Page 126 of The Headmaster’s Rule

It hits me somewhere between the second glass of wine and dessert that this is real.

Juliana insists on serving the pie I made, leaving Eleanor and me at the table, plates empty, bellies full. I drain my glass and pour another, my gaze lingering on Eleanor as she leans back in her chair with her eyes closed, quietly humming along to the music from the stereo. A playlist Jules created.

This is the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years, possibly ever, and it’s only the beginning of our lives together.

Yesterday, Eleanor and I shared our relationship in the faculty meeting, in an attempt to nip any rumors in the bud. While several faculty members were taken aback, it seemed to come as no real surprise to most. Almost as if they’d known all along.

It was the perfect way to head into the long weekend, knowing our relationship is out in the open, knowing I’m allowed to want Eleanor, to have Eleanor. Yes, we must respect professional boundaries at work, but that’s nothing if I get to be seen with her. Can take her to dinner in town. Have her stay here without fear of being spotted.

Maybe even find a place of our own.

She sighs happily, glancing at me over her wineglass, hazel eyes sparkling. “Dinner was delicious. Thank you.”

My chest fills with love. I’ve always cooked a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for me and Jules, but this year was different. That third seat at the table was empty for so long, I wondered if it might feel strange to see Eleanor there.

But it wasn’t in the slightest. She’s brought warmth and love to this place that I never knew I needed. That I never knew was possible. It’s only been a few days since it became official with the board, yet it feels almost as though she’s been here this whole time. That this is where she’s meant to be.

With me.

I slide my hand into her warm palm, smiling. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” And at the risk of being too forward, asking for too much, I add, “I want to do this with you every year.”

She bites her bottom lip, as if to quell her smile. “Me too,” she whispers, leaning in to press her mouth to mine.

Juliana chooses that moment to set two plates of pie in front of us, and we part, smiling sheepishly at one another.

“Sorry,” Eleanor murmurs, reaching for her fork.

“What for?” Juliana flops into a chair, lips quirking with amusement.

“You know…” Eleanor motions vaguely at me, cheeks pink, and I chuckle. As supportive as my daughter is about our relationship, I know Eleanor feels a little awkward about dating her friend’s father.

But Juliana waves her off, fork in hand. “Please stop apologizing for loving my dad.” She sends me a fond smile. “I’m glad someone could see past his permanent scowl and controlling tendencies.”

I press a hand to my chest, feigning offense, and Eleanor laughs. She hesitates, then threads her fingers through mine on the table. A tiny declaration.

“The scowl isn’t so permanent now,” she murmurs, scooping up a bite of apple pie.

I can’t help myself, and lift her hand to my mouth, brushing a kiss across the back of it.

“That’s because of you, sweetheart. You reminded me there’s so much good in the world.”

She squeezes my hand. “And you’re helping me make more good things happen.”

“You two are so sweet.” Juliana polishes off her pie, exhaling contentedly. “Dinner was great, Dad. The pie was much better this year. Glad to see those cooking classes paid off.”

I send my daughter a dry smile. “Thanks, Bug.”

She rolls her eyes at my affectionate nickname. “Honestly, it’s like he thinks I’m still five years old,” she mutters.

Eleanor smiles. “I think it’s cute.”

“Easy for you to say.” Juliana frowns into her wineglass. “He calls me that at work. You’d think the headmaster of a prestigious prep school would know what a professional boundary is.”

I lift my brows, face warm as I drop my gaze to my plate. She’s right, but I’m not thinking about her. I’m thinking about the professional boundaries Eleanor and I crossed. Repeatedly. All over the school.

Eleanor’s gaze drifts to mine, and I see my thoughts reflected back at me. Every stolen moment in my office, at the copier, the art room. Every boundary we broke when our need for one another became too much to contain. Heat flashes through me at the memories, and I clench my jaw.

Godammit, why did we have to agree we’d never do that again?