Page 156 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

I ignore that. “Bee and his girlfriend.”

She stills for a fraction of a second, then says, “Bee?”

“Yes. We built the original stabilization framework together before he left the company, and he’s come to visit. He came by the office. He was useful.”

“Wow.” She looks up again. “You saying someone was useful feels like a major professional love language.”

“It isn’t.”

“Sure.”

I decide not to argue that point. “They’ll be here at seven.”

Addy taps the pen against the paper. “Okay.”

“You sound concerned.”

“I’m assessing.”

“That sounds worse.”

“It might be.” Her eyes narrow with mock seriousness. “What level of dinner are we talking about?”

I look at her. “Level?”

“Yes. Casual but expensive? Effortless billionaire chic? Formal enough that I need to pretend I know which fork means diplomacy? There are categories.”

I take in the current state of the kitchen, the list, the pen, the cardigan sliding slightly down one shoulder.

“Casual.” I add, “But competent.”

“That's such an Ethan answer.” She makes a face at me, then flips the paper over and writesSATURDAY DINNERacross the top in large letters. “Fine. Casual but competent. Is your friend high maintenance?”

“Yes.”

“Emotionally or gastronomically?”

“Yes.”

She laughs, quiet but genuine, and my chest eases before I can stop it.

“Okay,” she says, leaning over the page. “Then we need information. What does he eat?”

“Everything.”

“That’s not helpful. What about the girlfriend?”

“Less clear.”

“Great.” She points the pen at me. “This is exactly how dinner parties become crimes.”

I pull out the stool opposite her and sit. “It’s four people. Hardly a party.”

She gives me a look. “In rich people homes, four guests and good lighting absolutely counts.”

“I’ll note your expertise.”

“You should.” She scans the page. “Do they drink wine?”