Page 190 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

After dinner, we build a pillow control tower, supervise two emergency landings, read three books, argue over pajamas, and spend six full minutes looking for a toy plane that was, in a shocking twist, already in Oliver’s bed.

By the time I tuck him in, my good mood has settled into a tired warmth.

Oliver snuggles under the covers, eyelids heavy but not quite surrendered. “Sunshine?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to the fancy plane party?”

I smile. “The gala? Yes.”

“With Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

He nods sleepily. “He looks less lonely when you’re there.”

Oh. Well… great. Just stab me directly in the heart, why don’t you?

I sit very still because five-year-olds shouldn't be allowed to casually say things that unravel adults.

“That’s sweet,” I manage.

“It’s true.”

He yawns, already drifting.

I brush a curl back from his forehead. “Go to sleep, little pilot.”

“Night, Sunshine.”

“Night, Oliver.”

I leave the room quietly, closing the door most of the way.

Then I stand in the hall.

He looks less lonely when you’re there.

Cool. Wonderful. Very normal thing to have echoing around in your chest when you’re trying not to fall catastrophically in love with your boss.

I should go to my room. That would be the smart thing, the professional thing, the thing a woman with survival instincts would do.

Instead, I find myself walking toward Ethan’s office, because apparently my survival instincts are decorative.

The door is partly open. I hear nothing at first. No typing. No voices. Then the faint sound of a page turning. A trackpad.

I knock gently against the doorframe.

Ethan looks up.

And there it is.

That face.