Page 70 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Right, but you’re just… giving it to me.”

He seems genuinely confused by my shock. “You need to be able to buy what’s necessary.”

“Yes, but most people don’t hand over what looks like a small black rectangle of unlimited power on day two.”

“It isn’t unlimited.”

“Comforting.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Use it for what the household needs. Food, supplies, activities, clothing if required… anything related to Oliver’s routine. Keep receipts if it helps you organize, but I’m not going to audit whether you bought the expensive applesauce.”

I stare at him.

Because what the hell?

Who does that?

Who trusts someone they barely know, someone they definitely know inotherways, unfortunately, with their home and their child and now their money, all like it’s perfectly normal?

“You don’t even know me,” I say quietly.

“Yes,” he says. “I do.”

The room goes very quiet.

Because he doesn’t just mean the interview.

He means the plane.

The fight, the tension, the terrible, reckless thing we did that I've spent the last forty-eight hours aggressively trying to file undercatastrophic lapse in judgment.

And now it’s standing between us in the kitchen, wearing a loosened tie and handing me a credit card.

My throat goes dry.

“That isn't what I meant,” I say, because if I don’t say something, the silence is going to combust.

“I know.” His voice is calm, but there’s more under it now. “But I know enough.”

I should push back, should say that knowing what I look like against an airplane sink and knowing whether I’m trustworthy aren't the same thing.

Instead, I hear myself say, “That’s still… a lot.”

He nods once. “It’s practical.”

“That's such a rich man answer.”

His eyes flash. “Is it?”

“Yes,” I say. “Because to me, this feels wildly personal.”

His gaze flicks down to the card, then back up to me. “To me, it means I trust your judgment.”

And there it is again.

That disorienting, impossible thing he does sometimes, where he says something so direct and stripped down it knocks the sarcasm right out of me.

I look at the card again.