An English teacher running from a murderous and haunting past finds herself on a collision course with the supernatural when she takes a teaching position at Stillwater Academy, the premier school for the children of elite supernaturals founded by i...
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Carson smiled as the little girl continued to pull books from her boxes, carefully laying them on the floor in front of her as she explained why each one was "the best." He sat near her on the rug in the freshly painted living room, listening attentively and nodding along whenever she'd look up at him. Nova was a carbon copy of her mother, all human with blonde curls and freckles and the same innocent expression. The little one even wore glasses like Addie, although Nova's glasses were a vibrant blue and decorated with rainbows and clouds while Dr. Sinclair's were practical black frames that made her look decidedly academic despite her youthful glow.
"Do you like reading, Nova?"
The girl, realizing she'd been asked a question, stopped talking and delicately placed the book she'd just been discussing onto a small pile. Then, she offered him a sweet grin and a nod. In response to the child, Carson smiled gently then opened his mouth to tell her that reading was a very good thing when Addie called from the kitchen that dinner was ready. Her words and the slight air of tiredness in her voice caused his guilt to resurge.
Earlier, when Carson had offered to help the woman cook, she'd politely declined, although he felt awful that Sinclair, whom he barely knew, felt obligated to cook for him. Carson suspected her insistence on making him dinner had to do with the fact that he was technically her boss, and that knowledge made him wish he'd insisted on going home earlier before Nova insisted he stay with her.
Carson would have to find a way to make it up to Addie as soon as possible and without making it weird because the ways he was imagining making it up to Addie were probably not acceptable. Considering they'd only just met. Maybe later...
Anyway, Carson hated when people felt like they needed to serve him. He'd spent the majority of his early life serving others, people who'd treated him like trash. No one deserved that sort of life.
"Come on, Mr. Carson." Nova spoke, dragging him to his feet and out of his musing.
Once he was standing, she left her hand in his and led him hurriedly toward the dining room. Before they even entered the room, Carson could smell the tangy aroma of canned pasta sauce and the glutenous scent of cooked pasta, both oddly accentuated by the rose he'd brought.
When he entered the dining room, he found three places at the table had already been set with glasses of water and plates of spaghetti. Curious, he looked about the space. The room was still a little bare, furnished with tasteful decorations that made the space feel livable but that lacked real personality. He had no doubt Dr. Sinclair would make the entire house her own with time because he had the feeling that Dr. Sinclair would be around for quite some time.
At least he hoped she would. That would make him happy.
After a moment, Nova released his hand to skip to her own spot, which Carson assumed was hers based on the colorful placemat and bright, child-friendly water bottle decorated with stickers.
