Page 66 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

As Stacy and I make our way to the restaurant, the city whizzes by in a blur of vibrant fall colors.

"Motherhood suits you, you know," Stacy comments, her voice barely rising above the music as she glances over with a smile. "You’ve got it all now—a booming business, adorable kids, and, let’s not forget, a man who’s basically a dream come true."

I laugh. "Yeah, it’s pretty amazing. But now I’m wondering ... do you think Patrick's even thinking about marriage? We've never really dug deep into that conversation."

Stacy turns down the music, her expression turning thoughtful. "You two are like the power couple of the culinary world right now. Maybe he’s just waiting for the right moment. I mean, Shannon and Sammy’s isn't just any restaurant; it's got a star now!"

She's right. Pulling up to Shannon and Sammy’s, I take in the sight of our restaurant, which has quickly become one of the city's hottest spots. Just last month, we celebrated receiving our first Michelin Star—a testament to the hard work and passion Patrick and I have poured into this place.

As we park and step out, the festive banners and balloons decorating the entrance catch the sun, making the restaurant look even more inviting. "This place is like our third baby," I muse aloud, pride swelling in my chest.

"And it’s thriving, just like your actual babies," Stacy adds with a wink. “And who knows what else the day will hold?”

I chuckle, shaking my head as we go inside. "From your lips to Patrick’s ears, Stacy. But today’s about our twins and celebrating them. Anything else is just icing on the cake, pun intended."

As Stacy and I strut into Shannon and Sammy’s, the vibe hits us like a blast of joy. Balloons, laughter, vibrant décor, servers milling about in preparation. The restaurant looks amazing.

Stacy’s latest beau, Jack, an investment banker with a contagious smile, is already there. He scoops her into a whirlwind kiss, and I can't help but grin. They're cute, living that fresh, lovey-dovey phase since moving in together.

I spot Patrick across the room and, God, does he look good. He’s on the floor, the quintessential dad, surrounded by a sea of toys and toddlers. The sight of him, so effortlessly wonderful with our kids, sends a warm flutter through me.

He catches my eye, that familiar grin spreading across his face, and pushes to his feet. He crosses the room in a few quick strides, the dad facade giving way to that of a loving partner as he pulls me into a tender kiss.

"You look stunning," he whispers against my lips, and I melt just a little.

No sooner have we broken apart than Shannon and Sammy barrel into us, their little legs pumping excitedly. I scoop up Sammy first, peppering his cheek with kisses, then switch to Shannon, her giggles mixing with the party’s bubbly backdrop. "Happy birthday, my loves!" I exclaim, squeezing them tight.

Patrick loops an arm around my waist, his presence grounding. "They've been asking about you nonstop," he chuckles, nodding toward the kids, who are now tugging at my dress, eager for more attention.

"Mommy, look!" Shannon holds up a new toy—a shiny kitchen set that’s clearly a hit. "We cook?"

"Only if you promise to make me the yummiest cake," I tease, winking at Patrick, who's already pretending to take our orders like a pro waiter.

"Two cakes!" Sammy declares, dashing off to set up his “restaurant” with his sister in tow.

Stacy and Jack join us, Stacy rolling her eyes playfully. "Looks like you’ve got some competition in the kitchen," she quips, nudging me.

Patrick’s laugh is light and easy. "Let them start young," he says, his gaze softening as he watches our children play. Who knows? By the time they're ten, they might be running the place."

I lean into him, my heart full. "With you as their role model, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Speaking of cakes," I announce, grinning at the crowd of eager faces, "it's time for the main event!"

I sashay into the kitchen where the twin cakes I whipped up are waiting, masterpieces if I do say so myself. One is a whimsical, towering concoction of chocolate and vanilla swirls topped with a galaxy of edible stars and moons, perfect for my little dreamers.

The other is a colorful superhero-themed spectacle, complete with fondant capes and sugary masks, because who doesn’t want to be a hero on their birthday?

Patrick and I light the candles, our twins’ faces lighting up in delight as we carry the cakes out. The room bursts into cheers, and we all sing "Happy Birthday" at the top of our lungs, the twins clapping along, eyes wide at the small flickering flames.

After we help them blow out the candles—Shannon needing a bit of a boost to get all of hers blown out—we dive into serving slices. Laughter and chatter fill the air, the party hitting its stride.

I stand back for a moment, soaking it all in. It’s still surreal to be recognized as a bit of a celeb in the New York food scene. A journalist from The New York Times is here, their camera clicking away. I agreed to their presence as long as they stayed back in the shadows, no interviews. I flash them my best smile, hoping I don’t look as frazzled as I feel.

Just then, Luca Amato makes his appearance, his presence dominating the room instantly. Despite our complicated history, he’s always had respect for Patrick, and that respect has extended to what Patrick and I have built. He clasps Patrick’s hand firmly, offers me a warm nod, and then bends down to ruffle the twins’ hair.

“Congrats on your success, Patrick, Allie. You’ve outdone yourselves,” he says, looking around. He doesn’t stay long, just long enough to drop off his gifts—a set of deluxe art supplies for the budding creatives, no doubt pricey and perfectly chosen.

As he leaves, I can’t help but chuckle. "Only at our kids’ party would New York’s culinary elite and possibly the city's most notorious underground figure make an appearance," I whisper to Patrick, who gives me a look that says he’s thinking the exact same thing.

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