Page 19 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Knox

By the time we finally close the kitchen, my legs are on fire, my back feels like it’s made of bricks, and my heart’s still a little raw from that half smile Josie gave me when I tried, again, to talk to her after shift.

She shut me down.

Softly.

Nicely.

But shut down all the same.

And I’m not sure which is worse, her turning me down, or the way she keeps pretending it’s about work.

I know there’s something else. I feel it. But she won’t say, and I can’t force her.

So now I’m sweaty, tired, and stuck in my own damn head. All I want is a hot shower, a dark room, and maybe an icy dunk if I’m still breathing in ten minutes.

But of course, fate has other plans.

The back door slams open like a grenade just went off.

Clap, clap, clap!

“All right, my beautiful, boring bastards!” Jace bellows, marching into the kitchen like a linebacker high on espresso. “You’ve officially survived another night in the culinary trenches. Which means it’s time for a morale boost. We’re going out.”

I blink at him, fully dead inside. “Jace, it’s nearly midnight.”

“Exactly. The hour when the best stories start and the worst decisions get made. You coming or what?”

I rub my face. “Hard pass.”

“Nope. I already rallied the troops. Nova’s in. Dee from the inn says she’ll show up if we promise not to play any EDM. I’ve even convinced the glittery hostess to leave her house. She said she owns a leather jacket. I need to see this.”

He drops the duffel on the prep counter and unzips it. Out comes a shaker bottle, six plastic shot glasses, and a tub of green powder that looks like it’s been banned in several countries.

“I brought cocktails,” he says, like that explains anything.

“Jace,” I say flatly.

“Protein shots with a splash of tequila,” he replies, like that somehow makes it better. “Balance, my friend. Fuel the muscles, numb the brain.”

He pours the mixture into tiny cups. It smells like lime-scented gym socks and cheap tequila.

Thank God I’m sober.

Nova walks by at the exact wrong moment. “Oh no. Not the green sludge again.”

“There’s greatness,” Jace insists. “And a hint of lime.”

Nova downs hers without flinching. “Tastes like gym regret.”

“She says that, but she’ll be dancing in twenty minutes,” Jace says, already downing his with a grin. “Now move it, Knightly. The night waits for no man.”

“I’m too old for this.”

“You’re too tired for this,” he corrects, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “But that’s exactly why you need to come. One night. We laugh, we hydrate poorly, we mock local karaoke. It’s therapy. But with worse lighting.”

I should say no.

I want to say no.

But I’m tired of this ache in my chest. Tired of pretending I don’t feel like I’m losing Josie one slow inch at a time.

Maybe a night out would help. Maybe noise, and lights, and not being alone with my damn thoughts for once would be a relief.

“Okay, fine. Whatever.”

Jace lets out a cheer. “Atta boy! See? You’re already having fun.”

No. But I guess I might.

Because honestly?

Going out with my best friend sounds a hell of a lot easier than sitting alone, wondering how I lost the one person I was starting to believe in again.

By the time we step into the Howling Moose Tavern, the place is already humming. Fire’s crackling in the hearth, old rock music plays loud enough to feel it in your ribs, and a group of locals are arguing about chili recipes near the bar like it’s a contact sport.

Jace charges ahead like he owns the place, flinging open the door and soaking up the crowd like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk on party excellence. Nova follows, muttering something about how she better get fries out of this.

I trail behind them, slower, shoulders tight and jaw clenched.

It’s warm in here. Familiar. Smells like cider and spilled beer and wood smoke. But my chest still feels hollow.

Jace’s voice booms from the bar. “Drinks for my loyal followers! The gains squad is in !”

Someone actually cheers. Someone else boos. Typical Moose energy.

I drop into a barstool, resting my elbows on the counter and trying not to look like a guy who’d rather be anywhere else. I know I agreed to this, but now that I’m here, it just makes everything more intense. The empty feeling. The fact that she’s not here.

And then Nova slides onto the stool next to me, scrolling her phone.

She snorts. “Guess who texted me?”

I don’t answer. Just look over.

“Josie,” she says, too casually. “Apparently, Dee convinced her, Maya, and Gracie to come out tonight.”

I sit up straighter.

“What?”

Nova grins, watching me too closely. “She asked if we were here. Said they’d probably head over in a bit. Gracie wants cider, and Maya’s on the hunt for pool tables and attractive mistakes.”

My pulse kicks.

Josie’s coming here?

I try to play it cool, but Nova arches a brow.

