13. Riggs
ALL THIS WEEK, I’ve made a point of standing at the school’s front doors at the beginning of the day so that I can meet the students and start learning their names. And I swear that’s the main reason I’ve done it. But I’d be a damn liar if I said I wasn’t also trying to get a glimpse of Magnolia each morning as well.
Naturally, she’s avoided me every single time.
I’m hoping she’s had a change of heart after the four orgasms I gave her last night, though I’m also learning never to assume anything when it comes to Magnolia Rowan. As the kids start trickling in, most of them with at least a nod of hello to me, Mrs. Hayes appears by my side.
“Good morning, Principal Finlay,” she intones.
I bite back a smile. She tries so hard to be intimidating around the students, but unfortunately for her, the pastel sweater sets never make for a tough-looking exterior. If anything, the kids simply want to avoid the long conversation they’re guaranteed to get into if they so much as slow down in her presence. “Good morning, Mrs. Hayes.”
She gives me her usual update: who’s sick, who says they’re sick but are probably faking and she can’t wait to see the flimsy excuse they bring in, which teacher is late because of a flat tire, and so on. I’m only partially listening as I scan the steadily thickening crowd of people making their way into the building.
Where is she? I can’t get last night out of my head. I barely slept after she left—and of course I wanted her to stay, but it was a school night, and I knew I had no chance even as I asked her to consider it.
Her body. Her moans. The way she writhed beneath me. The way she tasted.
“Good morning, Principal Finlay!”
The student’s bright voice brings me immediately back to the present, and I dip my chin at the girl and smile a hello. Then Magnolia’s car appears at the very edge of the parking lot. She always parks as far away as possible, and now I know why. I wonder how long she’s kept her secret from her family.
“What’s the story with the Rowans?” I ask Mrs. Hayes, my eyes pinned to Magnolia as she gets out and hefts an oversized tote onto each of her shoulders. It’s time I got her to spill.
The old woman slides her eyes to me. “What about them?”
I shrug. “I’ve heard some rumors.”
She sniffs. “Well. I don’t like to talk about others, but those women are interesting.”
“Interesting?” I prompt.
“I told you about the apothecary, their teas.”
“You did,” I admit. “There’s more to it, right?”
She sighs. “Guess it was only a matter of time. The mom and oldest daughter run it. Really good teas and natural remedies. My arthritis got much better after I started using what Daphne recommended. They’re—” she lowers her voice and waits on a break in the students before continuing. “Witches,” she finishes.
I’ve got to admit, hearing the word from Mrs. Hayes makes me shiver in the morning heat. I remind myself that I already knew this. Magnolia made the damn lamp fall off the dresser when she came last night, for crying out loud. I know she’s special. Then I remember I should act surprised for the old woman. “You’re serious?”
Magnolia’s nearly at the edge of the parking lot now, having met up with Ava, who is just as laden with bags as she is. It’s day three. How do these women have so much stuff?
Mrs. Hayes waves a dismissive hand, as if the phrase ‘they’re witches’ wouldn’t be world-altering information to someone. “They’ve always been that way.”
Then something occurs to me. We’re the Sacred River Wolves. “No werewolves?” I feel like an idiot asking, especially since Magnolia already said there weren’t. Still, one more confirmation won’t hurt.
She laughs. “Principal Finlay. Of course not. Just them.”
I grimace. I honestly, truly, with my whole body, hope she’s telling the truth. Because it turns out that even though I’m fine with witches, the very idea of a werewolf makes my insides a little watery.
I might need a bathroom.
Magnolia and Ava are at the bottom of the stairs now, and as Magnolia looks up, our gazes meet. I swear a chorus of angels sing. It’s the only explanation I have for how the entire world seems to fall away and I forget everything except for the woman looking back at me, her eyes bright beneath dark brows, her smile broad and secretive.
“Good morning, Principal Finlay.” Ava’s voice lilts in a way that tells me the likelihood of her knowing I slept with her best friend is extremely high.
I clear my throat. “Miss Green. Miss Rowan,” I dip my chin at Magnolia.
Her cheeks flush. “Good morning.” Her gaze roams my body as though checking for something—what, I can’t tell—before she ducks her head and glides past.
I catch her scent, that clean, green apple smell that is distinctly Magnolia, and my dick twitches in response.
The five-minute bell shrieks above us, having precisely no effect on the students or teachers in the vicinity, and I can’t help smiling. Because we may have a set of witches in town, but a warning bell is ignored by everyone.
I makesure to swing by Magnolia’s classroom before her lunch period, fully intent on eating with her. As the students surge through the door, already over the newness of me and ensconced in the rhythm of high school, Magnolia’s eyes lock with mine.
She blooms.
My chest unfurls in response. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she responds, her cheeks pink and adorable. “Are you…okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask. Lowering my voice, I say, “Unless you’re wondering if I’m sore from all that sex last night. In which case, I am.”
