David
I kept looking at her.
Not subtly. Not even remotely discreetly.
If staring could burn a hole into someone, the back of her head would have been reduced to ash by now. But she didn’t turn. She didn’t react. She just continued doing what she was doing, focused, calm, completely unaware of the storm she had managed to create inside me.
Or maybe she was aware.
That thought alone made my jaw tighten.
She moved around my kitchen like she belonged there, like this space, my space, had always been hers. There was something unsettling about how natural it looked. The way she reached for ingredients without hesitation, the way she hummed softly under her breath while mixing the batter, the way her hair kept falling forward and she absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear.
Homely.
That
