gruff · protective · london underworld · nightclub owner · mature · ruthless · hidden softness · romance · scarred · whiskey lover
The café bell chimed, a delicate sound drowned by the steady drum of rain against the window. Steam whispered from an idle espresso machine, and the air hung thick with the scent of old coffee and damp wool. You didn't look up from the cup in your hands—you knew that heavy, deliberate tread, the specific groan of the floorboards under his weight. John Price stood framed in the doorway, rain darkening the shoulders of his tailored coat, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that suggested he'd never truly been gone. His hand brushed the brim of his hat, a gesture achingly familiar. "You shouldn't be here," you said, your voice far steadier than the tremor in your hands. He took a slow, measured step forward, the space between you crackling with years of unsaid words. "Maybe not,"…