Page 4 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

CHAPTER THREE

Knox

The hammering pauses long enough for me to catch the sound of my own breath in the quiet.

It’s not silent, not with drills whining in the background and boots scuffing against concrete, but it’s close enough to peace.

Close enough to focus.

I stand dead center in the dining room of The Marrow, hands on my hips, eyes on the exposed beam running overhead.

The space is almost done. Tables are in.

Lighting’s hung. The banquettes along the far wall are still wrapped in plastic, but I can see the shape of the room now.

All clean lines, raw textures, black steel against warm wood.

There’s an open kitchen in the back, anchored like a heartbeat. Gas burners are already in place. Plates are stacked. Stainless steel is gleaming. It’s all exactly how I envisioned it.

Minimal. Controlled. Mine.

“Final inspections are booked for tomorrow,” Martin says, not looking up from his iPad. “Lighting install’s finished, banquettes will be unwrapped this afternoon, and walk-in passed temp regulation this morning.”

I nod, scanning the space again. There’s still dust in the corners and tape on the baseboards, but this is it. It’s real now. Tangible.

I’ve seen it like this since the day I bought the building. Moody and sleek, intimate and cool. The kind of place where the food speaks louder than the crowd. Where I don’t have to speak at all.

A new chapter, I told myself.

A clean break.

I just hope Silver Peak is the right place to do it.

“The bar’s polished and stocked,” Martin adds. “You’re good to go.”

“Great. That’s good news.”

I move toward the pass-through, trailing my fingers along the smooth curve of the concrete counter.

It’s cold. Solid.

Unlike the way I’ve felt since last night.

“Hey, man,” one of the contractors calls from across the room, too loud for the early morning. He’s young, probably fresh out of trade school, with that overeager grin and zero concept of personal space. “You really Knox Knightly? Like… the Knox Knightly?”

I glance up from the plans, just long enough to pin him with a look. “Yeah.”

His grin widens. “No shit. My dad’s obsessed with you. Still watches your highlight reel from that Dallas playoff run, said you played like a man possessed.”

I exhale through my nose. “That was a long time ago.”

“Still,” he pushes, stepping closer, “was it true what they said? That you played that whole season with a torn rotator cuff?”

My jaw ticks. “Partial tear. Managed it.”

“Damn. And then you just… walked away? What actually happened?”

I pause and level him with a look. “Is this relevant to the wiring?”

He blinks. “Uh, no. No, I was?—”

“Then maybe get back to it. Hood system’s still half wired.”

The smile drops from his face. “Right. Yeah. Sorry, man.”

His mouth snaps shut, and Martin gives me a tight smile. “Sorry. He’s new.”

I wave it off. I don’t care if the guy’s new. I care that the past keeps clawing its way into the present.

That part of my life is over. It died the day I walked off the field and swore I wouldn’t step back into the spotlight. I’m not here to talk about football. I’m not here to be recognized. I’m here to build something real . Quiet. Clean. No cameras. No chaos.

No mistakes.

I drag a hand down my face and shake off the tension, but it clings like humidity.

Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about her.

Josie.

That’s the only thing I know. Her name.

She tasted my food, moaned , actually moaned , and smiled like I’d handed her a piece of heaven on a paper plate. And then she looked at me like I was the one who could make a girl like her stay.

She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and maybe a little rain. She sang like heartbreak and honey. And when she laughed?

It cracked me open in a way I’ve been trying to keep sealed shut for a long damn time.

She’s burned into the backs of my eyes like I stared at the sun too long.

And that’s a problem.

Because I don’t do sweet. I don’t do soft. I don’t do people.

Especially not ones who make me forget why I built walls in the first place.

I woke up to cold sheets and the faint scent of her still in the air. No note. No number. Only the sound of a cab door slamming and the taillights disappearing down my drive before I could even pull on a shirt.

And I have to admit that left me even more intrigued.

I pace toward the kitchen, ignoring the buzz of my phone in my back pocket.

I already know who it is. Nova Rivera, my assistant. Probably updating me on some licensing forms or a media request I won’t answer. I don’t need more headlines. I don’t need any attention at all.

I need this place finished. I need purpose.

I need quiet.

But my phone keeps vibrating, persistent as hell, and I finally yank it out and swipe to answer.

“Yes?” I bark, not even bothering with a hello.

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Nova deadpans. “Just checking to see if you’re still alive, since you ignored the last three texts.”

“I’m in the building. You’ll get your updates when I have them.”

“You know, for someone who’s hiding from the spotlight, you sure do have a flair for dramatic tension,” she mutters. “Also, the liquor license paperwork came back incomplete. Again. They need your signature and proof of ownership.”

I run a hand through my hair and exhale hard. “Send it to the office. I’ll handle it tonight.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll forget, or you’ll cold plunge your memory into oblivion like you always do. Just sign it now, and I’ll have a courier grab it.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “Nova.”

“I know that tone. That’s your ‘ I hate everyone and might flip a table ’ voice.”

“Maybe I just hate paperwork.”

“You hate everything .”

Fair.

She sighs. “Look, I’ll keep the press vultures away. But try not to scare the health inspector this time, okay? We’re not trying to be the next viral Yelp horror story.”

I grunt. “No promises.”

She pauses. “You okay?”

I hesitate a beat too long. “Fine.”

“Liar,” she says quietly, but she doesn’t push it. “All right. I’ll keep wrangling the suits. Try to smile today. Or don’t. Just try not to murder anyone before opening.”

“Noted.”

I hang up without another word, sliding the phone back into my pocket.

But her voice keeps echoing, threaded with laughter and heat.

I don’t even know her. Not really. Just a girl with flushed cheeks and a cider cup, who walked up to my booth like she was chasing something and found me instead.

I shouldn’t have let her get under my skin.

I shouldn’t have noticed the way her lips wrapped around my name.

I shouldn’t have smirked.

But I did.

And now I’m standing in the middle of a half-finished restaurant I’ve poured millions into, wondering if she’ll show up again.

God, I hope she doesn’t.

Because I’m not built for temptation anymore.

And Josie?

She’s the kind of temptation that doesn’t knock.

She sings.

And damn if I’m not still hearing the echo.