Page 33 of Triplet Trouble For My Billionaire Boss

The table is surrounded by bright coolers filled with juice boxes, water bottles, and sliced fruit. The scent of fresh oranges and strawberries lingers in the air. A group of volunteers stands behind it, handing out drinks to a small crowd of kids and a few adults.

As we wait in line, I scan the field, trying to spot an event that might catch his interest. We’ve already skipped the sack race and the three-legged race, both of which Robbie insisted were “too loud” and “too hard.”

“What about the egg-and-spoon race?” I ask, pointing to a quieter station nearby. “That one looks fun.”

Robbie glances over but doesn’t respond.

“Two juices, please,” I say to the cheery volunteer.

Robbie stays close to me as we wait. His eyes dart nervously toward a group of kids who’ve just joined the line beside us, their excited laughter filling the air.

“They’re doing tug-o-war next,” one of the kids says loudly. “We just need one more person.”

Robbie inches closer to me, his hand now gripping the fabric of my shirt like a lifeline.

I glance down at him, watching as his hazel eyes flick toward the kids before darting away. He looks like he’s hoping they won’t noticehim.

“Here you go,” a volunteer says, handing me two cups of juice. I thank her and crouch down, holding one cup out to Robbie.

“Here you go, bud.”

He takes the cup with both hands, his grip careful but firm. He doesn’t drink right away, just holds it like he’s using it as a shield.

The kids at the table keep talking about their tug-o-war plans, their voices lively and filled with anticipation.

“We’ll be the strongest team out there,” one boy boasts, puffing out his chest.

“Not if we can’t find one more person,” a girl points out, rolling her eyes.

I glance at Robbie again. His head is down, his focus seemingly fixed on his juice, but I can tell he’s listening.

I take a sip of my drink, an idea forming in my mind.

“How about we check out the tug-o-war station next?” I say casually.

Robbie finally looks up at me, his brow furrowing. “I thought you wanted to do the egg-and-spoon race.”

“We can do that after,” I say with a smile. “Then, when it gets hotter, we can do the water balloon toss. We have plenty of time.”

He hesitates, his fingers tightening around the cup.

“Let’s just go see what’s up,” I add gently.

Reluctantly, Robbie nods.

Together, we make our way toward the tug-o-war section, following the group of kids as they laugh and joke with each other. Robbie stays close, his steps slower than mine, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.

The station is set up on a stretch of grass marked off with bright orange cones. A thick rope lies coiled in the center, its frayed ends resting on the ground.

A volunteer stands nearby, clipboard in hand, explaining the rules to a small group of kids.

“Two teams, five people each,” she says. “First team to pull the rope across the line wins.”

Robbie’s grip on my hand tightens as we step into the line. The same kids ahead of us are bouncing on their heels, their excitement practically vibrating off them.

When it’s our turn, I approach the volunteer with a friendly smile.

“Hi,” I say. “We’d like to join in.”

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