Page 109 of My Only

That’s how I saw my dad so quickly.

And that’s how he saw me.

He stopped a few feet inside, scanning the booth.

His eyes moved between me and Harper, back and forth, slow and deliberate.

Then he blinked hard.

But still—he started toward us.

I sat up, forcing a smile.

Turning to face the outside of the booth, I scooted forward.

“Dad,” I greeted, standing to extend my hand.

“Hassani,” he returned, gripping my hand and pulling me into a brief hug. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

I chuckled, a little too nervously. “I… umm…”

Before I could even finish the sentence…

“Your dad?!” Harper’s voice cut in, bright and excited. “Wow! What a pleasure to meet you.”

She was already rising to lean in for a hug, but my father took a subtle step back.

Instead, he extended his hand.

“Oh.” Harper giggled. “Right.”

She shook his hand instead. “I’m Harper. I work with Hassani on the Greene Gardens Project.”

My father’s gaze shifted to me.

Then back to Harper.

Then back to me.

He smiled, but I could see the wheels turning. “Pleasure to meet you, Harper.”

“You’re Jamaican,” she noted, her expression lighting up. “I know that accent anywhere! My best friend’s parents are Jamaican.”

Then she turned toward me, lightly tapping my chest.

“Hassani, you never told me your dad was Jamaican.”

I barely registered the words.

Because my father’s eyes?

Were already moving swiftly between me and Harper again.

And suddenly?

This looked really bad.

“I'm just here to pick up the bread pudding for Ayla,” I explained quickly. “Then I'm heading out.”

---