Page 159 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Addy taps the pen once more against the paper. “All right. Menu options.”

I look at the page. “You’ve already made categories.”

“Of course I have. You brought me variables and no operating system.”

I should probably leave her to it.

Instead, I stay where I am while she talks through possible mains, side dishes, dessert options, the relative social meaning of roasted chicken versus pasta, and why men with too much money always underestimate the persuasive power of good bread.

I offer practical input where necessary.

She rejects some of it on principle.

I reject one of her dessert ideas because it sounds awful.

She accuses me of having no whimsy.

I tell her whimsy has never improved a risk profile.

She informs me that's the least sexy sentence ever spoken in a kitchen.

I don’t respond to that at all.

By the time we finish, there's an actual plan. Sensible, good, understated. The sort of dinner that suggests confidence rather than performance. Addy seems satisfied with it. More importantly, she seems entertained.

I find, unexpectedly, that I am too.

When she finally sets the pen down, she looks over the page, then at me. “There. Casual. Competent. Socially acceptable. Minimal chance of collapse.”

“You make that sound ambitious.”

“With your friends?” she says dryly. “It is.”

I stand, take the list, and glance over it once. “This will work.”

“Obviously.”

I hand it back. Our fingers brush for only a second. Her breath catches so faintly I might have imagined it if I didn’t know better. Neither of us comments on it.

Instead, she takes the paper and says, “I’ll handle the shopping tomorrow.”

“I’ll have the wine delivered.”

She nods. “And flowers.”

“I won’t forget the flowers.”

“Look at you,” she says. “Domesticated.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No, probably not.” Her smile returns, smaller now. “But it’s cute that you tried.”

“Don’t let it damage your professional respect for me.”

“That was never in danger.”

Oliver shouts from the living room that Captain has now violated “international airport law,” which is apparently severe enough to require adult intervention.