“Don’t pretend like that didn’t light you up like a Christmas tree.”

“I’m not—” I start, but she holds up a finger.

“Don’t lie to me, Knox. I’ve known you too long. You’ve been a sad little meatloaf all week.”

Jace appears behind us, holding two beers and a questionable bright red shot. “What’s this about meatloaf?”

Nova takes a beer from Jace. “Josie’s coming.”

Jace’s grin widens instantly. “Good. About time. Maybe now you’ll stop walking around like a haunted lumberjack.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart’s thudding now, too fast. Too loud.

Part of me wants to run. The other part, stronger, wants to see her.

Because I miss her.

Even when we’re inches apart at work, I miss her.

And yeah, she shut me down after shift, brushed me off with that soft little smile, but I don’t want things to be done between us.

“It’s complicated, Knox,” is all she said, but maybe she’s not done.

Maybe she’s still figuring it out. Maybe she’s still thinking about me too.

Nova nudges me. “Don’t get weird when she shows up.”

“I’m not going to get weird.”

“You always get weird.”

“I do not .”

“You tried to compliment her hair yesterday and panicked halfway through and told her she smelled like ‘minty professionalism.’”

I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Okay, yeah, that was bad. I didn’t know you heard that.”

Jace slaps my back. “Breathe, man. It’s a girl. Not a hostage negotiation. Be yourself. Unless yourself says, ‘minty professionalism’ again. In which case, go with literally anything else.”

“Wow. That was wildly unhelpful.”

He sips his beer. “I’m here for vibes, not emotional intelligence.”

But even as I glare at both of them, I feel the edges of my mood shift. Just a little.

And when that door swings open and Josie walks in, cheeks flushed from the cold, Maya glittering beside her, Gracie clutching a scarf like armor, I swear the whole damn room changes.

I don’t even pretend not to stare.

She sees me.

And for a second, the noise fades.

She doesn’t smile.

But she doesn’t look away either.

And maybe that’s all the permission I need.

I slide off the barstool, carefully, like she might bolt if I move too fast. Jace lets out a quiet, “Atta boy,” behind me, but doesn’t follow. He knows this moment’s mine.

Josie’s still standing inside the door, snowflakes melting into the ends of her hair, cheeks flushed, eyes unreadable. She looks stunning in that soft, oversized sweater and tight jeans, but it’s the way she looks at me, like she’s not sure if she’s mad or relieved to see me, that guts me.

I stop in front of her. Not too close. Not touching. Just… close.

“Hey,” I say quietly, over the buzz of the bar.

She tugs one glove off, fingers smoothing her hair back like she needs something to do with her hands. “Hey.”

Maya’s already beelined to the jukebox like it’s her altar.

Gracie drifts off toward the cider list like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Dee and Nova are in the corner exchanging flirtatious smirks and trying to pretend it’s not happening, but even I can feel the slow-burn heat between them from across the bar.

And Josie? She’s still looking at me like I’ve got answers to questions she hasn’t asked yet.

“You okay?” I ask, voice low. “I know you didn’t want?—”

“I’m here,” she says, cutting me off gently. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you. I just needed a minute. Or maybe a few days.”

I freeze for half a second. Those words, I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you , land with more force than I expected. Like a weight lifting off my chest. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding my breath, bracing for rejection I couldn’t even blame her for.

She wanted to see me. Maybe not right away. Maybe not easily. But still.

I nod. “Okay. I can work with that.”

Her mouth quirks, barely there, but enough to punch air back into my lungs.

We drift toward the others, toward the chaos, but stay orbiting each other. She orders a drink. I offer to pay, and she doesn’t fight me. It’s small. But it’s something.

And by the time Maya drags us onto the dance floor, if you can call the cleared space between the fireplace and the pool tables a dance floor , the air between us has shifted.

Loosened.

I don’t know what song’s playing. Some flirty, whiskey-soaked country pop track that makes the girls laugh and the guys all pretend not to know the lyrics.

But Josie moves like the music belongs to her.

Hips swaying, eyes glittering under the low light, one hand in the air, the other wrapped around her drink.

I can’t stop watching her.

She catches me staring.

Doesn’t look away.

Instead, she drifts closer.

I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just move with her, meeting her halfway like a damn magnet. My hand finds her waist. Light. Testing.

She doesn’t pull back.

The contact is barely there, but it sears. And she lets it happen. That one small thing, her staying still instead of stepping away, undoes me more than I’d ever admit out loud.

