Page 127 of Stuck with my Boss Daddies

She was in.

Samuel rolled his sleeves back down, surveying the now mostly dry floor. “Alright. We get through today, get this place back in order, and tomorrow, we start figuring out logistics.”

Adam clapped his hands together. “Look at us, saving the town one flooded bakery at a time.”

Sadie laughed, a sound so easy and unguarded that it settled my heart deep in my chest.

She was home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Sadie

The Foundry smelledlike damp wood, lemon-scented cleaner, and the faintest hint of whiskey. It was a strange combination, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

Not after the absolute disaster the place had been this morning.

We’d done it.

Hours of mopping, hauling, drying, and cursing later, the floors were no longer slick with water, the back storage room was at least somewhat salvageable, and the jukebox—against all odds—still worked.

Adam had crowed in triumph when the thing sputtered back to life, the opening chords of some old rock song crackling through the speakers like it was a goddamn miracle.

Maybe it was.

Maybe this whole day had been.

Now, the four of us sat around one of the booths, half-eaten burgers and a shared basket of fries spread out between us, steaming mugs of tea in hand.

Adam had insisted we needed something stronger, but even he caved when Samuel slid a cup in front of him with a pointed look.

“Dehydration,” he’d said simply before taking a long sip of his own drink.

I curled my hands around my mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. My body ached from the work, but in a good way.

A satisfying way. I was tired, but I felt lighter.

More than that… I felt settled.

That was brand new to me.

I glanced around the table, at the three men who had somehow become my home again.

Samuel, methodically stirring his tea like he was measuring every motion. Kai, leaning back against the booth, watching me with a small, knowing smile. And Adam, already halfway through his cup, wincing at the heat but not slowing down.

I hadn’t expected to find this again. This belonging. And I sure as hell hadn’t expected to want to stay.

But I did.

I let the moment stretch, let myself breathe in the safety of it, the quiet hum of voices, and the clink of mugs against wood.

And then my phone buzzed. I almost ignored it, but something, some old instinct, made me glance down.

I wished I hadn’t.

Owain Bond.

His name glowed on the screen, slicing through the warmth like a cold knife.

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