Chapter 61 Lottie
Lottie
Sunday comes quietly.
And I spend it with him.
With Patrick.
Even thinking his name now feels different—softer, more natural, like something I’ve always been meant to say.
I notice the shift between us almost immediately.
He’s… gentler.
More careful in the way he moves around me, like he’s still not entirely sure what he’s allowed to have. The sharp edges he carried before—the distance, the restraint—have dulled into something more tentative.
He’s still holding back.
But not pushing me away.
And that’s enough for now.
I make us breakfast—egg and bacon sandwiches—moving around his kitchen as if I belong there. Like I’ve always belonged there. He hovers nearby at first, unsure, until I nudge him out of the way with a quiet laugh.
We eat together at the table, finishing the conversation we started yesterday.
Plans.
Boundaries.
What this means for us going forward.
He thinks we should keep things quiet—for now.
I tell him I don’t mind being open.
The difference between us there is clear.
He’s cautious.
I’m not.
But I can see the hesitation in him, the fear still lingering under the surface, so I don’t push. Not yet.
We table it.
There will be time for that conversation later.
At lunchtime, he reheats the rest of yesterday’s lunch, and we share it without much thought—just another small, easy moment between us.
Then we end up on the couch.
Close.
Comfortable.
Cuddled together as we scroll through movies, settling on one, then another, the hours slipping by unnoticed. What starts as talking about films turns into talking about everything—favorites, habits, small details about each other that somehow feel important.
It’s easy.
Too easy.
Like we’ve skipped past all the awkward parts and landed somewhere steady.
By the time we order burgers and fries for dinner, I don’t even question it anymore.
This—us—just feels right.
After we eat, the room settles into a quiet calm, the kind that lingers after a full day spent together.
I glance at the time.
Then I stand.
He looks up at me, and I reach for him without hesitation, pulling him to his feet.
He comes easily, like he’s been waiting for it, his body tipping into mine as he rises.
I catch him instinctively, wrapping my arms around him, grounding him against me.
For a moment, I just hold him there.
My face presses into the curve of his neck, and I breathe him in.
Citrus.
Warm and clean.
Layered with something softer, sweeter—like honey warmed by skin.
It fills my lungs, settles deep in my chest, and I close my eyes for a second, just… taking it in.
This.
Him.
The fact that I get to do this.
That this is real.
That he’s mine in the same way I’m his.
A quiet, content warmth spreads through me.
I don’t rush it.
I just stay there, holding him, breathing him in like I’ve been missing this for longer than I want to admit.
Eventually, I pull back just enough to look at him.
His expression is soft, a little dazed, like he’s still catching up to the moment.
I lean in slowly, giving him time—giving us time—and press my lips gently to his.
He exhales softly against my mouth, and I feel it, that small surrender, that quiet acceptance.
I linger there for a second longer, then tilt my head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to feel him respond.
Just enough.
Then I pull back.
His eyes are unfocused, his body swaying slightly where he stands, as if he’s lost in sensation.
A small smile tugs at my lips.
Yeah.
This feels right.
I leave Patrick’s house on a high.
Not just happy—floating.
Everything feels a little unreal, like I’m moving through the world instead of fully in it. I have to focus harder than usual while driving, forcing my attention onto the road instead of letting my mind replay the last two days on a loop.
Every look. Every word. Every moment.
By the time I pull into my dorm parking lot, the cold has settled in deep, the air sharp enough to sting—but I barely feel it. I’m still warm, wrapped up in everything we just shared.
I unlock my door and step inside—
And stop.
Something feels… off.
I stand there for a moment, just looking around my apartment like I’ve never seen it before. The couch. The table. My things.
Everything is the same.
But it doesn’t feel the same.
And then it hits me.
I’m not used to being here anymore.
Not after spending two days with him.
Not after getting used to his presence—how full everything felt with him around.
And it only took two days.
“Wow,” I mutter under my breath.
That’s… a lot.
I step fully inside and shut the door behind me, then walk over to the couch and drop onto it, letting myself sink into the cushions as I exhale.
For a moment, I just sit there.
Then I pull out my phone.
Now that things between Patrick and me feel… steadier—
More real—
It’s time.
Time to tell my parents.
Or at least… my mom. Maybe he can tell my dad. Who am I kidding? As soon as I tell him, he’s going to call dad.
I tap his contact and hit video call.
The screen rings for a moment before connecting—
And his face pops up.
Way too close.
Like, uncomfortably close.
He pulls the phone back a second later, and his face comes into full view, smiling wide—too wide—and a little out of breath.
“Hey, honey!” he says, a little too loudly. “What’s up?”
What's up?
I blink.
Then narrow my eyes.
I actually look at him.
He’s flushed. A little sweaty. Breathing hard.
My brain takes a second—
And then it clicks.
“Oh my—ew!” I yelp, jerking the phone away from my face. “Call me back when you guys are done!”
“Wait—” he starts—
But I’ve already hung up.
“Nope. Nope. Nope.”
I drop my phone onto my lap and drag both hands down my face.
“I need brain bleach,” I groan.
God.
I sit there for a second, trying to recover, but my mind—traitor that it is—drifts right back to Patrick.
To the way he looked this weekend.
Soft.
Warm.
A little shy sometimes.
And then… not.
I huff out a quiet laugh.
He cycles through so many looks it’s unfair—sexy, adorable, pretty, flustered—
—and always, somehow, sexy.
Did I already think that?
Yeah.
Still true.
My phone chimes, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I glance down and see his name.
A smile spreads instantly.
\[You get home okay?\]
My fingers move without hesitation.
\[Yeah. Was just thinking about you.\]
The typing dots appear almost immediately.
Then:
Blushing smiley face, and kissy face.
\[What were you thinking about?\]
I laugh softly, leaning back into the couch.
Should I tell him?
…Yeah. Why not?
\[...I was thinking about all the many expressions and faces you make.\]
There’s a pause.
Then:
Blushing smiley face, and facepalm.
\[Stop it.\]
My grin widens.
\[What? I’m not doing anything.\]
A second later, a red, angry face pops up.
I snort.
Not angry.
Not even a little.
Then another message comes through:
\[That’s the color of my face right now.\]
This time, I laugh out loud, the sound filling the quiet apartment.
“He’s so cute,” I murmur, shaking my head.
And just like that—
I’m smiling again.