Page 26 of My Only

“Got me over here doing all the work.”

“Lies,” I teased, my attention split between her and the lines I was drafting on the page.

It was our first night in the house I had designed… and I was still sketching.

We were supposed to move in right after I proposed years ago. That had been the plan—get engaged, set a date, and start our life here.

But my business had taken off faster than expected.

One project had turned into three.

Deadlines had dictated our lives, and the house we had dreamed of living in had sat empty.

Until now.

Our first night under its roof, and I already knew… we belonged here

I skimmed my pencil lightly along the page, leaving behind the faintest ghost of a line. A guideline, just enough to map out the structure before I added detail.

I was sketching a built-in spice rack next to the stove.

Watching Ayla set up to cook, straining just a little to reach the high shelves, had given me the idea.

It would be a useful addition.

Plus, any excuse to draw, I was taking it.

The world always went silent when I sat with my sketchbook.

There was something grounding about putting pencil to paper, shaping the world exactly how I envisioned it.

Ayla peeked over her shoulder and giggled.

“What are you drawing anyway?”

“A built-in spice rack,” I told her. “It would look good by the stove.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Baby, you already designed the house.” She moved toward the fridge, her slippers sweeping across the stone floors. “Are we adding to it already? This is literally our first night. We just got here.”

I grinned, my pencil gliding effortlessly along the page. “A masterpiece is never truly finished, A. Boogie.”

She rolled her eyes playfully before making her way back to the counter.

Boxes were everywhere, evidence of a life half-unpacked, a home just beginning to be lived in.

I had some time off between projects at my firm, so I had agreed to spend the next two days helping Ayla unpack. Starting tonight, after dinner.

“Can you get me the dried basil from this shelf up here?”

I glanced up.

“I put it up there earlier and didn’t realize the recipe called for it.”

I smirked, pointing my pencil at her. “See? That’s why we need a built-in spice rack…” I arched a brow. “And a step stool, shorty.”

She turned, her smirk matching mine. “No, we don’t.” She tapped the counter next. “Because I got a tall husband for that.”

I snorted a laugh.

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