42. Theo
Theo
It hits me somewhere between the second glass of wine and dessert that this is real.
Juliana insists on serving the pie I made, leaving Eleanor and me at the table, plates empty, bellies full.
I drain my glass and pour another, my gaze lingering on Eleanor as she leans back in her chair with her eyes closed, quietly humming along to the music from the stereo. A playlist Jules created.
This is the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years, possibly ever, and it’s only the beginning of our lives together.
Yesterday, Eleanor and I shared our relationship in the faculty meeting, in an attempt to nip any rumors in the bud. While several faculty members were taken aback, it seemed to come as no real surprise to most. Almost as if they’d known all along.
It was the perfect way to head into the long weekend, knowing our relationship is out in the open, knowing I’m allowed to want Eleanor, to have Eleanor.
Yes, we must respect professional boundaries at work, but that’s nothing if I get to be seen with her.
Can take her to dinner in town. Have her stay here without fear of being spotted.
Maybe even find a place of our own.
She sighs happily, glancing at me over her wineglass, hazel eyes sparkling. “Dinner was delicious. Thank you.”
My chest fills with love. I’ve always cooked a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for me and Jules, but this year was different. That third seat at the table was empty for so long, I wondered if it might feel strange to see Eleanor there.
But it wasn’t in the slightest. She’s brought warmth and love to this place that I never knew I needed.
That I never knew was possible. It’s only been a few days since it became official with the board, yet it feels almost as though she’s been here this whole time. That this is where she’s meant to be.
With me.
I slide my hand into her warm palm, smiling. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” And at the risk of being too forward, asking for too much, I add, “I want to do this with you every year.”
She bites her bottom lip, as if to quell her smile. “Me too,” she whispers, leaning in to press her mouth to mine.
Juliana chooses that moment to set two plates of pie in front of us, and we part, smiling sheepishly at one another.
“Sorry,” Eleanor murmurs, reaching for her fork.
“What for?” Juliana flops into a chair, lips quirking with amusement.
“You know…” Eleanor motions vaguely at me, cheeks pink, and I chuckle. As supportive as my daughter is about our relationship, I know Eleanor feels a little awkward about dating her friend’s father.
But Juliana waves her off, fork in hand. “Please stop apologizing for loving my dad.” She sends me a fond smile. “I’m glad someone could see past his permanent scowl and controlling tendencies.”
I press a hand to my chest, feigning offense, and Eleanor laughs. She hesitates, then threads her fingers through mine on the table. A tiny declaration.
“The scowl isn’t so permanent now,” she murmurs, scooping up a bite of apple pie.
I can’t help myself, and lift her hand to my mouth, brushing a kiss across the back of it.
“That’s because of you, sweetheart. You reminded me there’s so much good in the world.”
She squeezes my hand. “And you’re helping me make more good things happen.”
“You two are so sweet.” Juliana polishes off her pie, exhaling contentedly. “Dinner was great, Dad. The pie was much better this year. Glad to see those cooking classes paid off.”
I send my daughter a dry smile. “Thanks, Bug.”
She rolls her eyes at my affectionate nickname. “Honestly, it’s like he thinks I’m still five years old,” she mutters.
Eleanor smiles. “I think it’s cute.”
“Easy for you to say.” Juliana frowns into her wineglass. “He calls me that at work. You’d think the headmaster of a prestigious prep school would know what a professional boundary is.”
I lift my brows, face warm as I drop my gaze to my plate. She’s right, but I’m not thinking about her. I’m thinking about the professional boundaries Eleanor and I crossed. Repeatedly. All over the school.
Eleanor’s gaze drifts to mine, and I see my thoughts reflected back at me. Every stolen moment in my office, at the copier, the art room. Every boundary we broke when our need for one another became too much to contain. Heat flashes through me at the memories, and I clench my jaw.
Godammit, why did we have to agree we’d never do that again?
Juliana’s chair scrapes suddenly as she shoots to her feet, gaze shifting between us.
“Right,” she mutters. Her tone is heavy with disgust, but a smile tugs at her lips. “That’s my cue to leave.”
I clear my throat, pushing thoughts of Eleanor from my head as I glance at my daughter. “Are you sure? We could break out the Scrabble board, or—”
She touches my arm gently. “I’m sure, Dad.” Her eyes move to Eleanor, glittering. “But please remember my house is right next door. So keep it down.”
