John wasn't nervous.

He never got nervous.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he stood near the entrance of Kensington Park. A quiet corner of London that felt miles away from his flat apartment and the usual city rush.

The morning air was cool but not biting, the kind that whispered of fall but hadn't happened yet.

His beanie was snug over his ears, keeping the chill away, though his dark jacket was enough to keep him comfortable. Underneath, a long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants—the kind of clothing that made him feel simple and prepared for anything.

The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting soft, golden beams across the park. It was still early enough that the city hadn't waken up yet.

John watched as a few joggers passed by, and dog walkers moved steadily, but the park remained peaceful in the morning. The trees lining the pathways were thick with leaves, their colors starting to change into autumn shades of orange and gold.

There was no reason for him to be on alert, but old habits die hard. He was always watching.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, John pulled out a cigar. He didn't plan on lighting it—not here, not now—but it was a habit that ingrained him.

The feel of the cigar between his fingers, the rough texture of it, was enough to keep him stable.

Today, though, the tension was different. It wasn't the tightness that came before a mission or in the middle of combat. No, this was something else.

The thought of meeting Charlie in person stirred something in him.

He hadn't known how she'd slipped into his thoughts. He just knows he'd spent his life keeping everything and everyone at a distance. But here he was, standing in a park, waiting for her. It was strange. Unsettling.

As the sunlight grew brighter, casting longer rays across the park, dappling the ground. A gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh grass, mingling with the crisp air.

When John tucked the cigar back into his pocket, he inhaled before releasing a sigh. His heart beating in his chest—controlled, measured. He had faced too many life-or-death situations to let something as simple as meeting someone get to him. But when his eyes landed on her, his pulse quickened when she came into view for the first time.

She was walking toward him, her golden hair catching the sunlight and glowing like spun gold around her face. She looked radiant, the cool air adding a flush to her fair skin. Her heart-shaped lips curled into a small, almost shy smile, and her brown eyes, warm and curious, met his. But it wasn't her appearance that struck him—it was something more.

It was the scent that hit him as she neared.

Soft.

Sweet.

Enticing.

Strawberry. Vanilla.

The fragrance wrapped around him in the space between them, subtle but undeniable.

It clung to the air, lingering in a way that made him want to lean in, close the distance, and let it fill his senses completely. It wasn't overpowering, not like the heavy perfumes some women wore. It was light and natural, as if it belonged to her and only to her. It stirred something deep inside him that he wasn't sure what. But it betrayed him with a single thought for a split second—a selfish, lustful thought.

What would it be like to get closer?

He felt the pull. The urge to step toward her, close the gap, and brush his hand against her skin.

Stay sharp, Price.

He cursed himself, pushing the thought away as quickly as it had come. He couldn't afford to think like that. Not here. Not with her. She was young, innocent-looking. And this was supposed to be a simple meeting, not whatever his mind tried to twist it into.

When she got closer, her boots making soft clicks against the gravel. Her cream-colored knit sweater hugged her figure just right, while her light-wash jeans fit her well, making every step seem easy. The scarf around her neck fluttered in the breeze, adding to her casual style, but all John could focus on was the intoxicating scent between them, taunting him, pulling him in.

If Soap were here right now, he knew what would happen. Soap would look at him, notice the faint flush creeping across his the Captain's face, and tease him about it. He wouldn't leave him alone. And in response? John could picture it—he'd knock Soap out cold to shut him up and carry on. As if nothing had happened. As if Charlie didn't have him feeling like a damn teenager again.

John exhaled slowly, trying to regain his control.

He was good at that—controlling his emotions, keeping everything locked up tight. But as she stopped right in front of him, with that damn sweet, strawberry-vanilla scent, he wasn't sure how he could hold it together.

"John?" she asked, her voice bright as her smile widened.

He nodded, clearing his throat quickly as he forced himself to focus. "Charlie."

"So, you do exist." She tilted her head slightly, her gaze curious as she studied him. "I was starting to think you were just a figment of my imagination."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "A figment, huh? That's a new one."

"Well," she teased, her tone light, "when a man claims he's 'saving the world' and then asks a girl out for tea, you have to wonder."

John gave her a slow nod, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. "Guess I've got a lot to live up to then."

Her shy laughter was soft and easy, and it eased the tightness in his chest just a little. "No pressure."

They stood there for a moment, and it wasn't awkward.

It was comfortable in a way John wasn't used to.

"So," Charlie began, breaking the silence, "any café around here you recommend for that tea?"

John gestured over his shoulder with a casual thumb. "There's a place just down the path I can take you."

"Lead the way," she said, stepping beside him as they started walking.

The soft crunch of leaves underfoot filled the space between them as they moved together. John glanced at her more than once, trying not to be obvious. Her long, soft waves caught the sunlight as it bounced with the breeze, giving her a glow that made it hard to look away. But it wasn't just her hair that drew him in. His eyes drifted back to her lips—heart-shaped, soft, naturally pink. He wondered, almost against his will, how they would feel against his lips.

He clenched his jaw and cursed himself again.

He shouldn't be thinking about her like that.

But how could someone like her want to meet a man like him? A grizzled soldier, rough around the edges, with a mutton chops beard that only added to the stern, rugged look carved into him over the years. Years spent in warzones, surviving on instinct and brute strength. He wasn't the kind of man women like her looked at and thought, Yeah, that's the guy I want to sit down and have tea with.

It didn't make sense, and he knew it shouldn't matter, but the question kept pressing. Why would someone like her want to meet me?

