Page 48 of The Headmaster’s Rule

She was there. I’ve hardly seen her for two weeks—two agonizingly long weeks—but this morning she was there.

And, God, she looked beautiful. Hair pinned back with a red bow, matching red lipstick, and a black dress with red polka dots. It’s like she’s trying to cause me pain.

She’s not, of course. She’s just being her usual, wonderful self. Full of joy and sparkle and color.

Everything I’m not.

I head for the stairwell at the end of the corridor, wanting to avoid the main staircase, needing a moment to breathe, to clear her face from my head. Her voice. Her mouth—soft, wet, needy, as I pushed her up against her Mini Cooper…

Rounding the corner, I find a pair of seniors making out on the stairs, hands dangerously close to places they shouldn’t be. Resentment boils in my bloodstream.

“Cut it out,” I bark, glowering at them.

They leap apart, scrambling for their backpacks on the floor, terrified eyes avoiding mine as they scamper from the stairwell.

Good. If I’m not getting any, they sure as shit won’t.

Margaret eyes me warily as I approach my office. She’s handled me just fine for years, but her cautious glance now is a sure sign I’m behaving like an asshole.

But I can’t stop. Everything is wrong with the world, and I can’t fucking take it.

“We need more coffee,” I snap as I pass. “I shouldn’t have to go to the faculty lounge to fetch it.”

I don’t wait to hear her reply as I storm into my office and shove the door closed. Jamming the pod into the Nespresso machine on the sideboard, I pace restlessly as it brews. How long does a fucking cup of coffee take?

There’s a knock on the door, then it pops open, Margaret easing herself reluctantly into the room.

“Let me get you some breakfast, Theodore.”

“I don’t need breakfast.”

There’s only one thing—one person—I need, and I can’t have it.

She eyes me closely as she crosses the room to open the window. Margaret’s answer to everything is fresh air.

But as usual, she’s right. The cool, salty breeze eases a little of the tension from my shoulders, and I heave a miserable sigh as I reach for my coffee.

“It’s awfully quiet around here without Eleanor,” Margaret says thoughtfully.

My fingers tighten on my cup at the mention of her, but I say nothing, not meeting her gaze.

“I can’t help but think…” she pauses, as if choosing her words with care. “You worked well together. Professionally speaking, of course.”

My eyes snap to her, assessing. Is she implying something?

But Margaret’s expression remains carefully neutral, her gaze wandering to the open window.

“She was like a breath of fresh air. Made the place feel brighter. Made you…”

My eyes narrow. Margaret’s behavior has always been the height of professionalism, but she’s definitely implying something. That’s very unlike her.

And also… she’s right.

Eleanor was everything I didn’t realize I needed.

And everything I can’t have.

My heart tightens as the thought hits me again, like it has every day since she drove out of that parking lot. I shouldn’t be this despondent after one kiss. After seeing her for three seconds in the faculty lounge.