15. Theo #2
My heart twists. Out of nowhere, emotion wells up inside me. I quickly tamp it down, gesturing to the tangle of plants that choke the existing garden patch, trying to be pragmatic.
“You’ll have to clear all this out.” My voice comes out hoarse, but if Eleanor notices, she doesn’t let it show.
“Not necessarily.” She kneels beside an overgrown bush of lavender, brushing it back to reveal a tiny sprout, barely clinging to life. “It’s still alive, see?”
I watch her fingers, the way she treats even the weeds with care, and my chest cracks. She’s so positive, always seeing the good. So damn earnest, sharing her true self without holding back.
And I have no idea what to do with that. With her. With the way she makes me feel so unmoored.
She looks up at me, the final rays of sun burnishing her caramel hair, her face flushed, eyes sparkling. She’s saying something about letting the kids take ownership of this space, but I’m hypnotized by her beauty, by her kind heart.
By everything she is.
“Don’t you think?” she asks, rising and brushing her hands clean.
“Sorry,” I say, voice thick around the unexpected lump in my throat. “What did you say?”
“You weren’t listening again,” she teases, but she’s not annoyed.
If anything, she seems amused. She’s different out here, away from the stuffy confines of the conference room, and my office.
She’s in her element talking about this project—her project.
Her lips twitch as she gazes at me, and I chuff a sheepish laugh, looking down at my shoes.
How does she keep doing this? Keep knocking down the walls I put between us?
“There’s something healing about being out here,” Eleanor murmurs thoughtfully. “We all need that. A place to let go of what weighs us down. To breathe again.”
I swallow hard, bringing my gaze back to hers. I know she’s talking about the students, but there’s something in her tone, in the careful way she’s looking at me, that suggests she isn’t talking about them at all. That suggests she knows how badly I need that.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her, to explain the burden weighing on me after last year’s fundraiser, the pressure I feel to protect the school, but I bite back the words, curling my hands in my pockets.
I can’t make that her burden too.
“Kids need a place to learn from trial and error,” Eleanor continues, snapping off a stalk of rosemary and bringing it to her nose. “They need to know they’re allowed to make mistakes. That they can fail and still be safe.”
Her words land like a punch to my chest. I stare at the flower bed, breath fast and shallow. It’s easy to tell kids to learn from their mistakes. Harder when your own mistakes cost a school its reputation.
“We could put a bench here.” She motions by the path, but I shake my head.
“The drainage is no good there. It floods when it rains.”
She issues a small laugh. “Of course it does.” Her eyes shimmer, lingering on me as she adds softly, “I like when you do that.”
I blink, taken aback. “Do what?”
“When you’re just… you. Practical. Serious. Careful.” Her lips quirk a little. “Even when you’re correcting me.”
Warmth hits my cheeks, surprising me. I’m the opposite of her positivity, the rain to her sunshine.
And she… likes it?
I frown, glancing away. She shouldn’t say things like that. Not when I’m her boss. Not when I’ve already crossed a line by wanting her. Not when I can’t afford another mistake.
But I want her to. God, I want her to.
Which is exactly why I force myself to take a step back.
“I need to get on with checking the grounds,” I say, desperately trying to put that wall back between us, but when I see the flash of hurt on her face, too quick for her to hide, I feel like an asshole.
It’s not her fault I’m having all kinds of inappropriate feelings. Not her fault I’m a miserable, jaded bastard who’s too worried about what could go wrong to appreciate what a gift she is.
Eleanor’s brows slam down, then she lifts her chin, her expression shuttering.
“Right. Of course.” There’s a bitter edge to her voice I’ve never heard before.
“Sorry to hold you up.” Then she turns and stalks along the gravel path in the fading light, and I trail miserably after, kicking at the fallen leaves in agitation.
I feel the strongest urge to apologize, but what would I say?
I’m sorry for being a jerk.
I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you.
I’m sorry I’m falling for you.
I linger under the blazing red of the maple trees, wishing everything could be different.
That she didn’t work for me, that we hadn’t met this way.
It’s nearly dark by the time I finally arrive at the entrance to the main building.
I’m still undecided on what to say when Eleanor appears again, bag over her shoulder, eyes downcast as she slips out into the evening.
“Wait,” I say, against my better judgment.
She stops, not meeting my gaze.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
Her eyes flick briefly to mine, then away. Walking her to her car is the worst idea, especially after what almost happened last night, but there’s no way in hell she’s walking there alone. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her.
I fall into step beside her, jamming my hands into my pockets. “I’m sorry,” I hear myself mutter. God, what am I doing?
Eleanor is silent for a beat. I listen to our feet crunching over the gravel, our uneven breathing.
“It’s fine,” she mumbles at last.
But it’s not fine. Not for me, at least.