Page 129 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

That's also annoyingly true.

I lower my voice. “We’re being professional.”

“Sure.”

“We are.”

She takes in my expression. “You’re saying that like someone reciting affirmations in a burning building.”

I should deny it.

Instead, I stare into my coffee like it might offer moral guidance.

“Nothing’s happening,” I say finally.

Sophie hums. “And how tragic for you.”

I glare at her.

She lifts both hands. “I’m not saying do anything reckless. I’m just saying your face right now has all the energy of a woman trying not to climb something expensive.”

I laugh so hard I nearly regret it because the room tilts again, not much, just enough that I pause and close my eyes briefly.

Sophie catches it immediately. “Okay. No. That’s not nothing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look pale.”

I throw my hands up. “I’m fine. Really. Probably just stress.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “And the dizziness?”

“Okay, yes, maybe Chicago is trying to kill me specifically.”

“Drink water.”

“Yes, mother.”

She leans back, satisfied enough with having bossed me around, and changes the subject to a customer who tried to flirt with her yesterday by comparing espresso to destiny, which is so terrible I nearly forgive the universe for my current state.

By the time Oliver and I leave, I do actually feel a little better. Maybe Sophie’s bean anxiety accusation was clinically sound.

We head back across the street, Oliver swinging our joined hands and talking nonstop about how planes should probably have snack buttons for emergencies.

“Honestly,” I tell him, “that’s one of the smartest things anyone’s said to me all week.”

“I know.”

The confidence. Incredible.

Back at the penthouse, the afternoon settles into an easy rhythm. Oliver colors, Captain attempts theft of three separate crayons and succeeds with one, and I answer a video call from Luci while Oliver’s occupied and instantly regret not turning my volume down first.

“Bitch!”

I yank the phone away from my ear as I head into the darkest corner of the kitchen. “Jeez. Luci.”

Luci’s face fills the screen, sunglasses on despite the fact that she appears to be indoors, lip gloss gleaming like she’s just won a small war. “I’m packed.”