Page 27 of My Only (My First, My Last)

“Good evening, you two,” our server greeted as he stepped to the table. “I’m Jalen, your server for the night. Would you like to start with drinks?”

“Hey, Jalen,” I spoke first. “I’m just here to order the bread pudding. Can you have it packed to-go once you take her order?”

“Of course.” He nodded. Then, turning to Harper, “And for you?”

As Harper gave her order, my gaze drifted, scanning the restaurant once more.

That feeling rolled through me again. The one I couldn’t quite place.

But I knew one thing for sure.

I didn’t like it.

Harper laughed softly. “You’re serious about getting out of here, huh?”

I turned my focus back to her. “Yeah. Just trying to get home to my wife.”

“Ayla,” Harper corrected smoothly.

I didn’t respond.

She gave a light chuckle. “You always say your wife like everyone at the office hasn’t met her.” She scoffed next. “ We’ve met her.”

I licked my lips but said nothing.

It wasn’t the first time Harper had said something like that. I always chalked it up to mild jealousy.

Like I said, I knew women like Harper. I knew how to navigate them.

No need to argue. No need to address.

“You and Ayla have been together forever, huh?”

I smiled. “We still have forever more to go, but yeah, we’ve been together a while.”

“Do you ever miss being single?”

I frowned.

“You know, the freedom of it?”

I pulled my lips into a slight shrug. “I don’t think I understand what you mean. I still have freedom.”

She bit at her bottom lip, lashes fluttering. “Good to know.”

That ?

Now, that was concerning.

A good enough reason for me to flag Jalen down and check on my order. But just as I shifted my focus away from Harper to search for him, I saw something that made my stomach drop.

More like someone …

My dad.

Stepping into the restaurant.

My entire body tensed.

I don’t know why I had that reaction.

I wasn’t doing anything wrong.

But the moment I saw him, all I could think about was Ayla.

And before I could sink a little lower into my seat, his gaze locked onto mine.

Shit.

He saw me the exact moment I saw him.

And instinctively, I wanted to hide.

That alone should have been my answer.

The fact that my gut reaction was to duck, to disappear— that should’ve told me everything.

Because this ?

Sitting here with Harper?

Was not as innocent as I thought it was.

The way the booth was positioned in the restaurant, you could see straight through the oversized windows to the Freedom Tower.

You could also see everyone who walked through the front door.

That’s how I saw my dad so quickly.

And that’s how he saw me .

He stopped a few feet inside, scanning the booth.

His eyes moved between me and Harper, back and forth, slow and deliberate.

Then he blinked hard.

But still—he started toward us.

I sat up, forcing a smile.

Turning to face the outside of the booth, I scooted forward.

“Dad,” I greeted, standing to extend my hand.

“Hassani,” he returned, gripping my hand and pulling me into a brief hug. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

I chuckled, a little too nervously. “I… umm …”

Before I could even finish the sentence…

“Your dad ?!” Harper’s voice cut in, bright and excited. “Wow! What a pleasure to meet you.”

She was already rising to lean in for a hug, but my father took a subtle step back.

Instead, he extended his hand.

“Oh.” Harper giggled. “Right.”

She shook his hand instead. “I’m Harper. I work with Hassani on the Greene Gardens Project.”

My father’s gaze shifted to me.

Then back to Harper.

Then back to me.

He smiled, but I could see the wheels turning. “Pleasure to meet you, Harper.”

“You’re Jamaican,” she noted, her expression lighting up. “I know that accent anywhere! My best friend’s parents are Jamaican.”

Then she turned toward me, lightly tapping my chest.

“Hassani, you never told me your dad was Jamaican.”

I barely registered the words.

Because my father’s eyes?

Were already moving swiftly between me and Harper again.

And suddenly?

This looked really bad.

“I'm just here to pick up the bread pudding for Ayla,” I explained quickly. “Then I'm heading out.”

“ Hmph .” My father’s response was short. Weighted.

“You should join us ,” Harper invited.

I briefly closed my eyes, silently wishing she’d just shut the fuck up.

“There’s plenty of room,” she added, gesturing toward the booth.

My father didn’t even hesitate. “ Aw , you’re too kind,” he said smoothly. “Nah, man, I came to pick up dinner and dessert for Hassani’s mother.”

Then… he clapped a heavy hand onto my shoulder.

Gripped it firmly.

Locked eyes with me.

“I’ll be back at your table in a few minutes, though,” he said to Harper before shifting his attention to me. “I’ll be back.”

Now, look… I’m a grown-ass man, right?

Late thirties. A few years from forty.

But no matter how old I get, that look? The one my father just gave me?

