Page 48 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Josie

By the time I step through the back entrance of The Marrow, I’m already sweating... and not because of the heat.

My palms are clammy, my stomach’s tied up in knots, and my heart keeps doing this anxious little two-step every time I think about walking through the kitchen doors.

It’s stupid.

It should be stupid.

I’ve worked here for months. I know the stations, the flow, the quirks. I know Gracie likes her knives exactly where she left them, and that the fryers have a weird hiss when they’re ready. I know the regulars, the chaos, the rhythm of a slammed dinner service.

But now?

Now it feels like walking into a stage play where I forgot all my lines.

I hover in the hallway for a beat, fingers picking at the fraying hem of my apron, then force myself to take a breath and walk in.

The kitchen’s loud. Hot. Alive.

Gracie’s the first to see me. She’s at the grill, flipping something one-handed like she was born doing it, and her eyes lock on me the second I step in.

“Well, well,” she calls, her grin already wide. “Look who decided she needed The Marrow just as much as we need her!”

I blink. “I... what?”

She smirks as she flings her arms around me. “I’m so glad you decided to stay. Silver Peak wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

My heart swells, throat tight as her warm embrace fills me completely, reassuring me that staying in Silver Peak is about more than just Knox.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Come on,” she says, slapping a clean apron into my hands. “We’re already buried. No time for a slow warm-up.”

That’s fine by me. I don’t want time to think. Or talk. Or notice how every pair of eyes in the kitchen lands on me the second I move past the swinging doors.

I duck my head and start toward the prep station, pretending not to hear the murmurs about me.

I focus on tying the apron around my waist. Nice and tight. Like armor.

Gracie doesn’t acknowledge the whispers. She just points toward the stack of orders piling up on the pass. “You take sauté. Wes’s drowning, and I know you can handle it.”

“Got it.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

I slide into place beside Wes, who gives me a look that’s halfway between “thank God” and “good luck.” I offer a tight smile, then throw myself into the work. Oil. Pan. Toss. Season. Plate. Move.

I let muscle memory take over. I let the rhythm drown out the nerves.

Still, I can feel it. The heat of their curiosity. The way the kitchen is just a few degrees warmer, not from the burners but from the attention clinging to my skin.

Is my return really that interesting?

I mean... yes, I left in dramatic fashion. And yes, the rumors probably reached every table at The Marrow’s Sunday brunch. But this? This is something else.

The dining room is packed. Not just busy, buzzing. Like the kind of buzz that comes before the curtain rises on opening night. And everyone’s in on it except me.

I glance out through the pass, just long enough to catch Maya’s wide smile and Dee’s wildly sparkly eyes.

They’re dressed like they’re going to prom.

My mom’s at the same table, wearing the good earrings.

The ones she only breaks out for weddings or funerals.

Nova’s sipping from a champagne flute like this is normal.

It’s not normal.

And the rest of the tables? All regulars. Familiar faces. Not a single stranger in sight.

Something is happening.

Before I can process any of it, the last order goes out.

The kitchen goes quiet.

Too quiet.

Gracie slides a hand to my shoulder and squeezes. “You should step out for a second.”

“What?”

She doesn’t answer. She just nudges me toward the swinging doors with a smug little smile that says, You’ll see .

I step out into the dining room slowly, cautiously, my heart thudding so hard it’s practically trying to break free of my ribcage.

Then the lights dim.

The music changes.

Soft, romantic piano chords float out from hidden speakers, and I whip around like someone hit me with a spotlight.

“Tuck?”

The crowd parts like a movie scene, and there he is, Knox’s dog trotting through the restaurant wearing a satin bowtie and a tiny velvet ring box tied to his collar with a silk ribbon.

Someone gasps. I think it’s me.

Tuck trots up like this is his grandest moment, tail wagging like a metronome of chaos and cuteness. He stops in front of me and lets out a single bark. On cue.

I drop to my knees. “What is happening?”

From behind the bar, someone shouts, “Look behind you!”

And I do.

And I die.

Because Knox Knightly, six-foot-five grump, ex-NFL legend, and the father of the twins currently doing somersaults in my uterus, is standing in the middle of The Marrow in a dark navy suit and a crooked tie, looking at me like I’m the only thing in the universe that makes sense.

And oh. He is soft.

His eyes. His smile. The way his hands are clenched like he’s holding onto something big, like he’s holding onto everything.

He starts walking toward me, and my whole body goes still.

“Hey,” he says, voice just above a whisper as he stops in front of me.

I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. I’m completely undone.

Knox takes the box from Tuck’s collar, then looks at me like I invented the sun.

“I used to think I was done,” he says. “That the best parts of my life had already happened. That love was something I didn’t get again.”

He pauses, and his voice cracks just enough to wreck me.

“But then you walked into my kitchen with that crooked smile and impossible optimism and made me fall so stupidly, completely in love with you that I forgot how to be anything but yours.”

I blink fast. My mascara is not waterproof. I press my hand to my belly, smiling to myself.

“And now, every day, I get to fall harder. Especially with all the joy we have to come.”

He takes a shaky breath and drops to one knee.

“I want the late nights. The cold coffee. The stretch marks and toddler tantrums. The burnt cookies and dance parties in the kitchen. You. I want all of it. Forever.”

He opens the box.

“Will you marry me, sunshine?”

The room holds its breath.

I forget how to exist.

Then I laugh. A big, watery, ugly cry laugh, because this is insane and perfect and Knox Knightly is on one knee in the middle of a restaurant with his dog wearing formalwear.

“Yes,” I gasp, nearly sobbing as I fall into him. “Yes, yes, yes.”

The room explodes.

Gracie bursts into tears and shouts, “Yes! That was beautiful!”

Dee screams like she just won the lottery. Nova whistles. My mom starts sobbing into a cloth napkin. Tuck barks so loudly that someone claps.

Knox stands and swings me into his arms, spinning me once while everyone claps and cheers, and a server accidentally sets off the champagne pop too early and soaks a nearby table.

It is a disaster.

It is perfect.

It is exactly, wildly, us.

And as Knox kisses me in the middle of the madness, I realize this isn’t the end of our story.

It’s the beginning.