Page 11 of My Only (My First, My Last)

A yla

“I’m not used to not seeing you for this long,” I whined into the phone, my house slippers sweeping against the floor.

“Well, Favorite Girl,” my Aunt Laurie teased, “that’s your fault for never visiting me in Mexico.”

I snickered, shaking my head as I turned the corner.

I laughed, but her words lingered.

When I was younger, I used to dream of traveling the world like she did—hopping from country to country, collecting stories instead of things.

But now?

My life with Hassani was my adventure. Steady, secure, and exactly what I’d always wanted.

I’d called Aunt Laurie at the perfect time… just before she boarded a flight to the Mediterranean.

“I haven’t seen you since last summer,” I said, heading toward the kitchen. “We’re in October now. That’s over a year. And you know how I get when I don’t see my Aunt for a while.”

She giggled.

“You laugh, but I’m serious, Aunt Laurie.”

“Then come to Mexico.”

I rolled my eyes. “Aunt Laurie.”

“What?” she teased.

“The last two times I made plans to visit, you said you were traveling.” I shook my head. “You’re not even home long enough for me to come. You’re not even home now! So please , stop inviting me.”

She laughed. “Okay, touché. You got me there.”

“At this rate, the only way I’ll see you is if I grow wings and fly alongside the planes you insist on hopping on every other week.”

Her laughter deepened.

Aunt Laurie was officially retired—or semi-retired, as she liked to put it. She still picked up gigs as an Independent Fashion Buyer if the price was right.

After her divorce, she realized she loved her freedom more than any man. She packed her things, traveled the world, and eventually settled in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

…Whenever she could sit still long enough.

I’d tried solo traveling before, but it always felt lonely.

Now I just lived vicariously through Aunt Laurie.

“What can I say?” she sighed. “I don’t like to sit and wait. Life’s too short for that—even waiting for you to come visit me in Mex-i-co.”

I snorted a laugh.

In the background, I heard an airport announcement over the speakers.

“Are you at your gate?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen.

And that’s when I saw something that made me jerk my head back.

“I am,” she confirmed. “I’m about to board my flight. I’ll call you next week.”

“Okay.” I blinked; my eyes locked on something new in the kitchen. Something that wasn’t there that morning. “I love you. Have a safe flight.”

“Thank you, Favorite Girl. I love you too.”

The call ended, but my confusion didn’t.

“What in the hell?”

I took slow steps forward, closing the distance between myself and this… thing .

Leaning in closer, I examined it, squinting. “ Ew .”

At first glance, it looked like an alien spaceship had crash-landed between my coffee maker and the coffee carousel.

But no…

I tilted my head.

Was it a… melting coffee cup?

An oversized, ceramic, melting coffee cup, painted metallic silver with splashes of red and blue.

The design was all over the place.

It was too much.

And it had Hassani written all over it.

“Oh, uh-uh .” I shook my head and immediately turned to leave the kitchen, forgetting all about the coffee I had come to brew.

We’d been in our house for four years now.

Hassani had made a few improvements—a built-in spice rack, a reading nook beneath the staircase, little details that made our home even better.

And while his building projects always hit, his decor choices were a continuous miss.

We’d already discussed and agreed that he would check in with me before buying any new decor for the house.

And yet…

That chaotic mess of ceramic was sitting in my kitchen.

I stormed through the house, heading straight for the home office.

Hassani had been glued to his computer all morning, emailing back and forth for the Greene Gardens Project he was still in negotiations to join.

The moment I reached the open doorway, I spotted him, seated in his leather chair, eyes locked on one of the two computer monitors in front of him.

The office had a sleek, masculine feel, with warm wooden tones.

I told Hassani to design it however he wanted since he used it far more than I did.

My only contribution? Storing the books that didn’t fit on my many bookshelves throughout the house on his wall-mounted bookshelf.

He was kind enough to give me a shelf—just one—while the others were reserved for his architecture books.

Beside his long, fast-moving fingers typing on the keyboard was his infamous sketchbook, laid open with an unfinished sketch on the page.

In front of him, one computer screen glowed with a blueprint, the other with an email he was typing.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching the muscles in his forearm flex as he typed.

Clearing my throat, I tapped the wooden frame before crossing my arms over my chest.

“What’s up, baby?” Hassani asked, eyes still glued to the screen, fingers still typing.

“Oh, nothing,” I started. “Just horrified so early in the afternoon.”

