But there’s room for growth, and part of my duties as a Whitman Fellow has been to make (hopefully) innovative suggestions to improve the program. My main one: Rather than continue to focus on short-term goals, Victory should roll out a new curriculum with an emphasis on mentoring and counseling district residents for multiyear success. I’m curious to know whether the school’s board will accept any of my recommendations. And I feel a pang in my chest when I remember that any changes to the curriculum won’t happen on my watch. “I’m going to miss this place. The students, especially.”

“Is there any chance you could stay?” Dean asks. “This seems like a natural extension of your training.”

“You’re right about that. But there isn’t enough money to offer me a permanent position here, and I’m not sure I’d want to stay in DC beyond the summer anyway.” I shrug. “We’ll see.” Wanting to change the subject, I inspect him from head to toe, then ask, “Where’s your cravat and timepiece?”

He slips his hands inside his pockets, causing the fabric of his trousers to stretch across his thighs—not that it’s noteworthy or anything—then he gives me a half smile. “I left them in the horse-drawn carriage outside. My footman will make sure they’re not disturbed.”

Since the students are filing back in, I try to contain my laughter, but there’s no use. “You seem more at ease than usual today. What’s different?”

He straightens, his expression sobering. “Honestly? I think the stuff about Ella was weighing on me. Getting it out in the open is a big relief. I wanted you to know where I was coming from, and I appreciate that you didn’t peg me as a bad guy.”

Dean’s far from a bad guy; he’s just set in his ways. How he chooses his life partner has nothing to do with me. “You’re fine. We’re fine.” I gesture to the class. “Let me wrap up so we can go charm the pants off Kimberly Bailey.”

“Deal,” he says, his eyes shining. “And if I haven’t already said it a billion times, I can’t thank you enough for helping me get out of this mess.”

He’s a sweet man, and my being his plus-one isn’t a bother. Truth is, I want to help him get his happily-ever-after, even if the “after” simply means he secures the promotion of his dreams.

*  *  *

Dean should be paying me for this bullshit. Seriously.

His colleague Peter Barnum holds court at our table, his expansive gestures awkward and distracting as he explains how he convinced his wife to date him. “So then Molly says, ‘Why should I go out with you?’ Knowing I’d saved the best for last, I hit her with the ultimate mic drop.”

“Which was?” Kimberly Bailey asks, her expression mildly curious.