The day after the thoroughly embarrassing wardrobe incident, my face still flushed at the thought.

I had risen early, cleaned the general store, and returned to the office, only to be greeted by the rich smell of cooking oil as soon as I opened the door. My mouth watered instinctively.

Was someone cooking?
As I stepped inside, my suspicion was confirmed—Raven was standing at the stove, grilling sausages to a perfect golden brown.

He looked utterly mismatched: a bird’s nest of unkempt hair atop his head and an adorable set of pajamas. It was clear he’d only just woken …