The midday Atlanta sun beat down on the sprawling green lawns of Piedmont Park. Declan had arrived an hour early, sitting nervously on a wooden bench beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree.

He had followed Cassidy’s instructions to the letter: dark jeans, a crisp white polo shirt, and a pair of running shoes he had bought that morning. Beside him on the bench sat three massive, brightly wrapped gift boxes containing the most elaborate, custom-made dollhouses FAO Schwarz could rush-deliver via private courier.

At precisely three o'clock, Cassidy appeared on the paved walking path.

She wore leggings, an oversized denim jacket, and sunglasses, looking relaxed and radiant. Beside her, the triplets moved like a miniature hurricane of coordinated chaos. Clara was clutching a sketchpad, Nora was skipping ahead with bright pink light-up sneakers, and Maeve was riding a three-wheeled scooter, ringing the bell frantically at passing pigeons.

Declan’s heart hammered against his ribs. He stood up, smoothing his polo.

"Look, girls," Cassidy said, gently slowing Nora’s sprint. "Remember the gentleman from yesterday? Mr. Declan?"

The three girls stopped and stared.

Clara hid half of her face behind Cassidy’s thigh, eyeing Declan with deep, analytical suspicion. Nora gave him a broad, toothy grin, waving her tiny hand enthusiastically. Maeve leaned over the handlebars of her scooter and smirked.

"He's not crying today," Maeve announced proudly.

"No, I’m not," Declan said, kneeling down so he was at their eye level. He offered a warm, slightly nervous smile. "I brought some presents for you girls."

He gestured toward the three enormous boxes on the bench. Nora gasped in delight, but Cassidy’s eyebrows pulled together into a sharp, disapproving line.

"Declan," Cassidy said under her breath, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "What did I say about grandstanding?"

"They're just dollhouses," he whispered back defensively.

Nora ran over to the bench, touching the shiny gold ribbon on the nearest box. "Is this a castle?"

"It is," Declan said, eager to win their approval. "It has real battery-operated chandeliers and marble countertops."

Clara peeked around Cassidy’s leg, her nose scrunching up in profound disinterest. "Does it have dragons?"

Declan blinked, caught completely off-guard. "Dragons? No... it's a Victorian manor."

"Boring," Clara declared flatly, turning around and sitting down on the grass, immediately opening her sketchbook to resume drawing a lopsided, three-headed lizard.

Maeve hopped off her scooter, walked over to the largest box, and completely ignored the miniature mansion inside. Instead, she grabbed the discarded cardboard packaging corner and began using it as a pretend sword, slashing at the nearby bushes.

Declan stood frozen in the middle of the grass, feeling completely foolish. He had spent eight thousand dollars having those custom toys flown across state lines, and within thirty seconds, Clara had called them boring, Maeve was playing with the cardboard scraps, and Nora had already abandoned her box to chase a yellow butterfly toward the pond.

Cassidy walked over, folding her arms, a rare, teasing smirk touching her lips. "Welcome to fatherhood, billionaire. Money doesn't work here."

***