All Chapters of After Hours: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The sun had just begun its slow climb when Alli stirred. A soft breeze fluttered the bedroom curtains, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and rain-soaked grass. Morning was gentle here—peaceful in a way that reminded her why she’d come back, why she’d stayed. The farmhouse held the warmth of home now, not the ghosts of loss.Johnny’s arm tightened around her waist as she moved to sit up. His body curved naturally against hers, like it had been molded to fit every inch of her. She smiled down at him—his hair still messy from sleep, lashes resting against tanned cheeks, one hand sprawled protectively over her growing belly.Six months pregnant. Six months of swollen ankles, weird cravings, and terrifying joy. The twins kicked softly beneath his palm, as if greeting him. Alli pressed her hand on top of his, and his eyes blinked open in response.“Mornin’, darlin’,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep. “They sayin’ hi?”She nodded. “Your daughter’s been doing ballet since three a.m. And your

The Hollow was quiet in the mornings, the kind of peace that only came after years of chaos. Alli stood behind the bar, not because she had to anymore—she had a full staff now—but because it felt like home. Even six months pregnant and aching in places she didn’t know could ache, she still needed to see it, touch it, feel her mother’s legacy humming beneath her fingers.This bar had been her mother’s dream, not her father’s. Her mother had poured every drop of her soul into it. When she passed, Alli couldn’t let it go. And when her father died unexpectedly in his sleep, the estate left everything to her, but that didn’t stop others from trying to stake a claim. The legal mess that followed had nearly broken her. But she didn’t break.They tried to take The Hollow from her. Said she wasn’t ready, said she was overwhelmed, said it should go to the state, or to some half-relative with a shady attorney. But the court saw through it. Eventually. After months of fighting and fear and paperw

The Gulf breeze kissed Alli’s skin as she stepped onto the deck in nothing but one of Johnny’s old button-ups, the hem fluttering around her bare thighs. Below, the ocean rolled in slow and steady, the rhythmic hush of waves a lullaby that whispered: you made it. You’re safe. You’re his.And God, she was.She leaned on the railing, eyes closed, breathing it all in. The salt. The pine. The soft laughter from the man inside who had made her his wife just two days ago.“I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Johnny’s voice came low behind her. His hands slid around her waist, warm and certain. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then another to her neck, where her skin jumped beneath the heat of his mouth.“I needed a second to believe this is real,” she whispered. “That I’m really yours.”“You’re mine, baby. Every breath, every inch. You always were.”He turned her gently to face him. The moonlight painted him in silver and shadow—those blue eyes soft and stormy, curls damp from his

It started with a sigh.Not the kind of sigh that meant she was annoyed, or tired, or hungry—though all three were daily occurrences at six-and-a-half months pregnant.This sigh was different.It was a quiet one, as Alli stood in her office at The Hollow, staring at the week’s staffing schedule Marc had taped to the corkboard.He’d filled in every shift. Covered every delivery. Handled the liquor order. She hadn’t even asked.She placed a hand on her belly and whispered, “You see this? He doesn’t need me here every day.”The twins kicked like they agreed.That night, she brought it up over dinner.Johnny was sitting at the table, feeding John spoonfuls of mashed potatoes while telling some wild story about a broken-down truck and a raccoon in the engine.Alli waited until John ran off to the living room, covered in butter and giggles, before sliding her plate away.“I think I’m ready to step back from the bar. Full time.”Johnny looked up, not surprised. Not even a blink.“I think you

The farmhouse had never looked so bright.Balloons in soft lavender and pale blue floated along the porch rails. A giant hand-painted sign read Welcome Baby Warren Twins! with two cartoon rattles dangling from the corners. Folding tables were covered in pastel linens, stacked with cupcakes, sweet tea, and finger foods only Southerners would dare serve with pride—deviled eggs, mini ham sliders, macaroni salad, and enough potato chips to feed a small army.It was one week until Alli’s scheduled C-section.And today was all about celebrating.She sat under the canopy of the old oak tree in the backyard, tucked into a pillowy armchair Marc insisted on hauling from her living room.“You’re not sitting in some flimsy plastic thing,” he’d said with a scowl. “You’re the damn guest of honor.”Alli was radiant—even swollen and sore and cradling her belly like it weighed the whole world. Her sundress was cream with little sunflowers, her reddish hair braided into a crown, and her feet propped on