Page 37 of The Headmaster’s Rule

I set the box on the coffee table in front of the unlit fireplace, and he sinks into a leather chair with a weary sigh. Cracking open the box, I hold it out to him. He wordlessly retrieves a slice of pepperoni, his eyes closing in bliss as he takes a bite. I watch him for a moment, knowing he probably skipped lunch. His desk is littered with coffee cups, but there’s no sign of food. He needs to take better care of himself.

Or let someone else take care of him.

Helping myself to a slice of pizza, I settle into the chair. I’m not as nervous as last night, I realize. Despite whatever Headmaster Wright has had to deal with today, he almost seemed relieved to see me this afternoon. And when he laughed, a deep, warm rumble that went right through me, I knew he’d given me a rare, precious gift. I’ve never heard him laugh before, and I wish I could have bottled the sound, to hoard it away and listen to it later when I’m alone.

“Thanks for dinner,” he murmurs quietly. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

I glance at him, wanting to ask why, then think better of it. He stares straight ahead, the banker’s lamp on the sideboard silhouetting his handsome profile. He hasn’t shaved, his jaw shadowed with silver stubble. I haven’t known him long, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize when something is off. For the first time, it occurs to me that he might be lonely, and my heart feels heavy at the thought.

“Is everything okay, sir?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of it.

His tired blue eyes swing my way, regarding me quietly. I want to reach out and smooth the line from his brow, to rub the knot of tension in his shoulder until he closes his eyes and exhales, finally letting go.

“There was a break-in at the school this morning.”

I inhale sharply. “Where?”

“The maintenance shed,” he says, rubbing his jaw. The rasp of his palm against his whiskers is so unexpectedly erotic that I shiver. My fingers itch with the urge to touch him.

It’s not only that. He’s as disheveled as last night, maybe more, jacket gone, sleeves rolled, hair mussed, and an air of quiet surrender emanating from him, like he’s too tired to keep up the usual distance between us.

“Do you know who it was?” I ask.

He gives a slow shake of his head. “Police are looking into it, but most likely kids or someone looking to make some fast cash.”

“Did they take anything?”

“Nothing that can’t be replaced.”

I exhale. “Well, that’s a relief.”

He shakes his head, jaw hardening. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

I study him carefully. There’s something in his tone, his expression, that suggests he blames himself for this random incident, which is absurd.

“These things happen,” I say carefully. I don’t want to overstep, but it seems unreasonable for him to shoulder the burden for this. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

He stares straight ahead, brow low, a muscle ticking in his jaw, but I need him to hear this, because I’m not sure anyone has told him.

“Headmaster Wright,” I begin tentatively.

He exhales, long and tired. “You can call me Theo, Eleanor. I think we’re past formalities.”

My eyes widen. Theo. He wants me to call him Theo, and as much as I want to, it feels strange. He’s Headmaster Wright. The man who scared the shit out of me from day one.

Only… he’s not anymore, is he? It feels different now. He’s no longer that intimidating figure standing behind a desk. He’s just a man.

A handsome, incredibly hardworking man who’s trying so hard to do right by this school. A man who’s forgotten how to look for the good in the world.

And I want to help him remember. I want to help him soften.

“Theo,” I murmur, testing it.

His eyes snap to mine, intense. Something shifts there, something darker, hungrier. Heat coils low in my abdomen as he holds my gaze for one beat, two. Then he blinks, and it’s gone.

I draw breath, ready to say what I wanted to say, but he stands abruptly, crossing to his desk to gather his laptop and glasses.

“Let’s get on with our work,” he says, brisk again.