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    Summary

    Peter hadn’t expected Frank Castle to look like that up close.
    Sure, he knew the guy’s reputation — “The Punisher” conjured images of a grim-faced, bulletproof soldier, not the man currently standing in front of him.
    Frank was broad-shouldered, built like he could lift a car if he needed to, but there was something softer about him, too. Not soft as in weak — Frank Castle didn’t have a weak bone in his body — but soft in the way his shirt stretched just a little at the stomach, the way he looked… domestic.
    Real.
    Like the kind of man who would mow the lawn on a Sunday morning and then make pancakes.
    Peter didn’t know what to do with these thoughts.

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