Page 52 of Reformation

I mean, I don’t. Not really. It takes a lot for me to hate someone, and he’s not there yet.

But man, is he creeping up on my list.

He left my house Sunday with a kiss on the cheek, a warm smile, and a promise to call later in the day. And silly me, I actually thought he would.

I shouldn’t have, though, and I honestly hate that I’m mad at him. The man caught his wife and business partner together and was about to go confront them. I can’t imagine the emotional toll that takes on a person, so I get that he never called or texted.

Then I didn’t hear from him on Monday. Or Tuesday.

It’s now Wednesday, and I don’t know whether to be angry or sad that he hasn’t reached out. I almost asked Cullen today how he was, but asking a student for information on the guy you like is a level of desperation I’m not at yet.

I’m figuring that level will hit by Friday.

“Why don’t you just call him?” Cassie asks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You keep looking at your phone every five minutes. You haven’t talked to him since,” Cassie looks over to Anthony, who is sitting at one of the desks, badly pretending to do his science homework but is absolutely taking in every word we are saying, “he left your house after the thing when you guys did the thing after he found out about the thing. I get that you wanted to give him space, and that he said he’d get in touch. You obviously want to talk to him. So why not just call or text him?”

“Because I… I’m not. I’m also not having this conversation with you in front of Anthony.”

“You can talk around me, Miss Blackstone. Mom and her friends talk about grown-up stuff all the time when they think I’m not listening. Actually, can you tell me why it’s bad to be thirsty? My mom said this girl she worked with that she doesn’t like was thirsty. Why wouldn’t she just get a drink of water so everyone would like her?”

Cassie nearly spits out her water. “How about you get back to these skeletal diagrams? That way Miss Blackstone can go back to staring at her phone.”

I hate my best friend right now even though she’s right. I should call him. Or just send him a text. But I don’t. Because every time I pick up the phone I wonder if I’m being this pathetic, needy girl who got kissed by a boy, fell for some sweet words, and now can’t go a day without talking to him. I refuse to be that person.

That was my mother when it came to men. That’s not me.

I knew kissing him was a bad idea. He was too emotional. Too raw. And there I was, wanting to fix him like I try to fix everything else. He’s not a food drive I can organize or a cause that I can raise money for. He’s a grown man going through a major life change.

And I’m just the girl who fell for him.

“Miss Blackstone, how did bones get their names? Because femur is a funny word.”

I try to think of an answer, because I honestly have no clue, when a voice that I’ve longed to hear gives the best, and lamest, answer ever.

“It is a funny word, but it’s not your funny bone. Which is not actually a bone. It’s a nerve.”

Even though I don’t want to smile, I can’t hide it as Garrett walks into my room.

For a split second, I think I might be imagining him. But then I look at Cassie, whose jaw is on the ground, and Anthony, who is looking at him in confusion, and I know I’m not.

What is he doing here? After three days of no contact, does he think he can just waltz into my classroom like nothing happened? This man is infuriating.

And sexy. And charming. And lovable.

Like right now, when he is talking to Anthony about bones. There is just something about a grown man helping kids that gets me in the ovaries every time.

Especially this man.

“How do you know that?” Anthony asks.

“Because I’m a doctor,” Garrett says. “I’m actually a bone doctor, so I know the name of all the bones.”

He leans down and looks at Anthony’s homework, which has him drawing lines between the bones to the names that are listed on the side of the worksheet. “I think the funniest bone is the humerus.”

His joke earns a confused look from Anthony and an eye roll from Cassie. I can’t help but stifle a laugh, which I hate myself for. I’m supposed to be mad at him.

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