Page 63 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

"Here's where the magic happens," I start, sweeping my hand around the state-of-the-art kitchen we've designed. There are high-end induction cooktops over there, dual combi ovens here, and this beauty," I point to a shining sous-vide machine, "is going to be your new best friend."

Allie runs her fingers along the cold stainless steel of a prep counter, her eyes alight with ideas. "Oh my God, it’s perfect. I think we could shake up the comfort food menu we have planned—imagine lavender-infused fried chicken or truffle mac and cheese garnished with crispy shallots."

"It’s all yours to play with. This place is a canvas for your creativity," I assure her as we move toward the dining area, where workers are adding final touches.

Stopping by the bespoke bar crafted from local oak, I gesture broadly. "And this bar will serve craft spirits to complement your dishes. Think artisan cocktails that tell a story, just like your menu."

She squeezes my hand, her smile wide. "I can’t wait to see it all in action. It’s going to be something special."

I pull her in close for a moment, feeling her warmth against me. "We’re building something special here, baby. Together.”

She leans into me, her presence a comforting weight. "Let’s make sure we’re ready to open these doors before these little ones decide to make their debut," she says, patting her belly with a chuckle.

We settle into the sleek chairs at the front of the place, taking in the view of New York dressed in the fiery colors of fall. Allie suddenly winces, grabbing my attention instantly.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, my tone laced with concern.

She dismisses it with a quick smile. "I’m fine, just trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to be a mom to twins soon."

I take her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "You’re going to do great. Not a doubt in my mind.”

She laughs softly. "Two little ones at once. Can you believe it? Anyway, I’ve been going through the resumes we’ve been getting.”

As Allie fans out a handful of resumes across our makeshift workspace, her excitement is undeniable. "Check these out. I’ve lined up some solid candidates for front-of-house manager."

She launches into the specifics of each candidate, her energy infectious. Yet amid her enthusiasm, she flinches—another brief grimace that she tries to mask. I lean forward, my concern breaking through. "Hold up, love, are you sure you're all right? That's the third time you've made that face."

She hesitates, then flashes me a reassuring smile. "It's just the twins doing gymnastics in there, nothing to worry about."

I'm not easily convinced. "Positive? Because if you need to slow down—"

She cuts me off, her determination clear. "I'm fine, really. Now, about these resumes—"

"All right," I concede with a playful grin, letting her take the lead again. "So, who's catching your eye? What's their edge?"

Her gaze sweeps over the resumes as she picks one up, her fingers tracing the lines of experience. "This one, Sandra Whitt, has managed several high-profile spots in the city. She’s got a knack for creating the perfect atmosphere, exactly what we need for a place that's going to redefine comfort food."

"You’ve really thought this through," I remark, my admiration for her deepening. "You’re envisioning every detail, aren't you?"

She nods, her face lighting up. "Absolutely. Only the best for, well, hell, we still haven’t come up with a name yet.”

“We’ll get there. No need to rush.”

Watching her, I can’t help but admire her clarity and drive. "You’re incredible, you know that? This place is going to thrive, especially with you steering the ship."

“Thanks. But we’ll see. This is all a first for me.”

Allie delves deeper into the resumes, picking up another one that catches her interest. "Here's someone to consider—Julian Vega. He’s been at the helm at The Orchard and Slate Bistro, both places known for their impeccable service and innovative approach."

But as she’s speaking about Julian’s accomplishments, she suddenly stops in mid-sentence, looking slightly uneasy.

"Something wrong?" I ask, my instincts on high alert, noticing the change in her demeanor.

She hesitates, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face before she forces a smile. "Uh, do you know if there’s a mop around?" she inquires in an oddly casual manner.

Confused, I'm about to ask why when I notice the puddle forming under her chair. Instantly, I get it.

"Oh hell, your water just broke," I state, the reality hitting me like a freight train.

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