Page 70 of My Only

Family homes. Luxury homes. Modern townhouses. Live-work hybrids. Accessible homes.

And it was that last one keeping me here late.

I set the tablet down, picked up my pencil, and started sketching adjustments on paper.

Harper sat perched at the edge of my desk, watching me work.

I exhaled sharply, fighting my rising irritation—losing the battle.

This issue should’ve been flagged weeks ago.

“Hey, Hassani,” Levi’s voice cut in as he stepped into my office, holding a folder. “I was just dropping off the updated community park design.” He hesitated. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“Neither did I,” I muttered, not looking up.

Levi glanced between me and Harper before setting the folder on my desk. “What’s got you stuck here?”

“Widening the accessibility pathways in the kitchen in the accessible homes.” I shook my head. “We need at least 42 inches of clearance, and the original model didn’t account for that. Especially in the kitchen and living area.”

Levi frowned. “That’s… a pretty big miss.”

“Yeah.” I threw a quick look at him, then Harper. My attention was back on my sketch when I added, “So now, we’re shifting the island placement and reducing cabinetry depth to compensate.”

“That’s doable,” Levi agreed. “Might need some custom millwork, but nothing we can’t adjust before finalizing.”

Harper crossed her legs, tapping a manicured nail against her knee. “Would’ve been easier if we’d planned this earlier…”

I glanced up just in time to catch something flicker across her face—satisfaction? Nah. I had to be trippin’.

Why the hell would she be pleased about this screw-up?

“Yeah,” I exhaled sharply. “It would’ve.”

She looked away, but not before I caught the ghost of a smirk.

This was a minor fix. A simple adjustment. But the timing of it?

It meant I had to cancel on Ayla.

I never missed her work mixer.

It wasn’t fancy or high-profile, but it was hers. The one night a year I got to see her in her world. Her element. It killed me to text her that I wasn’t coming.

My fingers tightened around my pencil as I swiveled toward my computer.

I clicked into my email and started typing.

“Bryant,” I said as I worked. “Quick update on the model home. Adjusting the layout to improve accessibility: widening walkways to…”

“42 inches,” Harper supplied smoothly.

I nodded. “42 inches. Lowering a section of the kitchen island for wheelchair users. Integrating flooring transitions for visibility. No delay expected. Will send finalized specs by morning.”

I hit send, then leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples.

Framing it as an update instead of an oversight was strategic. No need to shake confidence in the project over something we could fix overnight. But why the hell was I only hearing about this now?

A rustling sound pulled me from my thoughts.

---