I follow her around to where the teachers are lined up at the entrance to the kitchen on the opposite side of the room from the kids, waiting for their turn. The place smells like freshly baked bread and that weird green bean smell that permeates all school cafeterias.
"We usually sit in the middle of the room," Rowan says, pointing at the table in question. "We can glower at the kids better from there."
"You don't sit with the kids?"
"God no," one of the teachers ahead of her says with a laugh. "They are savages at lunch."
"Lana, this is Dr. Thorne," Rowan says, introducing me to the young woman. She's maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, with big green eyes and a riot of blonde curls. "Dr. Thorne, Lana teaches music to the kids."
Her eyes widen when Rowan introduces us. She holds her hand out for me to shake. "Um, hi, Dr. Thorne," she says. "They aren't really savages. We just like to let them have their own little thing at lunch without us breathing down their necks."
"No, they're definitely savages," Rowan says, her expression kind, as if she senses Lana's embarrassment and is trying to smooth it over. "They will judge your lunch choices hard enough to make you cry. I still hide to eat my pudding cups."
Lana giggles. The guy ahead of her laughs too.
"Apparently, pudding is a kid food, not an adult food," Rowan explains, mimicking an aggrieved third grader, with mock horror in her eyes and her hands on her hips.
"Pudding is fu…freaking delicious," I mutter, smiling at her antics. She's so fucking cute.
"I know! That's what I said!"
Everyone in line laughs and I want to kiss her. Except I can't. We're supposed to be discreet, keep our budding relationship under wraps around the kids. I guess it's a good thing I'm only at the school for the rest of the week, because I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to keep my hands off her when she's so goddamn adorable.
I also don't know how I'm supposed to spend the rest of the school year not seeing her halfway through the day every day. Already, spending lunch with her is becoming my favorite thing to do.
A group of students throwing a banana around catches everyone's attention. Lana and the guy in front of her duck out of line to go handle the situation. Rowan steps closer to me with those dimples on full display. I swear, they're deadly.
I shove my hands into my pockets in a last-ditch effort to keep them off her.
"I've been thinking," she says.
"About?"
"Principal Johnson."
I growl, suddenly…jealous. Jesus. I've never been that before, but I don't want her thinking about any man who isn't me. Not even one she clearly despises.
"If you really want to know what people think about him, I think you should make it anonymous," she says, oblivious to my internal struggle. "I think the teachers might be more willing to share their thoughts if they didn't have to worry about retaliation."
"Retaliation is illegal."
"I know that, but it doesn't make people worry less. Especially if they tell you bad things about him and then you don't fire him," she says, shuffling forward when the line moves. "No one wants to risk their jobs, but if you make speaking anonymously an option, maybe they'd be willing to talk."
I mull it over. The suggestion has merit.
When we make it to the front of the line, Rowan hands me a tray. "Avoid the taco soup," she suggests. "And the tacos. Oh, and the green beans and spinach. Everything else is good."
I glance over our options. Unlike the kids, teachers get to eat whatever the hell they want. There are burgers and fries, pizza, tacos, taco soup, salad, brownies, cake, and then the daily menu selection. Which is, apparently, pigs in a blanket, fries, green beans, and mixed fruit.
Rowan grabs a slice of pizza, a small salad, and an orange. It doesn't look like enough food to me, so I load my tray up with burgers and fries, a couple more slices of pizza, and two brownies.
"There is no way you're going to eat all of that," she says, laughing at me.
"You're going to help me, Paradise," I murmur.
Her eyes widen, her gaze shooting to the teachers behind me.
Shit. I forgot we aren't alone here. Luckily, the teachers behind us are caught up in their own conversation, not paying us any attention.
Rowan is quiet as we make our way to the counter to pay for our lunch.
Like the students, teachers are able to put money on an account to cover the cost of their food. I hand over my badge before she can get hers free from around her neck, having them charge my account for our food.
"I was going to get that," she says.
"Next time," I lie, heading off that argument. She's not paying for anything. I know what teachers make. It's a hell of a lot less than they deserve. And my family has more money than we know what to do with. Killian and I have no interest in building the family fortunes. That ship sailed long before our mom died.