Chapter 9 Lochlan
Lochlan
“WHAT THE STARS SAY TODAY - BEWARE ANYONE STARTING A NEW RELATIONSHIP.” —A PAGANS BLOG
Lochlan watched as Nia pushed her food around her plate. He hadn’t touched his, either—mostly because he was too busy wearing a hole into his jeans with his palm. He had been anxious, unable to find the nerve to talk to her, so he’d lost himself in the process of cooking.
Marry Me Chicken had always been a comfort meal, something he cooked when he needed to feel steady. He’d hoped the familiar steps would give him the balls to talk to her. Maybe some part of him had even thought the name would mean something. He was a fool.
The sound of her fork clattering against the plate broke the silence, and for a brief, embarrassing moment, he flinched.
“This is insane,” she mumbled, dragging her hands down her face like she could physically wipe away reality.
Insane didn’t quite cover it. He was married to his boss’s daughter—a woman who, despite her local fame, had hidden her connection to The Sword from the entire supernatural world.
Lochlan had spent years looking up to this man—his mentor, his boss, the leader he’d shared drinks and long conversations with—who was now his father-in-law.
And here he and Nia were, sitting in his kitchen, forced to live together by this man they both knew, for reasons neither understood.
But there was no point in saying any of that.
Instead, he reached out instinctively, wrapping his fingers lightly around her wrist. It was a stupid move—his heart reminded him of that by slamming against his ribs. But instead of pulling back she looked up, guarded eyes meeting his, and the tightness in his chest eased.
“It is insane,” he said simply, his voice low.
She blinked at him, lips parting slightly like she hadn’t expected him to agree. The air between them stretched thin, brittle. When her shoulders dropped a fraction, so did the tension in his.
“Are you alright? After seeing your father this morning…” He trailed off.
“No, but yes.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “Six weeks… we don’t know each other. At all. What if you’re—”
Lochlan kept his face neutral, letting her continue, curious what she thought.
“What if I hate the way you chew? Or you’re one of those people who puts the toilet paper roll on backwards?”
He felt the corner of his mouth quirk upward. “I’m the potential threat here?”
“Yes!” she shot back, crossing her arms, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t smile at me like that.”
He tilted his head slightly, bemused.
Her cheeks flushed pale pink.
“Ugh, this whole thing is frustrating,” she muttered, sinking lower in her seat.
Lochlan wanted to say he would chew however she wanted, hang the toilet paper however she liked—hell, he’d rearrange his entire house if it meant she’d give this a chance.
Not yet, you fool.
Nia’s stomach growled, interrupting the moment. The unexpected sound sent an unfamiliar feeling through him—something visceral, protective. The idea of her going hungry made him bristle.
“Maybe eating will help?” he suggested.
She sighed, picked up her fork, and poked at the food once more. “It smells really good,” she murmured.
His heart thumped at the compliment.
Goddess help him, he was in trouble.
The moment she took her first bite, the sound of her moan sent goosebumps skittering across his skin. He looked away, willing himself to shake off the reaction, but it clung stubbornly, settling deep.
“Ohmygoddess.” The words tumbled out, garbled around her mouthful of food. “This is the best pasta I’ve ever had.”
She shoveled in a few more bites before biting into the chicken. “How is this crispy? What magic is this?”
“Becket’s mother is an amazing cook. I spent college holidays with them. And then when I got my own place… I just really enjoy cooking.”
“I bet everyone loves your food.”
Lochlan hesitated. “I’ve only cooked for Becket. And Jade, when she had a stomach bug and could only eat boiled chicken and rice.”
“You’re kidding.” Nia looked at him, her fork stilled midair, expression faltering. The brightness in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of something dangerously close to pity.
His grip tightened around his own fork. He hadn’t meant to make it sound pathetic, but now that the words were out, he realized how they sounded.
He shrugged, aiming for casual indifference. “I don’t usually cook for other people.”
Silence stretched between them, heavier than before. Nia studied him, her gaze searching, as if trying to fit the pieces of him together.
“You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, setting her fork down, “that you’re this fantastic at cooking, and no one’s taking advantage of it?”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Guess not.”
“Not even a girlfriend?” She frowned.
The question caught like a hook in his ribs. He didn’t look at her as he reached for his water. “No.”
A beat passed. Then—
“Or…” Nia looked almost tentative. “A boyfriend?”
Lochlan blinked. “No.”
“Wow.” Her eyes widened, lips parting in shock or maybe revelation. “You’re chronically single.”
