Page 80 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

That line of thought deserves neither indulgence nor continuation.

She was right to leave.

More importantly, I was wrong to let the conversation reach that point in the first place.

This arrangement works only if the structure remains intact. She’s good with Oliver. Better than good. He’s already more at ease with her than he has any right to be after this little time,and Captain has formed what appears to be a full emotional attachment. The routine is settling faster than I expected. The practical outcome is sound.

That should be the only outcome that matters.

Instead, my mind keeps returning, with steadily increasing irritation, to the way she looked when she stood up from the island, breathless and panicked and very clearly wanting the same thing she was refusing.

It’s not useful.

I check my pace on instinct and adjust half a beat slower, forcing my attention back to the path ahead. The lake air cuts through my lungs cleanly. My pulse settles, becoming harder, steadier.

That helps.

For approximately thirty seconds.

Then my phone vibrates in the zipped pocket of my jacket.

I ignore it.

Whoever it is can wait until I finish the loop.

Ten seconds later, it vibrates again.

Then once more.

I exhale sharply, slow to a stop near a bench overlooking the tree-lined walk, and pull the phone out with the full expectation that this’ll be Sara, Jeffrey, or someone in legal who believes urgency improves before coffee.

It isn’t.

The name on the screen catches me off guard enough that I actually stop moving.

Bee:You alive or did corporate finally eat you?

Bee:Need a favor

Bee:Before you say no, hear me out

Bee:I’m bringing someone to Chicago soon

Bee:New girlfriend

Bee:She likes fancy things and I intend to weaponize that

Bee:Can I bring her to the gala?

I stare at the screen, then laugh once under my breath despite myself.

Only one person I know would refer to impressing a woman as weaponizing luxury.

I resume walking, slower now, scrolling up just far enough to confirm what I already know. Months since our last conversation. A handful of messages about old code architecture, one exchange about a flight control paper he’d sent me at two in the morning, and before that, another long gap. Typical of us now. Familiar enough to feel intact, infrequent enough to confirm how far time has moved.

Still, there’s comfort in the rhythm of it.

My oldest friend, technically speaking, though “friend” undersells the specific sort of history involved.