Page 89 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

Oliver points between us. “You talk a lot.”

“We’re bonding,” I tell him.

He thinks about it. “Like glue?”

“Exactly like glue.”

He nods, satisfied.

By the time the lunch rush starts to taper, I realize I’ve been here longer than planned.

And that I don’t want to leave.

Not because I’m avoiding the penthouse exactly.

Okay, maybe a little because of that.

But mostly because this feels good. Standing here talking to someone who doesn’t know me as Bryce’s ex, or someone who needs something, or a woman one mistake away from having to start over again.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed that.

Sophie wipes down the counter again and gives me a look.

“What?” I ask.

“You should come out with me on Friday.”

I blink. “Out?”

“Yes, Grandma. Out. Drinks. Music. Human interaction after dark.”

I let out a laugh. “Wow. You make it sound both appealing and medically necessary.”

“It's both.”

I hesitate.

Not because I don’t want to. I do, very much, actually.

But there’s still that reflex in me, the one shaped by months of Bryce and years of precarious finances and too many situations where saying yes to fun felt irresponsible when life was already wobbling.

“Come on,” Sophie says, reading my face like it’s subtitled. “You need one night where you're not responsible for a child, a dog, or your own tragic sexual tension.”

I nearly drop my coffee. “You're never letting that go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

I groan. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know.”

I glance over at Oliver, who's now sitting on the floor beside Captain and explaining airplanes to a toddler who didn't ask.

“Friday,” Sophie says, softer now. “Just a few drinks. Nothing wild unless we earn it.”

I smile despite myself. “That's exactly what someone says before things become wild.”

She presses a hand to her heart. “I’m offended by how well you know me already.”