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 and then away, like he was searching for something in the distance.
"I'm sorry," I finally said, breaking the silence that had settled between us. My voice was softer than I intended, tinged with guilt. "I shouldn't have been so rude to you that day. I blamed you for arranging that meeting with the director without understanding the situ
