Damon’s POV

I wasn’t spying on Brenda.

Let me make that very clear.

I was simply sitting on the front porch, tightening the screws on the small wooden bench Aria wanted repainted, minding my own business, when the sound of a front door opening made me glance up.

That was all.

A natural reflex.

A neighborly glance.

And then I froze.

Brenda stepped out of her house wearing a short, wine-red dress—nothing outrageous, but definitely not her usual soft sweaters and jeans. ...