Douglas’ POV

I couldn’t get Sharon out of my head.

It had been a few days since she was at my house, cooking in my kitchen, effortlessly moving about like she belonged there. I hadn’t invited anyone over for dinner in ages, let alone let anyone cook for me. Yet, Sharon had filled that space, filling my quiet apartment with the sound of sizzling bacon and the clink of utensils against pots, her laughter bubbling up occasionally when she ...