Triplets Make Five

The heavy doors slid shut and Preston reached forward to swipe a key fob on a scanner. The fob chirps when it registered, and he was about to select his floor, but then he hesitated and turned to Emmy, smiling.

“Do you want to press the button?” he asked.

She glanced up at me for permission, and I gave her an encouraging nod. That’s all it took for her to leap forward, planting herself right at Caleb’s side. He crouched down to her level and points to the button marked ‘50.’

“This one,” he whispered.

Emmy stuck out a finger and poked the button. The elevator immediately churned to life, and she twirled around to beam up proudly at me. I returned her smile.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

The elevator pulled us up the fifty floors quickly, and before I knew it, there was a little chime and the doors parted, opening to reveal the most incredible apartment I’ve ever seen.

The floors were rich planks of smooth ebony bamboo. The walls were glass, and the ceiling was dotted with tiny recessed spotlights that glitter like dim stars. There was a modern living room set, sleek leather couches, a furry white rug, a glass round coffee table, situated in the center of the room, and then there was a slight step up to the kitchen, which was easily the size of my entire two-bedroom apartment back in Brooklyn, and then some.

Emmy didn’t wait for permission that time. Dhe bounded out the elevator, her Ugg boots slapping the hardwood floors as she ran straight to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city. The building’s blue glow was radiating through the glass, spilling into the apartment and giving everything a cool hue. Emmy pressed her nose against the glass, peering down at Central Park below.

I felt the firmness of Caleb’s chest brush against my back, and I was suddenly engulfed in the darkly intoxicating, woodsy aroma of his cologne. The kind of scent I could get drunk on. I thought bumping into me was a mistake, but when he didn’t move away, I realized it was intentional; that he deliberately let me feel his taut muscles through the thin cotton of my shirt. He let me feel the electricity of his heartbeat. And if I could feel his pulse, that meant he could feel the frantic hammering of mine; he could feel how my body was responding to his as I melted, involuntarily, against the warmth of his chest.

The heat of his breath tickled the skin on my neck as he leaned even closer, sending a prickle of excitement through my body. My nipples hardened under my shirt, and I could tell he noticed because I could hear him exhale into a soft smirk.

“See?” he whispered, his lips floated dangerously close to my skin, “I told you that you shouldn’t knock something until you’ve tried it.”

I was just trying to decipher what he meant by that, when Emmy suddenly twirled around to face us. Caleb responded instantly, and moved away from me and strode towards Emmy.

“Should we get some dinner, kiddo?” he asked, as he ushered us towards the kitchen.

I took a deep breath, and tried to regain my composure before I followed them into the kitchen. In an attempt to get my mind off of what just transpired, I opened the doors to the stainless-steel refrigerator and cast a scrutinizing glare at the completely bare shelves inside.

“I don’t cook much,” Caleb admitted meekly. “Maybe we should just order something to be delivered?”

“YES!” Emmy bellowed suddenly, and we both turn to see her standing in front of an open cupboard, triumphantly wielding a packet of Ramen noodles. “My favorite!” she beamed up at us eagerly.

She wasn’t lying. Emmy’s packed lunch at school usually consisted of a packet of Ramen or, as she lovingly referred to them, “three-minute noodles,” because that’s how long they took to cook up in the teacher lounge microwave. I couldn’t help but feel shocked when I saw the noodles. Caleb Preston must be worth billions, but the only food in his five-star kitchen was Ramen noodles?

“Are those your favorite?” Caleb asked, smiling down at her. “They’re mine, too!” Then he turned to me, “What do you say, Miss Wright?”

“I think you’re full of surprises,” I smiled. Then, seeing the lit up joy on Emmy’s face, I added, “I’m in!”

“Good,” Caleb reached into the cupboard and pulled out two more packets of Ramen.

“Noodles for three, coming right up!”

5

CALEB

“What do you think, Emmy?” I asked, watching as the little girl slurped up the last bit of noodle broth from her bowl. “Who makes better Ramen, me, or Miss Wright?”

Emmy dropped her bowl down onto the glass coffee table, and her eyes wandered between me and Daisy.

“You,” she decided finally, smacking her lips and pointing at me.

“Emmy!” Daisy exclaimed, clutching her heart dramatically. “I thought you loved my Ramen noodles!”

“They’re ok,” Emmy shrugged, “But Uncle Caleb’s are better.”

My heart swelled when I heard her say that, and the sudden burst of pride had nothing to do with the Ramen noodle victory. Rather, it had everything to do with the look of wonder in Emmy’s eyes as she glanced up at me. In the span of a few hours I had gone from being a scary stranger, to being the cool uncle with an exciting apartment and an endless supply of Ramen noodles. In Emmy’s eyes, that made me the coolest guy in New York City.