The more he thought about it, the more he noticed—the curve of her lips, the way her sweater hugged her form in all the right places, and that scent. That sweet, irresistible scent made him want to pull her closer and bury his face to her hair.

His mind betrayed him, sending him down a path of more selfish thoughts—thoughts of being near her, closer than he should be. He wanted to feel her warmth, to breathe in more of that perfume. He imagined what it would be like to touch her skin and lips, and imagine the type of reactions she would make if he did that.

Bloody hell, Price.

He had to focus. This wasn't what he was here for.

He wasn't supposed to feel this pull—his selfish desire.

He wasn't supposed to let himself want more. But with each step beside her, he wasn't sure what to do if he lost control.

She glanced up at the vehicle as they approached his truck and then back at him. Her brow arched a little. It wasn't a massive, towering truck like some men liked to drive, but it was taller than the average car. A sturdy, dark-colored pickup that fit John right—practical.

When they stopped by the passenger side, John opened the door for her. It was natural for him, second nature, to offer that kind of respect, though it wasn't something he thought about much. He stepped back, waiting for her to climb in.

Charlie hesitated for a second, looking at the height of the step.

"Didn't know you drove a tank," she said with a chuckle, her eyes sparkling with humor as she glanced back at him.

John smirked though it wasn't cocky.

"Surprised?"

She shrugged, her lips curling into a shy smile. "A little."

When Charlie placed her hand on the seat and tried to lift herself up, it became clear that it was a bit higher than she expected. Her short frame made it hard for her to hoist herself into the seat, and as she struggled, she lost her balance a little, her foot slipping off the step.

Without thinking, his hand shot out, wrapping around her waist, steadying her before she could fall backward.

She gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his forearm for balance.

He caught her quickly, his grip firm but careful, like it was his third nature.

They were close.

Time seemed to slow as John held her. Her petite frame barely reached his chest, her head tilting back to meet him, and the height difference between them became impossible to ignore. She was small. He hadn't expected to feel something shift in his chest just from holding her like this. She fit perfectly against him in a way that stirred his desire.

Charlie looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and her lips parted slightly as she mumbled. "Sorry... I didn't realize I'd need help getting in."

John chuckled. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at her, his hand still steady on her waist.

"No need to be sorry. Should've known you'd need a hand."

For a split second, the warmth of her body pressed against him. Her hands gripped his forearm for balance. Her scent drifted up, wrapping around him again, and it took everything in him not to let his mind wander further (again).

Almost involuntarily, he noticed the way she fit into his arms. She felt fragile and light, and he noticed the stark difference in their sizes.

At six-foot-two, he towered over her, his broad frame practically dwarfing her small body. Her head barely reached his chest, and the difference between them sent a wave of something dangerous coursing through him.

Trying to reign in his thoughts, he had always been drawn to shorter women—something he couldn't deny.

A petite woman who looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

His pulse quicken.

He wanted to hold her there just a little longer, to breathe in her sweet scent. But he couldn't. He had to control the way his body responded to her. She wasn't some fleeting thing—she deserved more than just his fleeting thoughts of attraction. It was a mixture of admiration and lust—two things that, combined, made it harder to keep his control intact.

Finally, John loosened his grip on her waist and helped her the rest of the way into the truck. He caught a glimpse of her quick smile as she adjusted herself in the passenger seat, her cheeks still flushed.

"Thanks for the save," she said, her voice light. But there was an undercurrent of something else that made him wonder if she had felt it too, that brief, electric moment between them.

John gave her a quick nod and shut the door, the soft click echoing in his ears as he stood there, breathing in the cool air to steady himself.

His fingers brushed over the scruff of his beard, jaw tightening as he fought to push away the thoughts that shouldn't have been there.

Taking a deep breath, he walked around to the driver's side, sliding into the seat and starting the engine. The deep rumble of the truck filled the silence between them. Just as they pulled away from the park, her voice cut through the quiet, gentle yet sure, drawing his attention.

"I'm curious," she said, her eyes drifting to him as they drove, "about the whole 'saving the world' thing. How literal is that?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightened a little, his expression unreadable.

He had to tread carefully—not because she wouldn't believe him, but because too much honesty could complicate things.

"Depends on the day," he said evenly, keeping his voice calm. "Some days, it feels literal."

She shot him a sidelong glance. "Not your usual nine-to-five, then?"

He shrugged, keeping his tone casual. "No."

"I figured," she said with a playful edge. "There's something about you that doesn't scream 'desk job.'"

John chuckled softly, the tension easing a little. "I'm not much for desks."

Her laughter was soft and light, sending a ripple of warmth through him. He wasn't used to this—this banter that didn't come with expectations or small talk.

They drove for a few moments longer. The silence between them felt more natural than awkward. But in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think about it earlier. 

The way she had looked up at him, her small frame fitting perfectly into his arms. 

The way her scent still lingered faintly in the air, teasing him.

The way she seemed to slip past his defenses without even trying. And for someone like John, that was dangerous.

Because he wasn't used to being thrown off balance.

And he definitely wasn't used to wanting this.

———

Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoyed the slow-burn tension between John and Charlie and all the little details that made their first meeting feel real. I'd love to hear your thoughts and answers to the questions in the comments—it's always fun connecting with you!

Don't forget, I release three new chapters every Friday, and sometimes on Wednesdays if I'm feeling generous. Keep an eye out for more of John and Charlie's story!

What do you think was going through John's mind when he first saw Charlie? Would you feel the same way meeting someone for the first time?

If Soap and Gaz were watching this interaction, what do you think their commentary would sound like?

What's your ideal setting for a first meeting like this—park, café, or somewhere else entirely?