“We’re here about our dad,” one announces solemnly. Another nods. “He feels really bad he’s late.” The third adds, “There was an emergency at work.”
I blink. Slowly. Blind dates don’t come with triplets.
I glance around, expecting an adult to rush in. No one does. The barista is openly watching. People are smiling. These girls are safe—and bold.
“Did your dad send you?” I ask gently.
“Well… not exactly,” the first admits. “He doesn’t know we’re here yet. But he’s coming.”
“Promise,” the second says firmly.
“Can we sit?” the third asks. “We’ve been waiting to meet you.”
Something in my chest loosens.
“Okay,” I say, sliding the chairs back. “But you explain everything.”
They climb up like a coordinated team.
“I’m Harper,” says the first, shaking my hand.
“I’m Maddie,” says the second, grinning.
“I’m June,” whispers the third. “We’re bad at secrets.”
I laugh—real, startled laughter.
They explain they overheard their dad talking to Aunt Paula about meeting “Emma” here. Harper says he kept fixing his tie. Maddie says he never fixes his tie. June nods like that settles it.
“He had to go back to work,” Harper says. “But we didn’t want you to think he forgot.”