Page 132 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Captain is circling her suitcase by then like a narcotics dog who’s very bad at his job.

Within five minutes, Luci has distributed gifts, charmed Oliver, declared Captain “a big stupid prince,” and somehow made the entire apartment feel louder, warmer, and several degrees less emotionally repressed.

It’s honestly kind of magical.

Ethan watches the drama from the kitchen, one hand around a glass of water, and I catch a glimpse of his expression I didn’t expect.

Relief, maybe. Or amusement softened.

Luci follows my gaze and leans into me the second Ethan looks away. “Oh, you're in trouble.”

I elbow her lightly. “Behave.”

“Never.”

Dinner is loud in the best possible way.

Since I’m technically off work once Luci arrives and Ethan insisted earlier that we “weren’t going to create unnecessary domestic strain out of obligation,” we order food instead. Luci reacts to the spread like she’s been invited to dine with minor royalty, which, to be fair, in this apartment, she basically has.

“Be honest,” she says around a bite of pasta, “do rich people know their olive oil tastes different or do they just lie to each other?”

Ethan, seated at the head of the table with the expression of a man who has absolutely had stranger conversations in his home this week, replies, “Some of them lie. Some are merely insufferable.”

Luci points at him with her fork. “See? I like him.”

I choke on my drink.

Add that to the list of things I didn't need to hear out loud.

Oliver, who’s spent the evening delighting in Luci’s total lack of normal boundaries, laughs so hard milk nearly comes out of his nose.

Captain gets an unauthorized piece of bread and is immediately rebuked by everyone except Ethan, who appears to have accepted that discipline where the dog is concerned is mostly theoretical.

By the time Oliver’s finally wrangled into bed, with Luci dramatically agreeing to read exactly one page of a plane book before claiming all further negotiations violate her civil liberties, the whole apartment's glowing with late-evening warmth.

Ethan disappears into his office for a while after that, work pulling him back the way it always seems to, and Luci and I retreat to my room with drinks, snacks, and the sacred sisterly understanding that sleep is for weaker women.

The second the door shuts, she turns to me and says, “Okay. Tell me everything.”

“Everything is such a large word.”

“Use your best judgment.”

I climb onto the bed cross-legged with my glass while Luci steals half my blanket and all available dignity.

We gossip first, because that’s what we do best: home, her latest almost relationship with a man she refers to only as “that decorative drummer,” Bryce’s continued existence, and Sophie, who Luci already adores based on my description alone.

Then, inevitably, we circle back to Ethan, and the impossible, ridiculous shape of my life now.

“So,” Luci says, stretching out on her stomach and kicking her feet up like she’s fifteen and not twenty-five with the soul of a champagne gremlin. “How bad is it?”

I take a sip of water. “That depends what you mean.”

“How obsessed are you?”

I nearly spill the glass. “Luci.”

She grins. “Addy. You moved into a billionaire widower pilot’s penthouse after sleeping with him on a plane. This is either the beginning of your villain era or your third-act emotional breakdown. I need details.”