"You must be Miss Wilson." The secretary behind the front desk looks up with a warm smile. She's middle-aged with kind eyesand reading glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck.
"Thank you." I return her smile, grateful for the friendly face. "I'm a little early."
"That's wonderful. Shows initiative." She gestures toward a row of chairs against the wall. "Principal Lewis is finishing up a phone call. He should be ready for you in just a few minutes. Can I get you some coffee while you wait?"
Principal Lewis? It can't be!
The name hits me like a physical blow, but I keep my expression neutral. "Coffee would be great. Thank you."
"Did you hear the Wilson girl is back?" A woman's voice drifts from the hallway to my left, just out of sight.
I freeze.
"The one who disappeared right after graduation?" Another voice responds, this one male. "I thought that was just a rumor."
"No, it's true. She's teaching here. Starting today."
My stomach drops.
"Here's your coffee, dear." The secretary reappears, mercifully cutting off the conversation. The voices in the hallway go silent.
I accept the mug with trembling hands. "Thank you."
She settles back behind her desk, oblivious to what I just overheard. Or maybe she heard it too and is being kind by pretending she didn't.
The coffee is too hot to drink, but I wrap my hands around the mug anyway, needing something to hold onto. I should have expected this. Small towns have long memories and active imaginations.
A door opens down the hallway. Footsteps approach.
"Miss Wilson?" A deep voice says my name, and every nerve in my body ignites.
I look up.
Jack Lewis stands in the doorway of what must be his office, and the world tilts sideways.
He's older. The dark hair I remember is still thick but now professionally styled with hints of silver at the temples. He's wearing a charcoal suit that fits his broad shoulders perfectly, a crisp white shirt, and a navy tie. But it's his eyes that steal my breath. Those hazel eyes with flecks of gold that I see every time I look at my boys.
Our eyes meet and I watch recognition slam into him like a freight train. His jaw tightens. His hand grips the doorframe hard enough that his knuckles turn white.
"Miss Wilson," he repeats, his voice carefully controlled. "Welcome to Riverside Academy. I'm Principal Lewis."
I follow him on unsteady legs. Time has changed him. Fine lines bracket his mouth that weren't there before, and he moves with the measured confidence of a man who's spent years in positions of authority.
My body remembers anyway. The way his eyes would darken to almost black when he was inside me. The rough edge his voice took on when he whispered my name. The electric thrill of hishands on me in my father's office, where anyone could have walked in. Fireworks had exploded over the lake that Fourth of July night, but they were nothing compared to what he made me feel.
"Please, come in." He steps aside, gesturing toward his office.
I walk past him, hyperaware of how close we are in the doorway. He smells like expensive cologne and coffee.
His office is exactly what I'd expect. Mahogany desk, leather chairs, bookshelves lined with educational texts and leadership manuals. Framed diplomas on the wall.
"Have a seat." Jack closes the door and moves behind his desk, but he doesn't sit. He stands there, hands braced on the back of his chair, staring at me.
I lower myself into the chair across from him, my heart hammering.
The silence stretches. He's not even pretending to look at paperwork. He's just looking at me, and I can see the war happening behind his eyes. Professional distance battling something rawer.
My throat tightens. "Jack."
