Page 54 of My Only

He laughed, circling his arms around my waist and pressing a kiss to my lips.

I tightened my arms around him, sinking into the moment, into him, into us. I wanted to stay here forever, in this high, in this happiness.

But the thing about moments like these?

They don’t last forever.

Not when the very thing that brings you joy… is the same thing that pulls you apart.

CHAPTER 7

THEN – MID-SUMMER 2022… NINE MONTHS LATER

Ayla

Hassani turned off the car the moment he pulled into the reserved space inside the parking garage.

“I didn’t even know this place had a garage,” I said, scanning the cars parked around us. “I’ve been here for so many class trips in elementary school. How did I not know The Met had a parking garage?”

Hassani chuckled as he reached behind him, grabbing his sketchbook from the backseat.

“Do me a favor,” he said, handing it to me. “Put this in the glove compartment.”

I took the sketchbook and arched a brow. “We’re at one of the most famous museums in the world, and you’re worried someone’s gonna steal your sketchbook, Hassani?”

He smirked. “That sketchbook is my life, baby. I don’t take any chances.”

“You have a reserved parking pass—” I pointed at the rearview mirror where Bryant Greene’s signature was stamped on the permit— “and you really think someone’s gonna break into the car just to take your book?”

“You said it yourself.” Hassani grinned. “We’re at a well-known spot. Anything can happen. Now close them pretty lips and put my book in the glove compartment so we can go.”

I giggled, shaking my head as I did what he asked, then stole another glance out the passenger window.

“You ready?” he asked.

It was a loaded question.

Tonight was The Greene Gardens Visionary Night—an exclusive work event, and judging by the all-white, embossed invitation Hassani had brought home, it was a big deal. He had officially started working on the Greene Gardens Project last December. Since then, it had been all meetings, with the real work set to begin that coming Monday. But so far, everything seemed to be going well. He made it home at the same time every night for dinner, and we spent time together before heading to bed, just like always.

With school out for the summer, I had extra time on my hands. I’d considered teaching summer school. Park Avenue Prep gave teachers the flexibility to work with other grades. But in the end, I decided to focus on planning our annual trip instead. I still didn’t have a solid date from Hassani, though. I didn’t push him on it, figuring he needed time to settle into his new role first. If worst came to worst, we could stay local.

He was starting a huge project. I wasn’t about to make him focus on anything else that wasn’t as important.

“Am I ready?” I scoffed. “We’re only in the garage, and I already feel underdressed.”

He snickered. “You look great. Amazing. Like always.”

“Maybe I should’ve worn a gown,” I noted quietly, glancing into the rearview mirror to check my makeup. “I feel too casual.”

I’d gone with a slim-fitting button-down tucked into a green denim pencil skirt, paired with silver sandals that sparkled under the car’s lights. I was dressed for brunch, and the setting made me feel like I should’ve done more.

“Baby, I’m wearing a Henley tee, slacks, and Jordans,” Hassani reasoned.

“Yeah, but everything you wear is designer, so even your casual outfit looks upscale.”

He chuckled. “Bryant told us to come as we are. Nothing fancy. He literally said, ‘This will be nothing fancy.’”

“So much for that,” I muttered. “Hosting an event at The Metropolitan Museum of Art but claiming it’s nothing fancy? That’s ironic.”

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