Page 60 of The Headmaster’s Rule

I blink. “What? Now?”

“Yes. Now, Dad. Before you think of another reason not to.”

My pulse surges at the thought of getting in my car and driving to Eleanor’s house. Showing up on her doorstep. Telling her I want this.

And yet, I can’t stop myself from reaching for my keys and tugging on my jacket. My daughter beams as I rake a hand nervously through my hair, handing me the glass of whiskey from the coffee table. I take a long swig and kiss the top of her head.

Then I stride out the door, pulling up Eleanor’s address from her staff file as I head to my car, noting she’s only a few minutes away. I could walk, but that gives me more time to talk myself out of it.

Instead, I hop into my Range Rover, stepping on the gas before I can second-guess myself. A few minutes later I’m outside her house, heart racing as I step from the car. Smoothing a hand down my shirt, I curse myself. I should have changed. Showered. Shaved.

But I couldn’t risk losing my nerve.

I double check the address, then head down the cobbled walkway that leads to the carriage house out back. There’s a single light illuminating the front door, and I suck in a lungful of salty night air, my pulse quickening as I knock. I can only hope everything Juliana said is true, and that Eleanor will be happy to see me.

The door opens, and she blinks up at me. Despite the late hour, she hasn’t changed out of the outfit she wore earlier today—a scarlet-red cardigan over a black and white polka-dot skirt. Her hair is mussed, though, strands falling loose from her strawberry-shaped barrette. I want nothing more than to unclip that barrette, let her hair fall around her face, and bury my nose in it.

Her brows spring up in surprise when she sees me, and I glance over my shoulder along the path, the reality of what I’ve done hitting me. I’ve shown up at an employee’s house unannounced.

“Uh, hi,” I say tentatively. “I… got your address from your file.”

It occurs to me suddenly that if Eleanor isn’t on the same page as me, this could come across as threatening and unhinged.

“Sorry, Eleanor.” I grimace. “I should… I should go.”

But her shock gives way to something else. A smile. Relief.

“No,” she says quickly. “You shouldn’t.” She steps aside, motioning for me to enter. I hover on the doorstep.

“Are you sure?”

A smile curves along her beautiful lips, her gaze locking on mine. “I’m sure.”

Something loosens inside me, a clenched fist letting go. For the first time in weeks, maybe longer, I can breathe. She wants this. Wants me. And God help me, I want her too. Enough to risk it all.

I step inside.

CHAPTER 21

Theo

Eleanor closes the door, hovering for a moment, as if unsure what to do with me. Then she turns to the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

I exhale, following her. “Sure.”

She motions to a wooden stool at the breakfast bar, and I slide onto it, letting my gaze drift around her place. It’s your typical Hamptons carriage house, with exposed beams, worn wooden floors, barn-style doors, and close enough to the beach that I can hear the waves.

Instead of bright overhead lights, she’s got floor lamps scattered around the room to create soft, warm lighting. She hasn’t been here long, but already she’s put her mark on the place; a teal-blue velvet sofa with a rust-orange throw, colorful framed art prints on the walls, a bright rug tucked under her bed, which is covered in pillows of various colors. Then there’s the school stuff: folders and papers strewn across the coffee table and kitchen counter. An explosion of mess, color, Eleanor. So perfectly her.

She wordlessly slides a cup of black coffee across the counter. I nod my thanks. I’ve never told her how I take my coffee, but somehow she knows. Of course she does. Eleanor has big ideas and an even bigger heart, but she’s also quietly observant, noting little things about people they don’t even know.

“I’m surprised you’re still up,” I say, catching the time on the clock ticking in her kitchen. It’s later than I realized.

“I was out having drinks with friends.” She wraps her fingers around her own mug, not meeting my gaze. We both know she was with my daughter.

“Talking about me,” I say teasingly, trying to lighten the mood, but she glances up, her brow creasing with worry. “Juliana came to see me.”