Page 51 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

"Listen up, everyone! For tonight's special, we're doing grilled lamb with mint yogurt. I want the lamb on the grill now, and let’s make sure that sauce is on point. I need a tasting in two minutes," she directs, her tone both firm and motivating. The kitchen springs into action, and everyone is sharply focused.

Turning to another part of the kitchen, she continues, "Miguel, how’s the progress on the starters?" Her gaze locks onto the prep station where Miguel is meticulously assembling the appetizers.

"Just a few touches left, Chef," Miguel calls back, his voice respectful but eager to impress. He holds up a tray for her inspection, visibly proud of his work.

Allie examines each plate carefully, her keen eyes missing nothing. "These are beautifully done, but remember, consistency is key. Every plate that goes out should look like this one," she instructs, pointing to the plate that best exemplifies her standards.

"Understood, Chef. Thank you," Miguel responds, his smile broadening with the praise and clear direction.

A surge of pride lifts the weight from my chest. Allie’s a damn powerhouse in her own right, handling the kitchen with a blend of finesse and firmness that demands respect.

That’s where my focus should be—on the present, on the family we're building, and on the lives she’s carrying. Caleb’s issues and his acceptance of the situation will have to wait. We have immediate priorities that can't be sidelined.

My resolve firms as I push from the doorframe, deciding to join her in the fray. Tonight isn't for dwelling on what's broken but for strengthening what we’re building.

I catch her eye across the room, and she shoots me a smile that could light up the darkest corners of any room. I beckon her over, needing a moment with her amidst the chaos.

“How’s it going, Chef? Feeling ready to tackle the dinner rush?” I ask as she steps into the quieter sanctuary of my office.

She gives a small, confident nod. “I’m good. It’s a lot, but I’m more excited than anything,” she replies, a hint of exhilaration in her voice.

I can't help but throw in a tease. “I can’t believe I’m about to lose another brilliant sous chef to maternity leave. What's my kitchen going to do without you?”

Her response comes with a playful glint, “Are you complaining, or just worried you’ll miss me too much?”

“Complain? Never. Honestly, I couldn’t be happier,” I assure her, my tone deepening with sincerity. Seizing the moment, I pull her close, away from the kitchen's prying eyes. I take her face in my hands, kissing her deeply, tenderly. The kiss leaves us both a little breathless and Allie slightly dazed—a look that stirs a deeper desire in me. I want more. But her expression shifts to something more solemn.

"Have you talked to Caleb yet?" she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

Immediately, she bites her lip, regretting the intrusion. "Sorry, it’s not my place to ask."

I shake my head, dismissing her apology with a firm squeeze of her hand. "No, it is your place. You're part of my family now." My voice softens. "And no, he’s still not responded. Nothing."

She meets my gaze, her eyes sincere, her grip tightening reassuringly. "He'll come around, Patrick. He just needs time."

Her words, hopeful and supportive, help ease the knot of worry in my chest.

I scan the bustling kitchen, calculating the best timing for our little announcement. Drawing back into my office, I close the door with a decisive click and turn to Allie.

"We’ve got to strategize on breaking the news to the team," I say, my voice firm but low, aware of the thin walls. "I’m thrilled about the twins, really, but I’m not exactly excited about the potential gossip storm."

Allie flashes that daring grin of hers, shrugging off the weight of my words. "Let them talk," she challenges, her tone light but her eyes sparking with mischief.

Her boldness is a turn-on, and I’m about to kiss her when the ringing of the office phone interrupts us.

I pick it up, and the tentative but urgent voice of our hostess greets me. "Chef, there's a gentleman here to see you. He says he's an associate of Luca Amato."

I straighten up, my irritation spiking. "We're not open yet. Why is he here?" Normally, I would dismiss such an unexpected visitor, but the mention of Luca's name stops me.

I pause, taking a deep breath to temper my response. "All right, I'll be right there. Keep him comfortable," I say, keeping my voice measured and cool. I hang up, a heavy sigh escaping me as I prepare to deal with whatever this could mean.

Allie immediately notices the change in my demeanor, and her face is lined with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Just business,” I assure her, masking my annoyance. “Luca Amato’s people.”

Understanding with a bit of worry flickers in her eyes. She nods toward the kitchen. “I should head back anyway.”

I run a hand through my hair, my thoughts racing as I prepare myself for the meeting. The more I think about it, the more I question my decision to get involved with Luca Amato. The whispers are always the same: Once you're in with the Mafia, you're never really out. They expect things, and those expectations can mold your life in ways you never intended.

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