Sharon’s POV

I stared at Douglas from across the small table, my hands clasped around a warm mug of orange juice. It was a simple supper—a ham sandwich—but somehow, sharing this meal with him felt more intimate than it should have. The low hum of electric appliances filled the air, and I found myself hyper-aware of every sound he made, every breath he took. His fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the table, and his eyes kept flickering toward me ...