Page 26 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

As I turn to respond to Sarah with a smile and a few parting words, Allie uses the opportunity to slip away, her departure a silent concession to the complexity of our situation. Watching her go, I can't help but think it's a smart move. The pull between us is undeniable and magnetic, and keeping a respectful distance feels increasingly like a Herculean effort, like the hardest—and best—thing to do.

Chapter 16

Allie

“Table five, I need two lambs and three sea bass, and make it quick!” Patrick demands, his voice firm and unwavering.

Around me, the team responds in a perfectly timed chorus, “Yes, Chef!” The unity, the respect—it’s all so captivating.

The dinner shift at Savor hits like a tidal wave, the front bustling with energy, the back a symphony of disciplined chaos. And then there’s Patrick, the conductor of this frenzied orchestra, his commands cutting through the air with the precision of a seasoned general.

Amidst the flurry, I find myself grappling with my thoughts about him. There's no denying he's got that rugged charm, his culinary genius is off the charts, and yet, he’s got this sternness that's worlds apart from the man I thought I knew outside these kitchen walls.

“Patrick’s like a whole different beast in here, huh?” I whisper to Sarah, who’s beside me, plating a dish with meticulous care.

She glances up, a knowing smile on her face. “You mean you’re surprised he’s no longer the charming prince once the heat’s on? Welcome to Savor, where the chef is as sharp as his knives.”

I chuckle, my gaze drifting back to Patrick. Unlike Marco, who often allowed his own genius to get in his way, Patrick is a beacon of control and clarity.

“I mean, Marco had his moments, but Patrick? He’s on another level—like he was born for this.”

Sarah nods, her focus never wavering from her task. “Patrick doesn’t just run the kitchen; he is the kitchen.”

As I watch him, I feel more than just professional admiration; it’s deeper, more primal. Seeing how he commands the room, dictating orders with such a calm, assertive presence … it’s, well, hot. The truth of the matter is that I’ve spent half the shift totally wet.

As the night wears on, with each “Yes, Chef!” echoing through the kitchen, my fascination with Patrick only grows. We are in the thick of service, yet my thoughts are consumed by him—his leadership, his vision, and, dare I say, the intensity.

During a brief lull in the action, I jokingly say, “So, Patrick, does barking orders come naturally to you, or is it a skill you’ve honed over the years?”

He shoots me a hard look, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.“Allie, just focus on your dishes,” he says in all seriousness, not my command style,” he retorts.

The smile leaves my lips, and as I turn back to my work, I cast a glance toward Sarah who’s still smashing it, even though she’s eight months pregnant and standing on her feet for hours can’t be easy for her.

"Sarah, you sure you're all right?" I ask, catching her during a split-second breather.

She shoots me a look that could curdle milk. "I'm fine, Allie," she snaps back, but it's clear she's anything but.

Moments later, Sarah winces as she narrowly avoids cutting herself. Leaning toward her, I say, "Seriously, talk to me. You look like you're on your last legs."

She sighs, finally admitting she’s wiped out, "My feet could be mistaken for balloons at this point."

Without hesitation, I dash over to Patrick, concern fueling my sprint. "Chef, we've got a situation with Sarah. She can barely stand, and she’s clearly in a lot of discomfort."

Patrick's gaze softens as he looks toward Sarah, his tough-as-nails exterior melting just a tad. "Sarah, you're benched. Go home," he declares, with the kind of firmness that brooks no argument.

Sarah, ever the warrior, tries to protest. "But Chef, I can—"

Patrick cuts her off. the caring side of him making a rare appearance in the kitchen. "No buts. Your health comes first. We'll manage."

As Sarah reluctantly agrees to leave, the reality of the situation hits me like a poorly made soufflé—her workload is now my workload. " I guess it's showtime for me," I say, half to myself, bracing for the onslaught.

Patrick throws me an encouraging yet challenging look. "You’ve got the skills. Just stay focused, and you’ll be fine,” he says and walks away. That’s when I realize I either had to sink or swim.

As I juggle Sarah's duties on top of my own, adrenaline and sheer willpower take over.

"Keep the magic happening, Tucker!" Patrick shouts over the clatter, his encouragement a lifeline in the storm.

Despite the exhaustion threatening to set in, there's a thrill in the chaos, a buzz in proving that I can indeed keep up with the best of them. As the night wears on, and with every plate that leaves the kitchen, I realize this is exactly where I'm meant to be.

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