Page 92 of My Only

I couldn’t help the snort-laugh that burst out of me, my mother and Warren chuckling alongside me.

It was the exact laugh I needed.

“Ayla, you have me in this kitchen, smelling all this good cooking, waiting on you and Hassani,” Mr. Franklin said as he walked closer. “Where’s mi bwoy?”

“Working.”

I tried—really tried—to keep the irritation out of my voice. But the way Mr. Franklin’s brows furrowed told me I failed.

Still, he pulled me into a warm hug, a much-needed comfort, then kissed my cheek.

“I’m sure he won’t be long,” he said, reassuring me. “Come on.”

Mrs. Franklin greeted me with her usual big hug in the kitchen, and just like always, warmth spread through me the second she wrapped her arms around me.

The comfort of familiarity.

After giving me a tight hug, she turned away to pull her infamous rum cake out of the oven. Soon after, we were all seated at my mother’s dinner table—my former dinner table—eating and talking.

I pulled my phone from my lap while the Franklins engaged in conversation with my mother and Warren, shooting Hassani a quick text.

Me: I’m here at my mom’s. Her boyfriend is too. I don’t know how possible it’ll be, but I really need you to show up for me tonight, baby.

“So, a pre-K teacher,” Warren said from across the table.

I quickly placed my phone flat on the table and smiled. “Yup.”

“How’s the teacher life?” he asked next. “I’ve never known a teacher personally and always wondered what it’s like.”

“One of the best things in the world,” I replied, my smile growing more sincere as I spoke. “My students are great.” I snickered. “And they keep me on my toes.”

Laughter rippled across the table.

“I’m sure they’re great practice,” Warren added.

My gaze dropped to the way he placed his hand over my mother’s. The gentleness of it. The ease.

And I smiled.

He was affectionate. Not shy about showing it.

And it was cute.

My dad had been the same way.

Always touching her. Always finding some way to be close to her whenever he was near.

“At this point,” Mrs. Franklin chimed in, “I’d say Ayla’s an expert on children.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“She’s been rounding up the little ones for years now.” Mrs. Franklin flashed a grin. “And just so you know, I already cleared out a room for my grandbaby. Just an FYI.”

I pressed my lips together.

“I’ve done the same,” my mother echoed, smiling warmly at me. “Ayla’s old room too.”

“I’m just waiting for the phone call,” Mrs. Franklin added. “So I know what color to paint the walls.”

---