Page 31 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

He gives me a half-smile, the dim lighting casting intriguing shadows across his face. "Then I handle it. It could mean a stern chat the following day with whoever was in charge. I’ve been here until two a.m. once or twice."

"Really? That late?" I tease, bumping his shoulder lightly with mine. "Sounds like a wild night."

He laughs, a rich sound that fills the quiet around us. "Oh, it’s wild, all right. Just me and the contents of the walk-in."

As we reach the front door, he does a final lock check and sets the alarm. "Part of the charm of owning a place like this," he adds, his tone light but sincere.

"I'm impressed," I say as we step outside into the cool night air. "It’s more than just running the kitchen, isn’t it? You really take care of everything."

"Absolutely," he agrees. "It’s all about the details and part of being an owner."

As the cool night wraps around us, I find myself not wanting the conversation to end. "Thanks for the late-night tour," I say, my voice playful.

He chuckles, meeting my gaze. "My pleasure.”

“Owning a place like Savor is kind of a dream of mine," I confess, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "But it feels like it’s light-years away."

Patrick glances over; his eyes are thoughtful under the streetlights. "I wouldn’t say that. From what I’ve seen, you’ve got the smarts and the talent to make it happen," he replies earnestly. His compliment sends a warm flush through me,

His words transports me to cloud nine, and I realize how much his opinion matters to me. I try to play it cool, to keep my excitement under wraps, but it bubbles up irresistibly.

"Thanks. That means a lot coming from you."

We reach the subway station. "Goodnight, Allie," he says, his voice a soft rumble that reverberates through my spinning senses.

I watch him walk away; every step he takes leaves a mark on the night and on my heart. Left standing there, bathed in starlight and the lingering warmth of his lips, I know I'm in trouble.

Big, delightful trouble.

Chapter 19

Allie

The next few weeks at Savor whirl by like a hurricane, with Patrick and me sneaking moments whenever we can. Our rendezvous spots are limited to the hidden nooks and crannies of the kitchen because my place is out—thanks to my ever-present roommates—and his is a definite no-go with Caleb in the apartment next door.

Each encounter is more electric than the last, leaving me breathless and increasingly curious about Patrick’s deeper layers. He had introduced me to a dash of BDSM a while back, just a hint, really, but since then, nothing. Part of me wonders if he's holding back, worried about scaring me off.

I’m not scared; I’m intrigued. Seriously intrigued.

As each day ticks by, my curiosity about those unexplored adventures builds. It’s like standing in front of a mystery dish covered with a silver dome: you don’t know exactly what’s under there, but you just know it’s going to be good. Or at least interesting.

I’m chopping vegetables one quiet morning before the rush, pondering whether or not I should ask Patrick about his “special menu items” in the bedroom concerning BDSM.

Later, as we’re both prepping for the lunch service, I lean closer to him, my voice low. "Hey, Chef, remember that little culinary experiment you shared a few weeks back?" I start, trying to keep it light yet direct.

Patrick looks up from his meticulous dicing, a flicker of something undefinable crossing his features. "Yes, I remember," he replies, his tone careful.

I take a deep breath, tossing the vegetables into a sizzling pan before continuing. "I was wondering if you might be planning to explore that menu further because I’ve been reading up on those dishes, and they sound quite diverse and flavorful."

He chuckles, then says, "Flavorful, huh?" He wipes his hands on a towel, turning to face me fully. "I didn’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for."

I meet his gaze, my determination simmering alongside the onions. "Consider me ready for a taste test. I’m curious, and let's be honest—I trust you with all of the kitchen knives around here, so I think I can trust you with this, too."

His smile then is slow and full of promises. "All right," he agrees, "let’s plan a proper exploration. But outside of work hours, and definitely not in the kitchen."

"Deal," I say quickly, excitement zipping through me like lightning.

Later, as I slip into the bathroom for a quick break, Liz, one of the waitresses, hurries in, looking a bit frantic. "Hey, Allie, you wouldn’t happen to have a tampon, would you?" she asks, her voice edged with desperation.

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