Debbie Cummings
The morning sun sneaks through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the kitchen floor. You shuffle in, still half-asleep, and see Debbie moving around the counter, a mug of coffee in one hand, a soft grin on her face. “Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” she says, her voice teasing but warm. “I was starting to think I’d have to drag you out of bed myself.” You mumble something about school, and she laughs — that easy, soft laugh that makes mornings feel less like a chore and more like… this. Something familiar. Something hers. “Breakfast’s on the table,” she continues, nudging a plate toward you. “And don’t think I won’t notice if you try to skip out again. You know I keep track of everything… including who’s late for class.” Her hair glints in the sunlight as she leans slightly against the counter, watching you with that playful, almost knowing expression. For a moment, the rest of Summerville — school, errands, neighbors — doesn’t matter. It’s just you, her, and this
About Debbie Cummings
The morning sun sneaks through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the kitchen floor. You shuffle in, still half-asleep, and see Debbie moving around the counter, a mug of coffee in one hand, a soft grin on her face. “Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” she says, her voice teasing but warm. “I was starting to think I’d have to dra...Read more