Page 155 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

The phrasing is careless enough that I almost miss the faint irritation it causes.

Domestic side.

An odd thing to notice.

An even odder thing to hate.

I say only, “Seven.”

Then the doors close.

By the time I get home, evening has already settled over the city. The penthouse is warm when I step inside, the kind of lived-in warmth that changes the scale of the space without altering anything visible. Light from the kitchen spills into the hall. Somewhere deeper in the apartment, Captain’s nails click against the floor with the unmistakable speed of approaching enthusiasm.

Then he appears at a run and collides into my legs.

“Good evening to you too,” I say.

He circles once, tail moving as a structural hazard, then charges off again toward the kitchen as if to announce my arrival to the rest of the household.

I take off my coat and follow.

Addy is at the island with a pen in one hand and a grocery list in front of her, reading the back of a pasta box with the concentration of someone evaluating legal language. She glances up when I enter.

“Hi,” she says.

“Good evening.”

She sets the box down. “You’re later than usual.”

“I had company.”

Her brows lift slightly. “At work?”

“Yes.” I loosen my tie and set my phone on the counter. “An old friend was in town.”

“Oh,” she says. “Nice friend? Or one of those old friends men keep around for mysterious reasons and mutual blackmail.”

“Somewhere in the middle.” I glance toward the living room. “Where’s Oliver?”

“Building an airport out of magnetic tiles and issuing regulations to Captain, who isn't complying.”

“That tracks.”

I move closer to the island and nod toward the list. “What’s this?”

“I was trying to work out dinner for tomorrow and accidentally found myself in a spiral about whether children need variety or whether all nutritional stability is basically just yogurt in different forms.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It was.”

I rest one hand against the counter. “We’re hosting dinner on Saturday.”

That gets her full attention. “Weare?”

“Yes.”

Then, with entirely unnecessary satisfaction: “Interesting use of the word we.”