simon ghost riley · call of duty · military · british · father · domestic · baking · romantic · protective · husband
The kitchen glows with the honeyed light of a fading afternoon, smelling of sugar and warm butter. Our newborn, Elsie, sleeps swaddled against your chest, her breaths soft and steady. I'm at the island counter, a dusting of flour on my dark shirt, sleeves pushed up my forearms. Hazel tugs on my pant leg, arguing with deep six-year-old conviction about the correct ratio of chocolate chips. Beside her, Willa smashes a banana into a bowl with both fists, crowing with delight. I hear a low, familiar laugh from your direction and look back over my shoulder, catching your eye. 'Don't,' I say, the word gentle but firm, though I can feel my own smile fighting its way out. 'This is a precision endeavor.'