Page 40 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

Chapter 25

Allie

"Idon’t want to come off as arrogant," I say, setting my fork down with a clink, "but this might just be the best meal I’ve ever had a hand in."

Patrick and I are putting the final garnishes on the entrees, a masterpiece of culinary perfection just waiting to be savored. As the serving staff sweeps the plates away to our guests, we set aside one extra dish of the duck entree for ourselves—a chef’s perk.

Together, we dive into the sample, a seamless blend of flavors that makes me close my eyes in appreciation. It’s absolutely freaking divine.

Patrick grins, his eyes sparkling with pride and something tender that makes my stomach do a little flip. "It’s one of my finest, too," he admits. "Couldn’t have reached this level without you."

The decadent meal doesn’t quite quell the thrill his words send through me. As the last of the entrees leave the kitchen, Patrick glances at the clock. "We’ve got a little time before we need to prep the desserts. You want to take a breather?"

Part of me—a rather bold part—wants to suggest we take that breather in his office, maybe lock the door for a bit. But I bite my tongue, keeping those thoughts firmly in check, at least for now.

"Sounds like a plan," I manage, trying to keep my tone light.

As I start to step away, Patrick’s hand lands gently on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. His touch is warm, reassuring, and a little distracting. He looks me straight in the eyes, his gaze sincere. "Really, Allie, thank you. Tonight wouldn’t be what it is without your hard work."

His gratitude warms me more than the bustling heat of the kitchen. "Hey, the night’s not over yet," I remind him with a playful wag of my finger, trying to keep the mood light despite the fluttering in my chest.

He chuckles, a low sound that rumbles within. "You’re right about that," he says in that husky tone that always seems to find its way right under my skin. "And I’m looking forward to every minute of it."

His words linger in the air between us, charged and promising. With a final glance, I head off to grab that breather, my mind racing not just with the success of our meal but with the tantalizing possibilities of what the rest of the evening might hold.

I make my way out of the kitchen, heading for the staff restroom, but then it hits me—the guests tonight are all men, no women. Why not indulge in a little luxury and use the posh patron restrooms upfront? If you can't join them, at least share their marble sinks, right?

Stepping onto the main dining floor, the scene strikes me like a raucous Italian dinner straight out of a movie. Glasses clink, laughter rumbles, and the rich aroma of food mingles with the deep notes of red wine in the air. It's vibrant, lively, almost theatrical.

As I navigate through the dining room, Luca spots me. He stands up, a respectful nod to old-school chivalry, and strides over with a wide, appreciative smile.

"Everyone, a moment, please," he announces, raising his voice over the chatter. The table quiets down a bit as all eyes turn to me. "Allie, this young lady here," he gestures to me with a flourish, "is the brains behind the incredible meal we’re enjoying tonight."

I can feel my cheeks warm under the spotlight. "Oh, it's very much a team effort," I quickly deflect, nodding toward the kitchen where Patrick is masterminding the rest of the evening. "Couldn't have done it without the big man in the back."

Luca laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. "Modest, too! We like that," he says, which earns a round of approving nods and toasts from the table. I can't help but smile, grateful for the recognition but eager to escape the spotlight.

As I'm soaking in the praise, my gaze inadvertently meets Donnie's. His eyes are on me, intense and unsettling, like he's trying to peel back every layer with just his stare. It makes my skin crawl.

Thankfully, Luca, oblivious to the undercurrents, gives me a congenial nod. "Go on then; we won’t keep you from your work. And we can’t wait to see what comes out next!"

I murmur my thanks and make my escape, hurrying toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. The marble floors and gilded mirrors of the patron restroom offer a brief respite from the intensity of the dining room. Inside, I take a moment to breathe, leaning against the cool marble of the sink.

I straighten up, fixing a stray lock of hair, steeling myself for the rest of the evening. It’s going to be a long night, and I need to be on top of my game—not just for the guests, but to handle whatever Donnie might throw my way.

My reflection seems to ask the tough questions I've been dodging all evening. The whole pregnancy is like a giant elephant in the room, and the idea of breaking the news to Patrick is just daunting. When's the right time to drop a bombshell like that? Surely not during a dinner rush over a plate of meticulously prepared hors d'oeuvres.

My mind races with possibilities, none of them particularly comforting. Patrick’s a chef to his core, married to the kitchen. The scary thought that he might see this news as just another complication plays over and over in my mind, something he could maybe solve with a check and a pat on the back. But I've seen him with Caleb, and he’s a great dad, engaging and caring. It gives me a sliver of hope.

Speaking of Caleb, how will he take the news that his ex is pregnant with his little brother or sister?

I splash some water on my face, trying to cool the flush of anxiety. I need to keep it together, at least until we get through tonight’s dinner service. I'm psyching myself up to have that chat with Patrick soon, once the plates have cleared and we can maybe have a moment of peace.

Drying off my face, I straighten up, smoothing down my chef's jacket. No more moping around. The night’s not over yet and the kitchen calls. Time to slap on my game face and get back to the pass. The personal stuff will have to wait just a bit longer.

I check myself out in the mirror one last time, take a deep breath, and head back to the heat of the kitchen, ready to tackle whatever the night throws my way.

As I'm about to push open the door and leave the bathroom, Donnie’s unmistakable voice drifts in from just outside. He's chatting with one of his buddies, and they're deep in a conversation that's all too familiar, boasting and swapping crude stories about women.

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