Page 72 of The Headmaster’s Rule

“Oh no,” Kelly Patel says, pointing to my shirt with wide eyes.

I glance down to find orange pumpkin staining the cuff of my sleeve, and chuckle. Thankfully, I keep a spare shirt in my office at all times, so it’s not the end of the world. Though I will have some explaining to do when Margaret takes this one to be dry-cleaned.

When I look back up, Kelly is staring at me in surprise, along with a few other kids, and it takes me a second to realize why.

They thought I’d get angry.

Something about that hollows my stomach, even though I can’t blame them. I have a reputation at this school for being strict and stern, maybe even a little scary.

A reputation I’m not so sure I want anymore.

I stiffen at this realization. At how much Eleanor has changed me, in such a short time. Gone are my usual rules and restraints; instead, I’m sitting in a pumpkin-splattered classroom, up to my elbows in pumpkin guts. If she can disarm me this much around third-graders, what will she do to me tonight, when we’re alone?

But try as I might, I can’t make myself care. Not when she lines the students’ pumpkins up at the front of the room and sings their praises. Not when she adds mine to the group, making me feel like it’s the best thing she’s ever seen.

Not when I know I’ll get her alone in a few hours.

I stifle a groan, thinking about the weekend ahead of me, knowing we’ll be miles apart. All I want to do tonight is take her straight to bed, but I can’t. I shouldn’t. It occurred to me much too late that I’ve done everything in the wrong order, sleeping with her before I even bought her dinner. Or cooked her dinner, at least. She works her ass off for this place, on the fundraiser, on Safe Harbor, and still finds time to create meaningful activities like this for her class. For all that she does for everyone else, she deserves to be spoiled.

And dammit, I’m going to do that for her.

I thank the class for letting me join them, reluctantly heading back to my office, and as I pull out a fresh shirt to change, all I can think about is how to make tonight’s date magical.

CHAPTER 24

Theo

Eleanor knocks on my door later that evening, looking like a dream in a long-sleeved, dark red dress that cuts across her chest, exposing her shoulders. Her caramel-colored hair is loose and wavy, brushing along her collarbone, and as I usher her quickly inside and take her jacket, it’s an effort not to sweep her hair back and drag my mouth over her exposed skin.

“Hi,” she says, a little breathless, hazel eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy from the fall night air. I asked her to come at eight and park two streets away, which is a little dramatic, but I can’t risk anyone seeing her here. It’s one thing to go to her classroom during the school day, another thing entirely for her to be here, at my house, after hours.

“Hi.” I grin, feeling a nervous clench in my gut. I haven’t entertained a woman in my home for… I don’t even know, but I figured at least here, I’d have some control over the food, the music, the atmosphere.

But as she looks curiously around my place now, my stomach dips. The cottage is small, and while I could easily afford somewhere bigger and swankier, I chose this place for its snug size and proximity to the school. After all, it’s only me here, and I spend most of my time at work.

I try to see the place through her eyes; a modest shingled cottage with a stone chimney, bay windows with sea views, a cozy fireplace I’ve lit for the evening. The living space has my worn tan leather sofa, a sheepskin rug in front of the fire, and an antique wood chest doubling as my coffee table. Vivaldi plays on the turntable—The Four Seasons—and I’ve chilled a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, which I hope she likes.

I’ve done everything I can to make the evening romantic, hoping I can spend it taking care of her instead of losing my self-control like last time. But it’s a struggle after keeping my hands to myself in her classroom today, after watching her in her element. And as I see her lips curve in a delighted smile, the threads of my self-control begin to fray.

God, she’s beautiful.

“Your place is lovely,” she says, smiling, and my stomach settles. “The fire.” She crosses to the fireplace, warming her hands in front of it with a contented sigh. “I love a fireplace. Why do you never light the one in your office?”

“I used to, but…” I shrug. “We have radiators.”

She glances back at me. “But it would be so much nicer in there with the fire blazing. The lamp. And the turntable you never use…”

The picture she paints sounds a lot better than the reality; late nights poring over spreadsheets, lengthy emails to the board, pacing back and forth as I contemplate the next impending disaster.

Until she came along.

The thought makes me pause, and I remember that moment in her classroom today, carving pumpkins. Something has shifted for me. I still feel the weight of responsibility, but it’s less suffocating. For the first time in years, I’m remembering to breathe.

That massage yesterday certainly helped, especially since I had to spend two hours dealing with the parent from that phone call, followed by a last-minute board meeting this afternoon. I’ve been running on fumes for days now, and fatigue tugs at me, but being in Eleanor’s company is all I need to feel better.

I cross the room to where she stands in front of the fireplace, needing to be close to her. She smiles at me, radiant and breath-taking, and I have to pinch myself that this is real. That she’s here, in my home, wanting this. Me.

I’m a lucky bastard.