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... 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 h ...
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