Page 29 of The Headmaster’s Rule

Eleanor: Hi! Yes, this is much easier, good idea. I’m free anytime after school tomorrow, just let me know when to be there.

I read her words three times. I mustn’t have heard the text over the crunch of gravel and leaves as I ran. Smiling, I quickly type out a reply.

Headmaster Wright: Great. Let’s meet at 4 p.m.

Then I force myself to pause, remembering the importance of keeping the tone strictly professional, and amend the text before hitting send.

Headmaster Wright: Meet in the conference room at 4 p.m.

Eleanor: See you then.

I stare at her words for a beat longer than necessary, my pulse tripping.

I tell myself it’s from the run.

I meet with the board the next morning and pitch Safe Harbor to them. They’re hesitant at first, for the same reasons I was, but I manage to talk them around. To explain why this is the right move for the school. The kids. The community. And by the time the meeting wraps, they’re on board. There are conditions, of course, but they’ve signed off on it.

Because it’s good.

After the meeting, I’m tempted to go to Eleanor’s classroom and tell her the good news, but I hold off. I’m meeting her in a few hours anyway. It can wait.

But as I sit at my desk, it’s hard to focus. I spend more time pacing in front of the window, gazing out to sea, arguing with myself about why I should wait, that in the end it makes more sense to simply go and tell her. Then I’ll be able to get on with my day.

I head to the first floor, telling myself I’m doing the right thing. That she’d want to know. When I get to her door, she’s got the class gathered on the carpet at her feet as she holds up a picture book. She instantly glances up, as if sensing my presence, and sends me a confused smile. I motion for her to step into the hall, but she nods toward the class.

Fair enough.

I glance over my shoulder, second-guessing myself. I should tell her this afternoon.

And yet, I can’t get my feet to move. She’s in an emerald-green dress with red flowers along the hem, her light brown hair loosely pinned back with a barrette in the shape of a watermelon.

Things no headmaster should notice.

I need to leave.

But when I turn to go, she wanders across to open the door.

“Headmaster Wright, what a treat.” A playful smile hints at her lips as she speaks loud enough for the class to hear. “I’m about to read a book to the class. Would you like to join us?”

I open my mouth to decline. Honestly, what am I doing here? How did I convince myself this was a good idea?

But a tiny voice from behind her says, “Please, Headmaster Wright?” and I know there’s no way I can refuse.

“Yes,” I say at last, following Eleanor inside. The sweet scent of apples and cinnamon wafts through the room, almost as if she’s about to pull a pie from the oven. The smell is so cozy, so homey, and it tugs at something buried deep inside me. I shake the feeling off, looking for a seat near the back, hoping to blend into the furniture.

But another student—Andy O’Reilly, I believe—asks, “Are you going to read us a story, Headmaster Wright?”

Oh, crap. No.

“Uh—” I glance at Eleanor, sending her a pleading look, but she smiles sweetly.

“That’s a great idea, Andy.” She holds out the book, motioning to the stool at the front of the room. “I’m sure Headmaster Wright would love to.”

I glare at her. She knows very well this is not why I came here, though I’m not entirely sure I want to admit why I did come, so I take the book from her hand.

“I’m very out of practice,” I say, but she pretends not to hear, finding a seat at the back of the room. “Alright.” I laugh awkwardly as I undo the button of my suit jacket and perch on the stool in front of the class. I hesitate, then pull my glasses from my pocket, sliding them on. “Let’s see if I remember how to do this.”

There’s a titter among the kids. I give them a stern look, which instantly quiets them, but when I glance up to find Eleanor frowning, I soften.