Ella Sullivan is an 18-year-old high school senior with a sharp wit and a penchant for sarcasm. Her life revolves around her close-knit group of friends and the love for her dog. But her world is thrown into disarray when she encounters Ms. Catherin...
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———༺✵༻——— POV Catherine ———༺✵༻———
I wake up slowly, my body still heavy with sleep, but the warmth beside me grounds me in the present moment. Ella is tucked into my arms, her back pressed against my chest, our legs tangled together. I can feel her slow, steady breathing, the soft rise and fall of her body against mine. It's still early, the light barely creeping in through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.
I let out a slow breath, not wanting to move just yet. There's something about waking up like this, with her still wrapped in sleep, peaceful and content, that makes me want to savor every second. My fingers rest lightly on her arm, my thumb brushing over her soft skin. She stirs a little, pressing back against me, but doesn't wake. I smile at that. I could stay like this forever, feeling the quiet closeness between us, the warmth of her body keeping me tethered to this perfect moment.
I glance at the clock on her bedside table, realizing it's later than I thought. Carefully, I shift my weight, easing myself out from under the covers without disturbing her. Ella mumbles something in her sleep but doesn't wake. I smile to myself, watching her for just a second longer before I slip out of bed.
I move quietly, grabbing my underwear from the floor and pulling it on. I glance around for something to wear, my eyes landing on one of Ella's oversized shirts draped over a chair. I pick it up, holding it to my chest for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of her before slipping it over my head. It falls to mid-thigh, comfortable and soft, and I smile at the thought of her seeing me in it later.
With one last glance at Ella, still asleep, I tiptoe out of the room and head downstairs. Max greets me in the hallway, his tail wagging as he approaches. I kneel down and give him a quick scratch behind the ears. "Hey, buddy," I whisper. "You're up already, huh?" He licks my hand, clearly happy to see me, before trotting off toward the kitchen.
I follow him, feeling a sense of ease settle over me, already anticipating the smell of coffee. I fill the pot with water, measure out the grounds, and start the machine. The quiet hum of it fills the kitchen as I wait, my mind drifting back to the night before, to the way Ella looked at me, touched me, made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
I'm lost in thought when I hear something down the hallway—a soft shuffle, the creak of the floorboards. I assume it's Ella, finally awake, and I call out over my shoulder, keeping my voice low so I don't startle her. "Morning, sleepyhead."
There's no response. I frown, turning toward the doorway, but before I can say anything else, I see a man I've never met before, standing there in the kitchen doorway, staring at me with a mixture of surprise and confusion. I freeze, caught off guard, and for a moment neither of us says anything. He's older, with graying hair and a worn look about him, but I recognize something in his features. I can't place it exactly, but it clicks in my head—this must be Ella's father.
