Page 66 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"Let them explore. Houses are meant to be lived in."
Elena tugged on his pant leg, and he looked down at her with an expression I couldn't quite read. She lifted her arms, the universal signal for being picked up, and he hesitated for only a moment before scooping her into his arms. The movement wasawkward at first, uncertain, but when she giggled and wrapped her small arms around his neck, his posture relaxed.
I watched them together, my chest tightening with emotions I couldn't name. Elena chattered about the big windows and the pretty lights, and Duncan listened with the same focused attention he gave to business presentations.
"She's got strong opinions," he said, glancing at me over her head.
"They all do. Fair warning."
He carried Elena through the house while I corralled the other two, showing us room after room. The guest wing was at the back of the house, with its own entrance and a small sitting area. Two bedrooms connected by a shared bathroom, both larger than the single room we'd been sharing at my parents' house.
"This one could be yours," Duncan said, opening the door to the master bedroom in the guest wing. "And we could set up the other one for the kids. There's enough space for three beds."
I nodded, overwhelmed by the generosity of it. "Duncan, I can't?—"
"You can." His voice was firm. "You're here now. Let's make it work."
The afternoon dissolved into the chaos of settling in. I unpacked clothes while Duncan assembled the toddler beds we'd picked up on the way over. The triplets "helped" by handing him screws and offering contradictory advice about which pieces went where. Elena appointed herself supervisor, directing operations from her perch on the floor.
"No, Mr. Duncan, that one goes there," she said, pointing at a wooden slat he was trying to fit into the wrong slot.
"Mr. Duncan?" I looked up from folding tiny shirts.
Elena shrugged. "He's not Grandpa."
Duncan's hands stilled on the bed frame. "What would you like to call me?"
"Duncan is fine," I said quickly, but he was already looking at Elena with curiosity.
"Mr. Duncan works," she decided. "Can we have dinner soon? I'm hungry."
Dinner was takeout pizza spread across paper plates, steam curling up from greasy slices while the triplets arranged themselves around Duncan in a loose, chaotic ring on the hardwood floor. The coffee table had been shoved to the side to make space, and the open boxes sat between them like the centerpiece of a strange little ceremony.
Duncan folded himself down, cross-legged in his crisp button-down, his slacks creasing as he adjusted to the unfamiliar posture. He looked like a banker at a kindergarten sleepover, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he fielded a barrage of questions about the house—why he had so many rooms, what he did with all the space, whether ghosts ever lived there when it was dark.
"For company," Duncan said, answering Sammy's question with a careful shrug.
"What kind of company?" Sammy pressed, licking sauce from his fingers.
Duncan tilted his head, thinking. "Friends. Family. People who bring the place to life."
"Like us?" Elena asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it.
"Especially you," he said, meeting her eyes.
Chrissy paused mid-bite, stringy cheese dangling from her chin. "We're company," she declared, chewing triumphantly.
"You are," Duncan agreed, smiling. "The best kind."
Sammy leaned forward. "Do you have any pets?"
"Nope. Not yet."
"You should get a dog," Sammy said. "A big one. It can sleep in the kitchen."
"Or a cat," Chrissy countered. "But it can be orange. I only like orange."
"Cats are boring," Sammy muttered.