That shit still put the fear of God in my chest.

That firm, wordless stare. The one only I would recognize.

Because I’ve been seeing it since I was a toddler getting into mischief in my playroom.

That stare was no joke.

And it spoke volumes. Loudly.

Fuck.

“I can’t believe your dad is here,” Harper mused as I slid back into my seat.

I didn’t respond—not because I couldn’t believe it, but because I could.

I just couldn’t believe that out of all the things I should’ve been worried about, it was the prospect of running into my father.

Vernon’s was his and my mother’s spot. They’ve been dining here for decades.

Ayla and I only started coming after joining them for dinner one night, and we’d been hooked ever since.

So, of course he’d be here—of all fucking nights. Shit.

“He looks more like your brother,” she continued, giggling. “Just with brown eyes instead of your hazel-green ones.”

I barely heard her.

Because my father was now standing at the takeout counter.

And when he turned to look at me again?

He was still giving me that look.

“Your father’s very handsome,” Harper added, a slow smile pulling at her lips. “Gives me a little insight into how good you’ll look when you’re older.”

My stomach clenched.

I forced a smile.

Then?

My father was on his way back.

“Harper,” he said as he returned to our table, a Vernon’s takeout bag in one hand.

Harper’s smile stretched.

But my father didn’t return it.

“I hate to do this to you, young lady,” he continued, tone pleasant, but weighted. “But I’ve been trying to get a little of Hassani’s time for weeks now. And you all have been keeping him busy.”

Harper let out a soft giggle. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, please.” My father’s smile widened, but there was no humor behind it. “I’m sure what you all are doing is wonderful work.”

His eyes slid to me then returned on her.

“But I do need to steal him from you tonight.”

The glance he gave me was quick. But I felt it.

A warning.

A command.

A finality.

“Oh.” Harper’s smile wavered.

Then she turned to me, gesturing toward the table. “Aren’t you waiting for Ayla’s dessert, Hassani?”

“Yeah.” My voice felt rough. “I already ordered it. Just waiting for it to come out.”

“Why don’t you let Harper enjoy that dessert?”

My father’s voice was casual.

Too casual.

His attention shifted back to Harper. “You’re gonna love it. I promise.”

He smiled, big.

“It’s warm and buttery. Has a creamy mascarpone cheese that’ll stay on your mind for days.” He laughed, holding up the takeout bag. “Hassani’s mother loves it so much , she sent me here at this late hour to get it.”

Harper’s grin faltered.

But she nodded. “Okay then.”

Without missing a beat, my father reached into his back jean pocket, pulled out his wallet, and placed a $100 bill on the table.

“Everything is on me,” he told her smoothly.

“Oh!” Harper let out a nervous laugh. “You don’t have to?—”

“I insist.”

His tone was polite.

But final.

“It’s the least I can do for interrupting and taking Hassani with me.”

I saw it instantly.

The way Harper’s smile dropped just a little.

The way she forced herself to nod.

“Okay. I guess… yes. Thank you.”

My father’s focus returned to me. “Let’s go.”

I barely got out a “See you later” to Harper before I was following my father out of the restaurant.

The moment the restaurant’s doors shut behind us, I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

“Where are you parked?” he asked.

I gestured toward my car a few feet away.

“Good.” He pulled out his Range Rover’s key fob and unlocked the SUV in front of us. “Follow me to Long Island. I need to drop this food off to your mother.”

I nodded and did exactly as he said.

The whole drive to Long Island was strange.

My father didn’t call me. Didn’t text.

Didn’t do anything except drive ahead of me.

And the entire way there, my thoughts raced.

That pause at the door when he first saw me sitting across from Harper?

That look?

That wasn’t just surprise.

That was something else .

And I was starting to realize exactly what it was.

We reached my childhood home in under an hour.

By then, it was already ten at night.

I pulled into the driveway behind his Range and watched as my father stepped out, takeout bag in hand.

He gestured for me to stay put before disappearing inside.

Less than ten minutes later, he stepped back outside.

Then he headed straight for my car.

I rolled the window down when he was within feet.

“We’re going to the Green Room.”

“The Green Room?" I glanced at the dashboard clock. "Come on, Dad, not now. It's almost eleven. I gotta get home, get to bed, and be up for work in the morning.”

“I’m aware.” His voice was steady. “I won’t keep you long.”

Unbothered.

Then he gestured at his Range Rover before walking to it.

“Drive behind me.”

And so… I backed out of the driveway so he could too, with no choice but to do as he said.

Again.

A few miles later, I was pulling into a parking spot at The Green Room, one of the local billiards in Long Island.

I’d only been here twice with my dad.