Page 67 of My Only

She ate lunch alone, avoided too much small talk, and never really let anyone in.

And none of us blamed her for that.

So, we gave her grace—because that was all she allowed us to give.

Sliding into the chair next to her, I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug. “How you doin’, girl?”

She shrugged. “Breathing, which should count for something, right?”

I rubbed my hand against her back. “How are the kids?” I asked, knowing exactly what to say to make her light up. “Corey’s gotta be taller than me by now, huh? I know he shot up like a bamboo tree this summer.”

And just like that, her whole face changed.

Her eyes brightened, her lips curved into a genuine smile.

She loved her kids.

And talking about them was the one thing that always brought her joy.

Janae talked my ear off about every and anything involving her children, which led to a conversation about everyone else’s children. From there, we moved on to TV, the news, and finally, our plans for the school year.

That was what Park Avenue Prep’s work mixer was all about—catching up, laughing, and running our mouths about everything and nothing. It was one of the best parts of working here.

The faculty at Park Avenue Prep was like a second family to me. We spent so much time together, supporting one another in ways that extended beyond the classroom. Not much ever happened here, but every now and then, there’d be something worth bringing home to share with Hassani.

It wasn’t the Greene Gardens Project, but it was a special part of my world.

Every so often, I checked my phone, hoping for an update. A text. A call. Something.

But an hour had gone by and still… nothing.

“Is Hassani still coming?” Vivian asked from across the table.

Vivian Carmichael had been at Park Avenue Prep before I was even born. She swore every year would be her last, promising to retire for real this time. But she always showed up every August for teacher orientation, and honestly? We loved her for it.

“You know I gotta see them stunning light eyes and that smile to kick off my school year the right way,” she teased.

I giggled. “Watch yourself, Mrs. Carmichael, talking about my husband’s eyes. Relax.”

She threw her head back and laughed out loud, setting off everyone else at the table.

I laughed too, but inside, the question sat with me.

Where the hell is Hassani?

“I’m sure he’s doing his best to finish up whatever’s keeping him from winking and smiling at you,” I told her with a grin. “Work has been nonstop since he started the Greene Gardens Project.”

Monica Ellison, another teacher at our table, perked up. “Wait, is that the village upstate? The one started by that billionaire?”

I nodded. “Yup, Bryant Greene.”

Gasps and wide eyes circled the table.

“I didn’t know Hassani was working on that!” Vivian scooted to the edge of her seat. “What exactly is he doing?”

“He’s the principal architect.” My cheeks ached from smiling so hard. No matter how many times I said it, I marveled at how huge this job was. “He’s in charge of designing and overseeing the building of all the commercial and residential properties.”

“The whole village, Ayla?!” Vivian’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

---