She flushes even more. “Good. Not good that you’re sore, good that you’re okay. Not that you shouldn’t be. I mean, you should be. Okay, that is.”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” I grin. After making sure no one’s in the hall, I reach for the two blonde braids on either side of her head and pull her toward me. A faint spark accompanies the touch of our lips, and I growl as I wrap my hands in her braids. She steps closer to me and loses herself in the kiss, before finally pulling away and fluttering her lashes at me.
“Principal Finlay, is this how you say hello to all the teachers?”
There’s my girl. “Keep calling me that and you’re in for a punishment.”
Her eyes sparkle. “What if I want to be punished?”
I close my eyes and will my dick to stay in check. “Keep that up and I’m calling you to the office again.”
“Yeah, I’m still not hearing anything that’s bad here,” she volleys back teasingly.
Well, shit. Now I’m the one who’s flustered. I drop her braids and step back, needing a moment to collect myself. She’s in another T-shirt and flowy skirt today; the shirt says If you can’t helium, and you can’t curium, then you might as well barium. I raise an eyebrow. “You teaching kids how to get rid of dead bodies in here?”
She snorts. “Wait till you see my Halloween collection.”
My heart swells with affection. Why did I wait a year to say anything to her? But we’re here now, and that’s what counts. “Eat lunch with me?”
The request seems to knock her back. “Wha—eat lunch with you? Like, here?”
I grin. “In the cafeteria.”
She hesitates.
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Magnolia. Just lunch. At the teachers’ table. In the cafeteria.”
She clears her throat. “Um. Okay. I, uh, I brought my lunch.”
“So we’ll stop by the teachers’ lounge first.” I look at my watch. “Come on. The principal of this school makes the lunch periods really short.”
She laughs. “Okay.”
It’s hard not to grab her hand as we walk to the lounge and then the cafeteria. I am able to not stare as she leaves my side and makes her way to the table at the front of the cafeteria—so, good for me.
I watch Miss Bird and Mr. Edwin take seats at the table as I grab a tray. Only one seat remains, and I’m gripped by the insecurity of high school all over again. Will she save it for me? How will she do that without everyone knowing she likes me? I mean, she does like me, right? Does she care if people know? Do I?
Jesus. I. Am. Fifty. Years. Old.
I am also an absolute wreck over this woman.
Being principal has the distinct advantage of letting me skip through the line, grabbing an apple and something purporting to be lasagna and garlic bread before paying and heading to the table. Where that one seat blessedly remains.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask when I near.
“No,” she says, turning from where she was talking to Ava with a soft smile that I can’t read. Is she teasing, or shy, or is it something else altogether?
I grin back and take a seat, knowing I’ve only got about fifteen minutes left.
“Ooh, famous Friday lasagna,” she says. “Bold choice.”
I pause, the fork halfway to my mouth. “Um. Why?”
Ava leans over. “Mrs. Warner makes it entirely vegan. She’s on a mission to prove that kids will eat healthy if it’s good.”
I keep holding the fork. “And…?” I prompt.
Magnolia grins. “It’s good.”
I take a bite, far more tentatively than I’d planned to, and it’s good. Very good, actually.
Mr. Dander notices me then. “Principal Finlay!” he booms from the other end of the table. “Ready to see the band at next week’s game?”
Coach Ferguson interjects. “Jerry, no one comes to see the band. They come to see the football team.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing both,” I respond, hoping that settles the matter. It seems to work, and everyone turns back to their lunches. As Magnolia eats her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I notice she’s drinking something other than water. “Is that tea?”
She looks over at me. “It is. Peach mint. Nothing else is in it, though, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her light brown eyes glitter knowingly.
“Why would there be something else in the tea, Miss Rowan?”
Ava leans over. “Seriously? You never drink tea from a Rowan sister. Or the mom.”
Magnolia glares at her. “I don’t do that.”
Ava raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t!” Magnolia laughs. “Besides, it never works when I do it, anyway.”
I polish off the lasagna and take a bite of the bread, which is decidedly less tasty. “Good to know.”
She lowers her voice for the next part, making me lean toward her. When she speaks, her breath hits my neck. “I really don’t mess with teas. Well,” she hedges, “rarely. Mostly never. My sisters, on the other hand…” She straightens and smiles.
I’m trying hard not to be, well, hard. Because she’s teasing me, and it’s downright adorable. “Go out with me tonight.”
I swear the entire table quiets, but my attention is only on Magnolia, who I’m fairly certain notices, too, judging by the way she squirms in her seat and reaches for her drink.
Ava loudly asks, “Coach, how’s the team looking this year?”
A faint blush covers Magnolia’s cheeks as she presses her lips together and looks around the table, where they’ve all turned to hear Coach Ferguson rhapsodize about the football team’s offensive line. Swinging her gaze back to me, she nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Her leg presses against mine beneath the table. “Okay.”