21. Theo
Theo
Eleanor closes the door, hovering for a moment, as if unsure what to do with me. Then she turns to the kitchen.
“Coffee?”
I exhale, following her. “Sure.”
She motions to a wooden stool at the breakfast bar, and I slide onto it, letting my gaze drift around her place. It’s your typical Hamptons carriage house, with exposed beams, worn wooden floors, barn-style doors, and close enough to the beach that I can hear the waves.
Instead of bright overhead lights, she’s got floor lamps scattered around the room to create soft, warm lighting.
She hasn’t been here long, but already she’s put her mark on the place; a teal-blue velvet sofa with a rust-orange throw, colorful framed art prints on the walls, a bright rug tucked under her bed, which is covered in pillows of various colors.
Then there’s the school stuff: folders and papers strewn across the coffee table and kitchen counter.
An explosion of mess, color, Eleanor. So perfectly her.
She wordlessly slides a cup of black coffee across the counter.
I nod my thanks. I’ve never told her how I take my coffee, but somehow she knows.
Of course she does. Eleanor has big ideas and an even bigger heart, but she’s also quietly observant, noting little things about people they don’t even know.
“I’m surprised you’re still up,” I say, catching the time on the clock ticking in her kitchen. It’s later than I realized.
“I was out having drinks with friends.” She wraps her fingers around her own mug, not meeting my gaze. We both know she was with my daughter.
“Talking about me,” I say teasingly, trying to lighten the mood, but she glances up, her brow creasing with worry. “Juliana came to see me.”
Eleanor’s cheeks color. “I didn’t tell her anything, I swear. But she’s very perceptive…”
“Sweetheart, I trust you.”
Shit, I didn’t mean to call her that again right off the bat.
Her gaze softens. I’m not sure if it’s from the endearment, or the declaration of trust, but it touches something deep in my chest. Something that nudges me to go on.
“She told me I was an idiot for pushing you away.”
Eleanor laughs quietly to herself, looking down into her coffee. Pink creeps up her neck as she admits, “I accidentally told her I had a crush on you.”
My lips twitch with amusement. “Accidentally?”
“Before I knew she was your daughter.”
“When was that?”
She thinks for a moment. “After our first meeting.”
I grimace, recalling that first meeting in the stuffy conference room, how I treated her. I was an ass.
“The one where I was rude and dismissive?”
She emits a light laugh. “Yes.” A slow sip of coffee, then her gaze wanders back to mine. “But so handsome.”
Surprise mingles with delight behind my ribcage. Has she been attracted to me this entire time?
“And when you put on those glasses…” Her blush deepens, and she pretends to fan herself.
My brows climb my forehead. “Really?”
She nods, biting her lip, and I consider pulling them from my pocket to slip them on now. All this time I’ve seen them as a symbol of how old I am, and she likes them.
But that thought brings me back down to earth. Even though my daughter seemed to think the age gap between me and Eleanor doesn’t matter, I need to hear it from her.
“I’m twenty years older than you, Eleanor.”
“I know.” She studies her coffee, avoiding my gaze. Her cheeks appear to be a permanent shade of crimson now, and it’s fucking adorable. “But I don’t care. I actually…” She clears her throat. “I think that’s kind of hot, too.”
I lean back in my chair, absorbing this. I’d be horrified if Juliana were to date a man my age, yet I can’t deny how drawn I am to Eleanor. On paper, I know it’s wrong.
But when I’m with her, it feels so damn right.
I sip my coffee slowly, taking a moment to acknowledge where I am. At Eleanor’s place, late at night. We both know I shouldn’t be here.
And we both know I won’t be leaving.
My gaze falls to the papers spread across the counter. It’s lists of fundraiser stuff, and a sketch of what appears to be the school grounds. I motion to it curiously.
“What’s this?”
“Oh.” A smile tugs at her lips. “Since you approved my plan to hold the fundraiser at the school grounds, I’ve been drawing up ideas.”
I regard her with awe. That conversation was only a few hours ago, and she’s been out all evening.
“When?”
“As soon as I got home from drinks tonight.” Her gaze flicks to mine, sheepish. “I couldn’t wait.” She seems embarrassed that I’ve caught her working on this, that she’s excited, but she shouldn’t be. Her passion is one of the things that draws me to her.
She glances from the sketch to me, her excitement getting the better of her. “Here. I’ll show you.” She rounds the counter to stand beside me, straightening the image in front of us.
I smile wryly, reaching into my jacket pocket. “I’ll have to put my glasses on to see this.”
