Page 54 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“Grilled cheese,” he says immediately.

“Excellent. We’ve achieved consensus.”

“And for you?” she asks.

I hesitate because here's the thing: I don’t have much money. Yes, I have a job now, and yes, technically I’m living in a penthouse, but I still have motel brain. Broke brain.

Still… I’m exhausted, my feet hurt, and I’ve been holding myself together with caffeine and spite for the better part of a week.

So maybe I deserve one thing.

“One drip coffee,” I say. “And… maybe a turkey sandwich?”

“Coming right up.”

Oliver tugs my sleeve. “Can I have the hot chocolate?”

I look at his face.

Then at the girl behind the counter.

Then back at him.

“You know what? Yes. Live dangerously.”

He nods solemnly, as if accepting a military honor.

I pay, trying not to wince internally at the total, and carry our little tray toward a table near the toy corner.

“This place is nice,” I say.

Oliver is already eyeing the blocks. “Can I go after two bites?”

“We’re negotiating already?”

“I need to play.”

I laugh. “Your father warned me about this.”

He looks pleased.

We settle in.

Oliver eats exactly two bites before looking at me with exaggerated patience.

I narrow my eyes. “You planned this.”

He chews. Swallows. “Can I go now?”

I sigh dramatically. “Yes. But I need to be able to see you.”

He nods and slides off the chair, blue plane in hand, already heading toward the toy corner where two other kids are building something unstable out of blocks.

I wrap my hands around my coffee cup and exhale slowly.

This is nice. It’s the kind of small, ordinary moment I haven’t had in what feels like forever.

A child happily occupied. Food and a warm seat by the window. No Bryce, motel, or airport humiliation.