ”If you two start kissin’, I’m leavin’.”

They both sputtered, talking over each other’s words.  

“We’re not…”

“No one’s kissing…” 

Ghost lifted both hands in surrender. “Didn’t say you were. Just sayin’ it’s coming.”

Johnny’s ears turned pink. She hid behind her mug like it could shield her from the heat crawling up her neck. But their eyes met over the rim of her glass. Johnny had already been looking at her. Their gaze soft, warm, lingering. 

Ghost was still watching him with a smug tilt of his head.  “Unbelievable.”  

Without warning, Ghost stood at the table.  No announcement. No explanation. He simply rose, drained the last of his drink, and muttered, “I’ll give you two some space before one of you faints.” And just like that, he had vanished into the crowd like a shadow slipping between worlds.

Johnny watched him disappear. His ears are still pink and hot. “Ignore him,” he said. His hand was rubbing the back of his neck.  “He thinks he’s subtle. He is not.”

She smiled shyly into her glass. “He seems observant.”

“Aye,” Johnny said with a laugh. “Too observant.”

He leaned in a little and dropped his voice low. “But he’s right about one thing.”

Her breath caught. “What’s that?”

Johnny’s gaze flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes.  It was slow, deliberate, and slightly devastating.  “This… whatever it is… it’s happenin’.”

And for the first time, neither of them tried to deny it. 

She hesitated before speaking, fingers tracing the glass again. “Johnny… can I ask you something?”

He blinked, surprised by the shift in her tone. “Aye. Anything.”

Her gaze darted to the side of his head to see the faint jagged line that disappeared into his hair. “Your scar. How… how did it happen?”

Johnny stilled for a moment.  He wasn’t tense, just quiet. Thoughtful.  He reached up, brushing his fingertips over the mark like he was reminding himself it was still there.  “Big mission that required some explosive disposal.  We were clearin’ an area. I was tryin’ tae disarm the device when one of the bastards tried tae stop me.” His voice dipped, rougher now. “Shot me in the head.”

Her breath caught. “Johnny…”

“It sounds worse than it was,” he said quickly.  The flicker in his eyes said it was exactly as bad as it sounded.  “Bullet got me, knocked me out cold.  Ghost thought I was dead.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Woke up in a med bay with a headache that could have killed a lesser man.”

She swallowed hard. “And the symptoms? You mentioned episodes.”

Johnny nodded, leaning back slightly.  “Aye. Headaches. Light sensitivity. Sometimes things get…fuzzy. Like my brain’s runnin’ a second behind the rest of me.” He tapped his temple gently.  “Docs say it’s normal. Part of the recovery. Comes and goes.” He said all of it casually, but she could hear the weight beneath it. 

“And you just…deal with that?” she asked, voice small with worry.

He shrugged, trying for nonchalant but not quite landing it. “Price of the job.”

She frowned. “What do you need when it happens? If… if it happens around me?”

Johnny’s eyes softened in a way that gave her chills.  She was thinking about the two of them together.  “Usually, I just need quiet. Somewhere tae sit. Someone tae keep me grounded if it gets bad.” He paused, studying her. “Ye don’t have tae worry about that, lass.” 

“I do,” she said before she could stop herself. “I … want to.”

For a moment, they just stared in silence. Her cheeks were pink from cider and nerves. Johnny’s eyes were soft and bright, his gaze drifting over her like he was memorizing every detail of her smile and the way she looked at him.

Then he leaned forward, voice dropping back into something warm and hopeful. “Listen… there’s a pub across from the inn ye’re stayin’ in. Good music. Good people. My people.” His knee brushed hers under the table. A light touch.  So light that a spark shot through her sharply to cause her to gasp again.  “Ye should come,” he murmured. “Drink with us. Dance with us. Meet the rest of the lads.”

Her breath hitched. “Dance?”

No one had asked her to dance since high school. She couldn’t even remember the last time she tried to dance. The high school dance had been more of a dare than an invitation.

“Aye.” His grin turned boyish. “I promise I won’t step on yer toes. Much.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, nerves fluttering. “I’m not… very good at dancing.”

“Good,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Neither am I.”

She gave a soft, shy laugh. Johnny’s smile widened like he’d been waiting all night for that sound.

He stood and offered his hand. Not demanding. Not assuming. Just… inviting.

Her fingers hovered for a heartbeat before she placed her hand in his. His palm was warm, calloused, steady. The moment their skin touched, something fluttered low in her stomach.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, helping her up gently. “Let’s go have some fun.”