As the door swings open, the sound of tiny feet pattering across the hardwood floors echoes through our massive hallway. The kids, faces lit up with joy, sprint towards the entrance, their voices filling the house as they scream in unison, "Daddy!" Walter, always ready for them, knelt down and scooped them up in his arms, laughing in that deep, comforting way that made everything seem perfect no matter how chaotic it got.

He still wearing his crisp white chef’s coat, embroidered with his name, the sleeves slightly rolled up to reveal his toned forearms. His tall frame filled the doorway, and the slight sheen of sweat from the kitchen clung to his skin, making him look even more rugged than usual.

The faint, intoxicating scent of smoked meats, spices, and fresh herbs clung to him—an irresistible mix of food and masculinity that instantly made the house feel warmer. His hair was tousled, probably from running his fingers through it during the night’s rush.

Right behind him, a few of his employees followed in, trying not to seem too out of place. "Hey, Mrs. Walter," they greeted you with warm smiles. You raised an eyebrow, a little surprised at the unexpected company.

Before you could ask, Walter stood up, walking over to you with that playful, guilty grin he wore whenever he knew he was in trouble—but the kind of trouble he thought he could sweet-talk his way out of. He slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you in just enough to let the smell of him wrap around you. “Sorry, honey,” he murmured, voice low and apologetic, “I forgot to mention… we’re having a party here tonight.”