Chapter 71 Lottie
Lottie
I glance over at Patrick as I finish plating the garlic sauce chicken pasta, using whatever fresh ingredients he had on hand. The kitchen smells amazing—warm, rich, comforting—but my mind is still stuck on what he said earlier.
Jordan.
The name keeps circling back.
I set the plate down and turn toward him, curiosity getting the better of me.
“So… Jordan is who to you?” I ask.
Patrick pauses.
For a moment, he looks away, his gaze drifting like he’s weighing how much to say—like this isn’t something he shares easily. Then he looks back at me, expression softer, more settled.
“Jordan is my nephew,” he says. “My brother’s son.”
“Ohhh.”
The realization clicks into place, and I can’t help the small sound of surprise that leaves me.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I admit, tilting my head slightly as I study him. “I don’t know why, but… I didn’t really picture you having a family.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I wince slightly.
“That’s—well, not that you wouldn’t have one, because everyone does, I just—”
“Lottie.”
His voice cuts in gently, stopping my rambling.
I blink, looking at him.
“It’s okay,” he says, giving me a small, reassuring smile. “I have one brother and one nephew. That’s it.”
There’s a brief pause before he adds, more quietly—
“My parents died when I was a teen. So it’s just been me, Cade, and Jordan since then.”
Something in my chest softens immediately.
“Oh… okay,” I say, my voice quieter now, more careful.
I nod slightly, processing that.
“So—who’s older? You or Cade?”
That seems to lighten the mood just enough.
Patrick lets out a small chuckle, the sound low and warm.
“Cade would love to be the younger one,” he says. “But unfortunately for him, he’s older by five years.”
A smirk tugs at my lips.
“Is that, like, a running joke between you two?”
This time, he laughs a little more openly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Mostly because he looks so young. Honestly, if it weren’t for the differences in our features, people might think we were twins.”
I raise a brow, intrigued.
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he continues, shaking his head slightly. “I still don’t know where he got the black hair and blue eyes from…”
His voice trails off, like he’s thinking out loud now, genuinely puzzled.
I can’t help but smile.
“Genetics are wild,” I say, leaning lightly against the counter. “Traits can skip generations. He could’ve gotten those features from a great-grandparent—or even further back. Without documentation, you’d never really know.”
He nods slowly, considering that.
“I guess I never thought about it like that,” he admits. “I always wondered, but… not deeply.”
I shrug lightly, a small smile playing at my lips.
“Sometimes it just takes a fresh perspective,” I say. “Something—or someone—to make you look at things differently.”
Our eyes meet for a second longer than necessary.
And something unspoken passes between us.
Something warm.
Something… new.
Like we’re still learning each other—
Piece by piece.
“So… are you and Cade close?” I ask, leaning lightly against the counter as I watch him.
Patrick gets that thoughtful look again—the one where his gaze drifts just slightly, like he’s sorting through his feelings before putting them into words.
“I wouldn’t say we’re close,” he begins slowly, “but I wouldn’t say we’re not close either.”
I tilt my head, listening.
“We don’t talk every day,” he continues. “Not even every week, sometimes. Usually every couple of weeks… maybe longer if I get caught up in things.” A faint, self-conscious smile tugs at his lips. “I can be a little scatterbrained.”
He exhales softly, then adds, quieter—
“But I love my brother. And he loves me. That’s what matters. Not how often we talk.”
There’s a pause.
“Even though…” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. “I’m sure he’d like to hear from me more.”
His voice trails off, and I can practically see the moment he realizes he’s been rambling.
I can’t help it—I smile.
He’s so endearing like this.
“It’s all good,” I say gently. “Charlie and I are the same way—and we’re twins. So long as they know we love them, right?”
He looks back at me, relief washing over his expression like I just lifted some invisible weight off his shoulders.
“Right,” he says, nodding.
I don’t think he realizes he doesn’t have to worry about those things with me.
Not like that.
Not ever.
He’s my omega.
There’s a steadiness to that truth that settles deep in my chest.
Short of something truly unforgivable, there’s nothing he could do that would make me turn on him. And even then… I’d talk before I’d judge.
I step closer without thinking, reaching up and letting my finger trace lightly down the side of his face.
The moment I touch him, that familiar current sparks to life—soft and electric.
I feel it ripple through me.
I see it affect him too—his breath catching slightly, his body giving a small, involuntary shiver.
Then he leans—just a little—into the touch.
I smile, softer now.
“I don’t think you realize,” I murmur, “that you don’t have to worry about me judging you.”
His eyes flick up to mine.
“If I think something’s wrong,” I continue, “I’ll talk to you about it. But I’m not here to condemn you for how you feel or what you choose.”
I let my hand linger just a second longer before lowering it.
“My job as your alpha,” I add quietly, “is to make sure you’re the best version of yourself.”
A small pause.
“That includes your happiness.”
Color blooms across his cheeks—deep, warm, spreading fast as he looks down, clearly flustered.
I can’t help the low chuckle that escapes me.
He’s too cute.
“C’mon,” I say, stepping away before I get distracted. “Let’s eat.”
I move around the table, pulling out a chair for him before taking my own seat. The small domestic motion feels natural—easy in a way that still surprises me.
I grab the bottle and pop the cork, pouring sparkling grape juice into two glasses.
When I look up, Patrick is watching me with a raised brow.
I laugh lightly.
“No worries, babe,” I say. “It’s just grape juice.”
The word slips out easily.
Babe.
And just like that, his face turns that beautiful shade of red again.
He quickly looks down and picks up his fork.
I laugh a little louder this time.
“No need to be embarrassed,” I tease gently. “It’s okay to be cautious.”
He nods, shoulders loosening as he settles more comfortably into his seat.
I watch him as he takes his first bite.
The moment the fork touches his lips, his eyes close slowly, and a soft sound escapes him.
“Mmm… this is so good.”
The way he says it—low, pleased, completely unguarded—sends a small, unexpected shift through me.
I shift slightly in my seat, clearing my throat.
He opens his eyes, blinking like he’s just remembered I’m here.
“Oh—sorry,” he says quickly. “Was I eating… obnoxiously?”
I laugh again, shaking my head.
He has no idea.
“No,” I say, smiling warmly. “You’re fine.”
A small pause.
“I’m just… partial to your reactions.”
His face goes red all over again.
And I swear—
I could get used to this.
Easily.