He Followed Me Home

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

A knock on the apartment door woke Francine from her dreams of civil war battles. She forced her sleep filled eyes open and ground her fists into them in an attempt to clear them out. The knock sounded again and she looked at the clock on the wall. It was eight in the morning. Francine jumped to her feet, only then noticing the blanket she had been covered with.

Her eyes scanned the room and looked into the kitchen for any sign of Wyatt but he wasn't here and Janice's shoes were not by the door so clearly she had stayed somewhere else last night. It wasn't unusual for Janice to stay away when she went out so Francine wasn't concerned. She was however a little freaked out to realize that she had fallen asleep while a ghost had been sitting on her couch and that said ghost had proceeded to cover her with a blanket and close down her computer before leaving.

The knock sounded again and Francine rolled her eyes, "I'm coming," she grumbled. She was not a morning person.

She shuffled across the hardwood floor and jerked open the door to find Wyatt standing there with a smile on his face and a Starbucks cup in his hand. Without hesitation Francine reached out and took the cup, savoring the hot liquid as she sipped and let it wash over her tongue.

Wyatt chuckled, "I take it you're not a morning person, ma'am?"

"No I'm not." She stepped aside to let him enter. "And stop calling me ma'am."

"Okay. I figured you would be tired after working so late last night and coffee always used to help me, ma'am," he replied and then he laughed at the annoyed expression on her sleep lined face. Her hair had come loose from the tie she'd had it held back with and it was a mess of curls around her head. "I can't help it. I was raised to call a lady ma'am."

"I guess us women just aren't used to gentlemen anymore," Francine said wistfully as she shut the door and then took another sip of her coffee.

"Maybe men are less of gentlemen now because women are less ladylike than they used to be." He saw her eyes narrow and rushed to explain. "What I mean is that back when I was alive women were softer. They needed men to take care of them. Give them a house, provide for them, make sure there was money for food, clothes and whatever else they wanted. Nowadays women make their own money, they have their own houses, according to you they can even have babies on their own. Kinda takes some of the usefulness right out of a man's sails."

Francine walked over to the couch and sat down and he sat on the other end, "So male pride is what has men acting like jerks nowadays?" she asked with the raise of a small, arched brow.

Wyatt shook his head, "No, a man should always be a gentleman and his pride be damned."

Francine took another sip of her coffee and looked away from him. He was too handsome and kind for his own good, or for her own good for that matter. He was dead after all. She needed to help him find peace and have his soul move on.

"Thank you for the coffee." she said and then she frowned. "But how did you pay for it?"

Wyatt grinned sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck, where his wool collar always rubbed against him, "I didn't exactly." He shrugged at the judgmental look she threw him. "How exactly am I supposed to pay for things?" he demanded. "It's not like very many employers are rushing to hire a one hundred and seventy-three year old dead man."

Francine had to smile and then she stood up, "I'll be right back," she said. "I need to get ready for work, get the finishing touches on this article and then get gone."