Eleanor glances at me, hand to her mouth in mortification, and I send my daughter a dry look.
But Juliana raises a good point. Not about us making noise, but about the lack of privacy, living on the edge of campus now that people know we’re together, and I get to thinking, not for the first time, that Eleanor and I might want to find our own place. Somewhere near the beach, perhaps.
It’s too soon, I tell myself, shaking the thought off. I don’t want to scare her by asking her for too much. Not after all we’ve been through with the board, the school.
“Goodnight, Juliana,” I say pointedly, and she gives me a peck on the cheek, squeezing my shoulder.
“Thanks for dinner. Happy Thanksgiving, guys.”
I watch my daughter leave, heart full and happy. Eleanor finishes her wine, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, smiling.
“That was so nice,” she says, almost to herself. “Tonight has been amazing.”
I shuffle my chair closer, leaning in to capture her mouth with mine.
She mentioned she doesn’t spend the holidays with her folks due to their rocky relationship, and it makes something protective and resolute surge through me.
She’ll never spend another holiday alone.
Not as long as I have something to do with it.
Slow down, I remind myself, but I’m fighting a losing battle. Having her here tonight means more than I could have imagined. Knowing this isn’t a stolen moment. It’s not borrowed time. It’s a choice we’re making to be together, a life we could build.
Something that feels so right, in a way nothing ever has for me before.
Eleanor strokes my cheek, sighing. “I still can’t believe this is real. That we’re allowed to be this happy, without hiding. I keep thinking the board is going to call us in at any moment to say they made a mistake.”
I huff a laugh, running my thumb along her bottom lip. I know exactly what she means, because I’ve fought that feeling all week, until I got a letter from the board yesterday.
A letter she needs to read.
A slow smile spreads across my lips, and I push to my feet, holding out my hand. “Come with me.”
“What?” She glances up at me, half amused, half confused. “Where?”
I chuckle, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. “My office. I want to show you something.”
“Now?” She glances at the window, where the cold, dark night presses against the glass. “Theo, it’s freezing out.”
I wave her protest away. “I’ll light the fire.”
She gazes at me uncertainly for a beat, then shrugs, a laugh slipping from her. “If you insist.”
We grab coats and scarves, stepping out into the icy night.
The grass crunches under our boots, and that’s when I notice the snow.
Only a dusting, but it’s the first of the season.
The air is sharp and briny with sea salt, our breath rising in white puffs, the school grounds sparkling under the moonlight.
We grin at each other as we cross the quad, bellies full, tipsy on wine.
And everything ahead of us.
We reach the main doors and I unlock them with the master key, entering the alarm code into the keypad.
There’s a beep, followed by a click, then the quiet creak of the door as I lead Eleanor inside.
She shivers, whether from the cold or being in the school corridor this late at night I don’t know, but I shrug off my coat and wrap it around her, over her own coat.
She laughs, following me up the stairs, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the large windows.
On the top floor, I guide Eleanor into my office, flicking on the banker’s lamp on the side table. I could print the letter and leave, but she’s still shivering, so I lead her to the leather seats in front of the fireplace, then set about lighting the fire.
It only takes a few minutes before I have a roaring blaze, and she shrugs out of my coat, then her own, standing with her hands at the flames.
“What did you need to show me, Headmaster Wright?” There’s a faint purr in her voice that I recognize, one I’m very tempted to give in to, but not yet. Not until she reads the letter.
“Stay here and keep warm,” I say, turning away.
I pass the sideboard again and pause, selecting a record. Billie Holiday. Eleanor glances at me when the music starts, her mouth curving in a delighted smile as she unlaces her boots and settles in front of the fire.
I think back to the way she described my office, that first night she came to my house for dinner.
The fire, the music, the lamp… she’s right.
It’s nice in here when I can get out of my head for long enough.
I’ll always make it nice in here going forward.
Not only for her, but for me. Another way to find joy in my work.
Flipping open my laptop, I locate the letter attached to an email, sent by the board yesterday, and reread it quietly.
Wetherly Cove Preparatory School Board of Trustees
To Headmaster Theodore Wright,
As discussed in our meeting on Monday, the board confirms its support for your continued leadership as headmaster, and appreciates your transparency regarding your personal relationship with Ms. Eleanor Hart.