He choked on his drink. “I’m not—”
“Oh, this is tragic.” She leaned forward, elbows on the counter, studying him like some rare, baffling discovery. “No spouse, no girlfriend, no boyfriend—hell, not even a fling that comes over for dinner?”
“Well, your father took care of the spouse thing.”
Nia blinked. Then her lips thinned.
“Shit.” Lochlan winced. “Sorry.”
She huffed a laugh. “You’re not wrong.” She took a bite of food, moaning again. “He’s got jokes and he can cook,” she mumbled to herself. Then, to him, she said, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Lochlan.”
She smiled at him, and for a moment, he felt lighter than ever.
He didn’t know how to fill the silence that followed, so he dropped his gaze to his plate and forced himself to take a bite.
Throughout the meal, he was both comforted and tormented by how much she enjoyed the food. Her soft groans of satisfaction and the little sighs she made as she ate left his thoughts scattered and his chest tight.
When she insisted on handling the cleanup, he didn’t argue.
Instead, he grabbed Jade’s leash and headed for the door.
Walking through the greenhouse, past his ducks and the tangled sprawl of plants, he slipped outside and let the cold night air hit his flushed skin, a welcome shock to his overheated system.
He exhaled slowly, watching his breath curl into the darkness.
Maybe a walk would clear his head.
* * *
After finishing their nightly routines, they found themselves standing in Lochlan’s bedroom, staring at the large bed as if it were an unsolvable puzzle.
“You don’t have a guest bedroom?” she asked, her tone more curious than accusatory.
“No,” he replied. His family wouldn’t be caught dead here, and Becket’s house was only a five-minute walk away, so he’d never needed to crash here. What would be the point?
“I can sleep on the couch,” Lochlan offered, taking a step toward the door.
“No.” Her voice was firm, cutting through the awkwardness. “No, we’re adults. We can share a bed.”
Share a bed.
She said it like it was simple, practical, and didn’t carry the risk of unraveling him entirely.
She moved to the left side of the bed without hesitation. It shouldn’t have mattered which side she picked, but the fact that she’d chosen the opposite of where he usually slept felt… deliberate. It was stupid to read into it. She—anyone, really—had a fifty percent chance of picking the right side.
Lochlan scoffed at himself, shaking his head.
“Did you just laugh?” Nia turned, one eyebrow raised.
“No,” he lied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t laugh.”
“Right.” Her lips twitched. “You’re very serious. Very stoic.”
“Exactly.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bed and pulled down the covers. He watched, hyper-aware of how small she looked against the massive bed, how out of place this moment felt. He’d never shared his bed with anyone before. Not for lack of desire—he’d just never let anyone close enough.
As she settled in, he hesitated awkwardly at the edge of the mattress. His usual spot suddenly felt too intimate, too charged.
“You’re overthinking it,” she said without looking up, her voice softer now. “Just lie down. It’s not a big deal.”
Except it was. To him, at least.
Gingerly, he slid into his side of the bed, reaching over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.
The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow of moonlight seeping around the edges of the curtains.
The silence was comfortable for all of two seconds, before a low thump and the jingle of Jade’s collar filled the room.
“Oh no,” he muttered, knowing what was coming.
Jade landed squarely between them, her weight sinking into the mattress like she owned the place.
“Is this normal?” Nia asked, her voice amused.
“Yes,” he said flatly. “She thinks this is her bed.”
Jade twisted around in an exaggerated show of getting comfortable before settling in, her head resting on Lochlan’s leg.
Nia laughed. “I guess I am the one taking her spot, then. Will you share?”
Jade let out a huff.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
Lochlan leaned back against the pillow as a small smile crept across his lips.
The weight of Jade, the sound of Nia’s quiet laugh—it all felt surreal, too close to something he hadn’t let himself admit he wanted.
For a long while, the room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of blankets and Jade’s soft, even breaths.
“Goodnight, Nia,” he said softly.
“Nigh’, ‘ochlan,” she mumbled through a yawn, already half asleep. Within moments, her breaths evened out and the quiet rhythm of sleep filled the room.
Lochlan stared at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting and refusing to settle. He replayed the quiet moments of the evening—the sound of Nia’s laughter, the way her sadness lingered in her expression—as Jade snuggled between them. It was strange, sharing his bed, his space, his life.
Ever since opening the front door for Nia, Lochlan had felt like he was balancing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew would either fall apart, or change everything.
For now, he stayed on that edge, waiting for sleep to claim him, Nia’s presence filling a space he hadn’t realized was so empty before.