Free Our Last Time: A Novel by Cristy Marie Poplin Page A

bedside slowly, waiting for the answer to be revealed. This was strange, and it only got more unfamiliar as I got closer.
    “Wyatt…” I paused, my tone thick with suspicion. “Are you ready for breakfast? Are you hurting this morning?”
    He touched my hand, and I flinched. I just studied him as he moved his hand away from mine, and rested it on his thigh.
    His eyebrows were scrunched, and there was an uncomfortable line lying across his forehead. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for my behavior. I have my own personal issues, and I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. Can you forgive me?”
    I was dumbfounded and hadn’t known how to respond. An apology from him was the last thing I had expected.
    “Are you apologizing because it won’t happen again, or because you feel sorry I have to put up with it?” I asked.
    I thought he’d have a snarky comeback, but he looked defeated and guilty when I asked him the question.
    “I won’t be...unreasonable.”
    He wouldn’t be unreasonable. If this had been a true statement, I’d be pretty satisfied.
    “So you’ll be nice, and stop asking for things you don’t need?” I asked in a fiery tone. My arms were crossed over my chest, and he was staring at me. It made me feel a little bit uncomfortable, because he’d never done it before. I liked his eye color, and I wasn’t supposed to like anything about Wyatt Blanquette. He had basically been my arch enemy. His eyes bored into me, consumed me, and made me feel like I was being trapped in this black hole kind of thing. Who had silvered-brown eyes, anyway? They were like a dark shade of brown, but this silver reflection was what made them so mesmerizing, and distracting.
    I never made eye contact with a man for so long since I lost my forever, and it pissed me off that Wyatt Blanquette was the following. Remembering it was August, I thought that he couldn’t be April fooling me.  This could be a real apology.
    “Yes,” he answered. He cleared his throat. “But you have to be nice, too.”
    I smirked, because he was the only patient I wasn’t nice to, and that was his entire fault. “The fire within me didn’t start until you showed up, Mr. Blanquette.”
    “Can you not call me Mr. Blanquette?” he groaned. “It’s kind of weird.”
    I smiled, shaking my head. “So it irritates you when I call you Mr. Blan-”
    “Yes, it does,” he interrupted me. He sighed, and then dragged his hand softly over his facial hair. He had let it grown out over the past few days. “Sorry, I’m just a little moody, because I have no one to talk to here. I miss having students,” he said, then waved his hand at me, because he realized I hadn’t known what the hell he was talking about. “I’m a teacher,” he clarified.
    I nodded. “You can always talk to me, though, Wyatt. It’s kind of my job. You might not like me, but I’m someone,” I said softly.
    He exhaled, his eyes remained on me. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Willow.”
    “Then why are you so mean?”
    “To avoid attachment,” he shrugged. “I might be here for a while. I have had two heart attacks in my lifetime. I will drop dead one day, and that could happen sometime soon. If I show vulnerability towards anyone, I’ll regret it.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “Are you mean to everyone, or am I just an easy target?”
    “I’m mean to just about everyone, but as you can see, I’m trying to be nice now,” he explained. “To you, anyway, because I can tell you hate me because of it.”
    “Yeah,” I nodded. “You observe well,” I sighed. I was biting my lip, and my eyes were drawn to his hard facial expression. “How are we going to make this an easy drive-by? To where I won’t hate you and to where you won’t fall in love with me?” I tapped my chin. I was still being sarcastic with him. I hadn’t known if that was a good idea. My teasing could piss him off, and that probably wouldn’t be a good thing.
    “You don’t hate