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Chapter 1
Jessica
I look at myself in the mirror one more time. My dark brown hair is pulled neatly into a low ponytail, my stud pearl earrings adding an element of conversative femininity. I smooth down the modest black pencil skirt I bought especially for my first day as the new principal of Crescent Bay Elementary School. A year ago, I wouldn’t have dared wear a skirt like this: one that shows off my ample curves and round ass. My ex-husband Patrick would have tutted and sucked air through his teeth, asking if I really ought to wear something that tight in public.
Well fuck him and his opinions. For the ten years we were married, his opinion mattered to me more than I’d ever admit to another living person, but that’s the beauty of divorce. I don’t give a shit what he thinks anymore.
Over the course of our marriage, I let him belittle me, shame me about my body, and in the end, blame me for the fact that we couldn’t start a family. By the end I’d had enough and made the decision to finally free myself from my toxic marriage. However, in typical Patrick style, he beat me to the punch and told me one day over breakfast that he was moving in with his spinning instructor.
What an absolute dick!
I’m still ashamed that it took me that long to end the marriage. If my grandmother had still been alive, she would have been more than happy to hold a mirror up to my face and make me see the reality of my shitty relationship. But she died when I was in my early twenties, just before I met Patrick, so I was feeling particularly lost and vulnerable at that time in my life. I’m sure if she’d met him, she’d have sent him packing.
My Abuelita would never have allowed me to chain myself to a man who slowly eroded the self belief and confidence she instilled in me from a young age.
“Mija, you are special and important. Never sacrifice that for anyone,” she would tell me as we sat in her rocking chair on her creaky porch. I still remember the feeling of her running her fingers through my hair.
So as I look at myself in the mirror, I repeat those words. They’ve become a sort of mantra that’s helped me through some very dark days. It’s not easy starting over at thirty-eight; newly single, moving to a new town and a new job, leaving all my friends back in L.A. The truth is, when I applied for the principal position in this small Northern California coastal town, I didn’t for a minute expect to get it.
But here I am, my stomach full of the first-day nerves, ready to take on this new challenge and prove to my asshole ex that I am indeed special and important.
∞∞∞
“I’m so excited to be here with you all at Crescent Bay Elementary, and I can’t wait to meet all the students tomorrow,” I announce to my faculty in my most authoritative but friendly and approachable voice. “We have a great year ahead of us, and even though Mrs. Fallon left an amazing legacy here, I would really like to bring in some small but important changes.”
The small team of teachers and support staff are looking at me with a mixture of interest, expectation and slight apprehension. I know I’m replacing a much-loved principal who retired at the end of last semester after teaching at CBE for her entire career. They are big shoes to fill, and it’s taking every ounce of my rediscovered confidence to stand in front of these professionals and ask them to believe in me.
At the end of my welcome speech, everyone digs into the bagels, pastries and coffee I’ve laid on as—let’s be honest—a bit of a bribe, and I make the rounds. Everyone is very welcoming, and I get a sense that even though there may be resistance from some of the more mature members of the faculty, most people are on board with bringing the school into the twenty-first century. When I moved up here during the summer, I came into the school to meet with Mrs. Fallon before she headed off on her around-the-world cruise. We had a three day handover meeting and I was shocked by the lack of modern… anything! They still record attendance on paper registers, and hardly any of the teachers have laptops.Worst of all, there are still actual blackboards in the classrooms. I’ve already researched some companies that can come in to help me spend the sizable tech budget that Mrs. Fallon didn’t seem to know what to do with. I spent the summer meeting with various local businesses to help me update the technology in the school and design a workable website, but so far they’ve all been too expensive, too inexperienced or have just given off the wrong vibe. Now that I’ve cast my net a little wider to San Francisco, hopefully I’ll be able to secure a company sooner rather than later to get the work started.
While I’m talking to our young kindergarten teacher, my assistant taps me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Ms.Vega, but Mr. Harrison from HTC is in your office. He says he has an appointment.”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cook. I’ll be right there,” I reply, remembering for the first time that I scheduled an appointment with the tech company for the first day of school. Mrs. Cook nods curtly and shuffles back to the school office with her danish and coffee.
I grab the last cinnamon roll and walk back down the hall toward my office, taking a healthy bite of soft doughy goodness. I’m so intent on devouring it before my appointment that as I round the corner, I walk straight into a solid wall of muscle, smooshing the sticky roll between us, a breath whooshing out of me.
“Oh, that’s just great,” a deep voice growls angrily. As I take a step back, the flattened roll plops to the floor between us. I look up slowly to meet piercing blue eyes, staring back at me through stylish glasses, brows drawing together in annoyance. His strong jaw is clenched, covered in dark scruff, and his shapely lips are pursed in annoyance. Suddenly, I realize I’m staring, probably with my mouth gaping open, but I just can’t help it.
He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but he’s looking at me like I’ve just kicked his puppy.
I feel my cheeks burn, forcing myself to drag my eyes away from his handsome face. That’s when I notice the smear of frosting across the front of his navy blue sweater vest, and my manners kick in.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I splutter. Unable to control my hands, I reach out to try and wipe the sticky frosting from his chest, feeling the hard muscles that twitch as I make contact. Of course, instead of cleaning it, I spread it around even more. Still, I’m surprised when his fingers close around my wrist to stop me.
“Just leave it, please. I’m begging you,” the man grumbles as he removes my hand from his chest, releasing it like having contact with me disgusts him. “Is there somewhere I can clean up?”
I’m a little taken aback by his shitty attitude, but damn it, I’m the principal of this school, and I’ll behave in a polite manner even if this person doesn’t. “Of course, right over here.” I direct the man to the faculty bathroom. Once he disappears inside, I slap my hand to my forehead, completely mortified. I quickly scoop up my ruined cinnamon roll from the floor and high tail to my office, aware that I’m keeping my appointment waiting.
When I enter, Mrs. Cook is sitting at her desk, buried in admittance files. Other than that, the room is empty. Slightly confused, I wonder if she’s already shown my appointment into my office, which doesn’t seem likely.
“Mrs.Cook, where is the man from HTC?” I ask, looking at the empty chairs lined up by the door to my office. “Did he leave?”
Mrs. Cook’s mouth opens to speak, but the reply comes from behind me, and belongs to someone with a rich, deep timbre that makes goosebumps break out all over my bare arms.
“No, he didn’t leave.”
I spin around to come face to face with the man I just covered in frosting, the look of annoyance still present on his handsome face. He’s removed his navy blue sweater vest, which is now draped over his muscular forearm, his crisp white shirt stretching across his broad chest and tapering down to his trim waist.
Damn, why is my mouth suddenly bone dry?