Damn, I didn’t realize how badly I needed that. Needed her. Just to not flinch. To not retreat.

My fingers tighten the slightest bit, greedy for more even as I fight not to push. She’s here. With me. Letting me touch her like this.

And I don’t want to screw up the moment by breathing too hard.

She leans in.

Her body brushes mine, and everything, every damn thought I’ve had about her for weeks, cracks open. I feel her breath near my jaw, warm and uneven, and that pull between us, the one I’ve been trying to ignore, surges like a wave.

“You’re staring,” she says.

“Can you blame me?”

Her smile curves slowly. Dangerous. “Still full of lines, huh?”

“Only the honest ones.”

Her head tilts back slightly, eyes dancing. “So, what’s this one mean, then?”

She shifts closer, hips brushing mine, her chest just brushing my shirt. Her scent hits me. Vanilla and temptation. My hands slide around her waist without thinking, palms splayed low on her back. Her fingers trace the line of my collar, lazy and bold.

I swallow hard. “It means if you don’t want me thinking about kissing you tonight, you should probably step away.”

She doesn’t.

She doesn’t say a word.

She keeps dancing, moving with me like we’ve done this a hundred times. Like it’s natural. Like it’s inevitable.

The music keeps going. The crowd around us fades. And for a while, it’s just us—heat and rhythm and everything I’ve wanted since the day she walked into my kitchen like she owned the air I breathe.

“You’re trouble,” I murmur near her ear.

She laughs softly, eyes half lidded. “I never said I wasn’t.”

I dip my head, close enough to feel her smile against my cheek.

“Then I’m screwed,” I whisper.

She doesn’t deny it.

She presses closer, slow and sure, like she’s testing the edge of every limit we’ve both been pretending still exists.

But then, when I think she’s about to let go, Josie pulls back slightly, her fingers brushing mine as she steps away, just enough to make me chase her with my eyes.

“Don’t do that,” she says softly.

I blink, heart stuttering. “Do what?”

“Look at me like that,” she says. “Like you’ve already decided something and you’re waiting for me to catch up.”

Her voice isn’t angry. It’s quiet. Measured. But I hear the ache underneath.

“I haven’t decided anything,” I say, stepping in again, slow and careful. “I just know what I feel when I’m near you.”

She lets out a small breath, eyes flicking to mine. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Like I finally stopped holding my breath.”

Her expression wavers, but she shakes her head, turning slightly so I’m not fully in her line of sight.

“Knox,” Her voice drops. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Then tell me.” I reach out, gently catching her elbow. “Help me understand. Because this thing between us? It’s not just in my head. You feel it too. I know you do.”

“I do,” she admits, almost instantly, then curses under her breath. “Shit, I do. That’s the problem.”

“Why is it a problem?” I ask. “Why can’t this be simple?”

“Because nothing about me is simple,” she says, eyes flashing. “Because I’m not ready. Because I’ve got too much going on in my head, and if I let you in, if I let this in, I don’t know what parts of me will be left standing.”

That lands like a punch.

But I don’t flinch. I nod slowly. “Okay. Then let me be the thing that doesn’t ask you to break more pieces off yourself. Let me be something good.”

Josie stares at me for a long, charged moment. She opens her mouth, closes it. Her jaw clenches like she’s trying to hold something back.

“I don’t trust myself with you,” she finally says. “And I really don’t trust myself around you.”

“Then don’t trust yourself,” I say. “Trust me .”

She exhales, shaky and low, and something in her posture softens. Like she’s tired of the weight of pushing me away. Tired of fighting something we’ve both already admitted lives under our skin.

“Man, you’re infuriating,” she mutters, but it doesn’t have teeth anymore.

I smile faintly. “That’s fair.”

She looks up at me then, eyes glassy and unreadable. “One more dance. That’s it.”

I nod, not pushing. “One dance.”

“And if I change my mind again?—”

“Then I’ll let you go.”

She studies me for another beat, then sighs and steps back into my space.

This time, when I pull her close, she comes willingly.

There’s no more teasing. No games. Just heat and friction and the unbearable sense that this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Her cheek brushes mine. Her breath ghosts my neck. And slowly, inevitably, her walls start to crumble, brick by slow damn brick, until her fingers are curled in my shirt like she needs something to hold on to.

“I hate that you’re right about this,” she whispers.

I grin against her temple. “You can hate me in the morning.”

“I probably will.”

“Still worth it.”

She laughs, low, reluctant, and a little broken, but she doesn’t pull away.

She holds on.

And I hold her right back.