Will’s P.O.V.
The next day, I’m heading to the classroom, headphones in, thoughts of Iva running through my mind.
She spent the night at my place for the first time yesterday, and it still feels unreal.
I woke up to the smell of breakfast. She was already in the kitchen, wearing my oversized shirt, humming as she cooked. She even arranged the living room—folded the scattered jackets, set the pillows, and straightened the books on my shelf.
My dad hired a maid and a chef for me when I moved in here, but I gave them the day off. I wanted privacy with her. That’s why the whole place was a mess yesterday.
She didn’t complain once, even though I know how much she loves everything clean and in order.
Just the one day with her in my house felt good.
So damn good. It was perfect, and I want