He glanced at me, his hazel-green eyes scanning me briefly before refocusing on the screen. “Oh yeah? That sounds fun.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell is that monstrosity by the coffee bar?”

He snorted a laugh, still not looking away from the screen. “It’s art.”

“It’s ugly.”

I caught his side grin just before he turned his head.

“Jaleel Gordon has one just like it in his house.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God.”

“I read about it in Architectural Digest.”

“ Mm-hmm …?”

“It’s a D-Slam original.”

I squinted. “A D-Slam original?” I rubbed my lips together before continuing. “You mean that expensive, controversial stuff that retired basketball player makes and calls art?”

“He’s an artist now, A.”

“Oh, he’s definitely something.” I pointed behind me. “And that thing in there is something else . It doesn’t go with the aesthetic at all. I thought we talked about this.”

“It looked too good not to get it, though,” he said, finally abandoning the keyboard to swivel his office chair and face me.

“How much was it?”

He gestured casually with his hands. “Not that much, you know… Just a little 15K.”

My eyes ballooned. “Fifteen thousand ?—”

“It was a limited-edition piece,” he said, leaning toward me. “Only a few were made.”

“ None of that should have been made, if we’re keeping it real.” I stepped closer. “Fifteen thousand dollars is insane, Hassani.”

“You can’t really price art.”

“I’m sorry… is the art in the house with us?” I folded my arms. “Because I’m not sure we’re looking at the same thing.”

Hassani shrugged. “I think it’s beautiful.”

“Shit.” I released a scoffing laugh. “You call me beautiful all the time. Should I be worried?”

He barked a laugh, and I tightened my lips to keep from laughing with him.

Hassani grabbed my hand, pulled me onto his lap, and pressed his lips to my shoulder.

“Why didn’t you talk to me before getting it? Like we discussed?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

I sighed. “Well… goal unlocked.”

His lips trailed against my skin, his hand caressing my thigh, sending that familiar stir through me.

I shook my head at myself.

“You know what’s interesting?” I asked.

“What?” he whispered against the back of my neck.

I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “You’ve been too busy to go furniture shopping with me, but you had time to pick out that ugly piece of art.”

“Baby, it’s not ugly.”

“You’re right, my bad.” I smirked. “It would have to look ten times better to qualify as ugly.”

He dropped his jaw, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

That’s when it hit me.

This was our first real disagreement.

I inhaled a deep breath, then stood, turning to face him.

“This is our first ‘fight,’” I said with finger quotes.

He smiled, then licked his lips. “Wanna go fuck it out? You know… as a resolution?”

I laughed, moving closer to shove his shoulder. “I have a better idea.”

“What?”

“We’re going to buy the furniture you keep telling me you have no time to get.”

He turned to his computer screen again. “Fine. We’ll just order it online as soon as I wrap this?—”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “It’s still early. We’re going to the furniture store.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?” I mocked, matching his deep voice. “We are going to a showroom so I can see it in person. I need to see it and feel it , and since you like to drop money on ugly things , we’re going to redirect that energy.”

I pointed toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go put my sneakers on?—”

“Oh, you mean right now ?” he questioned.

“ Mm-hmm .”

He pointed at the screen. “Baby, I’m doing something right now.”

“Yeah, I know.” I smiled. “You’re about to get ready so we can go to the furniture store.”

Hassani stared at me, his light eyes unblinking.

I held his gaze, not blinking either, letting a sweet smile pull at my lips.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose. “I’ll start the car.”

I smiled wider.

He licked his lips, then shook his head. “Damn.” He kissed his teeth and stood next. “That smile will do it every time, I swear.”

Hassani swaggered up to me, looping an arm around my head, pulling me into a gentle headlock.

His fingers dug into my waist, tickling me until I laughed uncontrollably.

“Come on.” He kissed my forehead as we walked toward the front door.

* * *

Hassani walked ahead of me, pulling the showroom door open.

As soon as he got in front of it, he turned with a smirk.

“After you, Queen Ayla.” He did an exaggerated bow.

“Oh, don’t be passive-aggressive,” I teased as I stepped through.

He chuckled behind me.

Hassani insisted that if we were going furniture shopping, he would pick the showroom.

And it was just like him to choose an expensive one.

Verana Interiors, in the Flatiron District of Manhattan, was nothing short of luxury.

When I said I wanted to go to a showroom, I meant one in our town upstate.

Not in the heart of the city.

But I let it slide.

I just wanted new furniture.

We had been in our house for four years, and the furniture inside was a mix of what we’d brought from our old Manhattan apartments.