She laughs, and it makes my heart fucking dance, knowing I’m the one who made her do that. Knowing she likes me in these glasses.
“I’ll restrain myself,” she promises. Then she watches as I slide them up my nose, eyes glinting. I’m tempted to lean in and kiss her, but not yet. I’m too busy enjoying this quiet ease between us, how comfortable I feel here, in her kitchen, with her.
Her gaze drops to her sketch, and she motions to the green shaded area. “This is where we’ll put the tent. I’ve already found three potential companies I can contact tomorrow for quotes.”
She continues, pointing out details, adding notes as ideas occur to her.
I try to listen, but I’m distracted by how close she is, the heat of her beside me.
I can’t stop myself from placing a gentle hand on her lower back, tracing circles on her cardigan.
After that her sentences become fragmented, her breathing stilted, as if my touch makes it hard to focus.
I remove my hand, giving her space to breathe.
I want this to be on her terms. To make certain she’s comfortable.
Rising to my feet, I slide my jacket off and hang it over the back of the stool. “Will you bring that by my office tomorrow?” I ask, setting my glasses aside. Her ideas are always good, and I want to look at them again more closely when I can truly appreciate them.
She looks pleased. “Of course.”
The papers on the coffee table catch my eye, and I wander to her sofa and sink onto the velvet, gesturing to them. “And what’s this?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks color again as she joins me, hovering beside the sofa. “Plans for Safe Harbor. I’ve been brainstorming ideas for how to roll out the first Ripple Week in February.”
I rub a hand over my chin, admiring her. She watches the movement, swallowing hard.
“You didn’t shave,” she murmurs, voice dropping an octave.
“I know. Sorry. I just wanted to see you.”
“Sorry?” She says it in the same incredulous way she did when I apologized after first kissing her in the parking lot. “Don’t be sorry. I like it.”
My brows spring up again.
Well. I can work with that. Hell, I’ll grow a damn beard if it makes her happy.
I scratch my jaw again, intentionally slow, letting the whiskers rasp under my palm. Heat kindles in her eyes, and I’m done being patient.
“Can I kiss you, Eleanor?” Maybe it’s a little late in the game to ask, but since I’ve kissed her twice now without asking, it feels like the right thing to do.
But the real reason, I notice, as I wait with bated breath for her response, is that I’m nervous. This isn’t an impulsive, stolen moment on school property. This is an intentional choice.
And that’s terrifying.
Her lips soften into a smile. “Yes. Please.”
She closes the distance between us, kneeling beside me on the sofa. Her hands come to my cheeks tenderly as our lips meet. I brush my mouth to hers, savoring the taste of her. She’s just as sweet as earlier, in her classroom, and my blood heats.
Nudging her lips apart, I slip my tongue into her mouth, aching for more.
She happily obliges, opening for me, moaning when our tongues meet, and I reach for her waist, tugging her onto my lap.
Her knees settle on either side of my hips as she straddles me.
The heat of her, so close, makes my cock thicken in my pants.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispers between kisses, dragging her mouth over my cheek, my unshaven jaw.
“Me neither,” I admit, shivering when her lips meet my neck. Her fingers undo the top buttons of my shirt and she kisses me lower, sighing. I close my eyes, relishing the sensation of her touching me, her fingers tunneling into my hair.
Then her mouth is on mine again, hungrier now.
She kisses me with long strokes of her tongue, winding her arms around my neck to pull me in close.
Heat sears through me at her eagerness. God, I want to make her even needier, to take her apart until she’s begging me not to stop. But not tonight. Not yet.
I reach for her barrette, easing it from the strands like I’m undoing a ribbon on a gift. I want to see her fully, how she looks when no one else is watching. Tossing it aside, I lean back to gaze at her. She’s utter perfection: swollen lips, flushed cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes.
And we haven’t even started.
My dick twitches in anticipation, and she feels it, glancing down between us. I hadn’t intended for things to go too far tonight, but when she arches a brow, giving me a sexy smile, I’m gone. That’s all it takes, one look for me to throw away every rule I’ve ever lived by, just to have her.
Christ, she has no idea what she’s unleashing.
I crush my mouth to hers, fingers splayed on her back to pull her flush to me, hands claiming, possessing.
She whimpers when I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, biting, and her hips begin to rock.
Fingers tug at my shirt buttons, releasing them, then her hands are on me, soft, warm, smooth on my chest, my stomach, my shoulders.
“God, Theo.” She groans, leaning in to bite my shoulder. “You’re so hot.”