Chapter 58 Patrick
Patrick
I feel like I’m sitting on pins and needles waiting for Lottie to text me.
It’s ridiculous.
I know it is.
She’s in class. She has a life outside of me—friends, responsibilities, things that existed long before I entered the picture. I should be patient. I should give her time to finish what she needs to do before expecting anything.
But now that everything is out in the open…
Patience feels a lot harder to hold onto.
Because now I know she isn’t avoiding me.
Now I know she still wants this—wants me.
And that knowledge makes something restless wake up inside me.
I find myself checking my phone more often than I should, glancing at it like it might light up just because I’m looking at it.
To distract myself, I reach for the ginger candy she gave me, unwrapping another piece and letting it settle on my tongue. The sharp, warm taste spreads almost instantly, easing the lingering discomfort in my stomach.
God, these are a lifesaver.
I make a mental note to ask her where she got them.
Then another thought follows close behind—
How did she know?
I freeze for half a second before groaning and dragging a hand down my face.
“Really, Patrick?”
Of course, she knew.
Lottie is smart—too smart not to connect the dots. The timing, the symptoms, the way my body has been acting lately… it doesn’t take much to put that together.
And she knows what happened between us.
Still…
The fact that she noticed, that she paid attention enough to bring me something that would help—
It does something to my chest.
Something warm.
Something dangerously close to love.
I shake it off before I can sink too far into it and turn my attention back to making dinner, moving around the kitchen on autopilot.
That’s when my phone buzzes.
I grab it almost immediately.
\[Tomorrow, 1 pm, your house?\]
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out of me.
I don’t hesitate.
\[Yes, that’s fine. I’ll make lunch.\]
I pause for a second, then add:
\[Thank you for being understanding.\]
Her reply comes quickly.
\[It’s you, Professor. I can be no other way.\]
A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
Soft.
Uncontrolled.
I send back a simple smiley face, but it feels insufficient compared to what I actually want to say.
Still… It’s enough for now.
After that, I finish making dinner and manage to eat a little, the ginger candy doing its job well enough that my stomach doesn’t revolt for once.
When I’m done, I head upstairs, moving through my routine with more care than usual.
I shave slowly, deliberately.
Then I sink into the tub, letting the heat soak into me until the water cools and the tension in my body eases into something softer, looser.
Afterward, I moisturize thoroughly, working it into my skin until it feels almost… unfamiliar.
Smoother.
More sensitive.
My fingers trail absently over my arm, then lower, and a faint shiver runs through me at the sensation.
I still for a moment.
Because my mind immediately replaces my own touch with hers.
The thought alone is enough to send another shiver through me.
I exhale sharply and shake my head.
“Okay… getting ahead of yourself.”
There’s no guarantee anything like that will happen tomorrow.
We’re supposed to talk.
Figure things out.
Be responsible.
I huff out a quiet, amused breath.
“Yeah… right.”
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about us…
It’s that distance won’t last long.
At some point, we always find our way back into each other’s space.
The question is—
What happens after that?
My chest tightens slightly at the thought.
I pull on an oversized t-shirt, the soft fabric brushing against my skin and sending a small, involuntary shiver through me.
Everything feels heightened.
Awake.
I run a hand through my hair and glance toward my phone again, even though I know she won’t text again tonight.
Tomorrow.
I’ll see her tomorrow.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
We’ll finally stop pretending.
———
I wake just before nine the next morning, my eyes opening without an alarm.
For a moment, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, disoriented—
Then it hits me.
Lottie.
She’s coming over today.
today.
Energy floods through me so quickly it’s almost jarring. I sit up immediately, my body already moving before my mind fully catches up.
There are things to do.
The house needs to be cleaned. My room—definitely my room. The bathroom.
I throw the covers off and get out of bed, heading straight to the bathroom. After a quick stop, I run a hand through my hair and glance at myself in the mirror.
“You’ve got a lot to do,” I mutter.
No time to linger.
I head downstairs and get to work.
I start with the living room—straightening cushions, clearing surfaces, putting things back where they belong. Then I grab the broom and sweep, the rhythmic motion helping to burn off some of the restless energy buzzing under my skin.
Mopping comes next, the clean scent of the solution filling the air as I move across the floors.
The kitchen gets a thorough once-over—counters wiped, sink scrubbed, everything put in order.
I pause for a second, looking around.
Better.
Not perfect, but—
Good enough.
Upstairs next.
I strip my bed and change the sheets, smoothing them out carefully, making sure everything looks… intentional. Clean. Fresh.
The old sheets get tossed into the laundry room. I glance at the machine for a second.
“That can wait.”
Back into the bathroom.
I wipe everything down—mirror, sink, counter, even the edges most people would ignore. By the time I’m done, the place looks almost unused.
I step back, hands on my hips, and take a breath.
Then I check the time.
12:00.
“Shit.”
I move quickly again, heading for the shower. The hot water hits my skin, washing away the light sweat from cleaning, and I take a second longer than I should, letting the heat settle into me.
Calm down.
It’s just lunch.
Just Lottie.
My chest tightens slightly at that.
Right.
Just Lottie.
I finish up, dry off, and pull on fresh clothes before heading downstairs to the kitchen.
Cooking helps.
It gives my hands something to do, something to focus on.
I lay everything out—chicken, pasta, cream, cheese, garlic—and start working through the steps. The familiar motions steady me, the sounds and smells grounding in a way I need right now.
I sear the chicken, the sizzle sharp in the quiet kitchen, then set it aside while I start the sauce. I prefer making it from scratch—it feels more personal. More… intentional.
Like I’m putting something of myself into it.
Before I know it, everything is coming together.
I glance at the clock again.
12:55.
A small, nervous energy spikes in my chest.
She’ll be here any minute.
I plate the food, set the table, and adjust things that don’t need adjusting.
Then—
The doorbell rings.
The sound sends a jolt through me.
I straighten instinctively, smoothing my shirt as I walk to the door, my heartbeat picking up just enough to notice.
I open it—
—and a rush of cold air sweeps inside.
Along with it—
Her.
That scent.
Fresh pine, sharp and clean, carried on snowy winter air.
It hits me instantly.
And the reaction is immediate.
A shiver runs through me—not from the cold, but from something deeper. Something warmer. Something that settles low and fast.
I want her.
Right now.
The thought flashes through me before I can stop it, raw and instinctive.
I grip the door a little tighter, steadying myself.
Not yet.
We need to eat.
We need to talk.
I step back slightly, giving her space to come in, even as every part of me resists the distance.
“Hey,” I say, my voice a little softer than I intended.
And just like that—
Everything else fades to the background.