Chapter 17 #2
Her car wasn’t in the driveway yet so that meant he’d beat her home.
He punched in the code and stepped inside.
The apartment looked more settled than before.
She had unpacked more boxes, arranged books on the shelves, and hung a few pictures.
But the curtain rods were still leaning against the wall in their packaging, and he spotted unopened boxes stacked near the couch.
“That’s my baby,” he muttered.
That Marc Jacobs perfume hit him. The scent was bright and floral. Sometimes at work, he caught it on his collar and completely lost his train of thought.
He walked back to his truck and pulled his toolbox from the bed. He had been carrying tools since Mr. Dowlen first handed him a wrench at fourteen. A man who couldn’t fix things was not much of a man at all, he’d say. That lesson stuck. He learned to fix cars, fix problems, fix whatever was broken.
When he returned, he tossed his hoodie and pistol on the couch and got to work.
The bedroom curtains went up first. Her window faced the street directly.
He was not about to have her living somewhere any random person could see straight into her space.
In the living room, he hung up the SMARD Art set he’d got as a gift for doing good on her diabetes test.
“These are dope as fuck,” he murmured. Three panels of pink roses. Bold and beautiful. He stepped back to check if they were level and studied the colors for a second. The deep pinks bled into softer shades. The petals were so detailed that you could almost feel them.
By the time he heard the code beeping, he was finishing the last box labeled living room. His tools were spread across the coffee table in organized rows, sweat on his brow. He was glad to have finished before she made it in.
She walked in holding grocery bags. Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun. She wore red yoga shorts and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt. She looked pretty as hell with her little belly poking.
“How’d you beat me here?” she asked, shuffling inside. As soon as she saw the curtains up and the pictures hung, her whole face changed. The sight stopped her dead in her tracks. She set down the bags and stared at the curtains, then at him, then at his toolbox.
She smiled. She’d never had a man like this before. Rolani saw what needed to be done and just did it. No fanfare, no waiting to be asked, no making her feel small for needing support.
He was in a wife-beater and low-slung sweats, a hammer hanging from his pocket, his brown skin gleaming. He looked like every good girl’s bad decision, and she was ready to make it twice. She was happy to see him, and the tingle between her thighs and lip between her teeth gave her away.
“Imma handle dat, don’t even trip, doll baby.”
It had started the day she came back. Small things, consistent. A flower arrangement on her desk Monday morning. Her car was detailed without her asking. Her coffee order was waiting when she was running late. Two weeks in, and she was already getting used to it.
Soft girl era, princess shit, and she loved it.
“Rolani, chill,” she warned him like he always did her.
He shrugged because his favorite place was tangled in the sheets with her. If he could have her at work, he would; she just didn’t understand how different everything felt when being in strong like was involved. He wasn’t ready to save love yet.
“And you hung my curtains. Baby, that’s so sexy.”
“Yeah, clock that shit.” He climbed down from the step stool. “Fixed some other stuff too. Your cabinet, that chair. Who is the maintenance man around this bitch?”
“I was getting to all that.” She walked over and took in the same flowers he had been lost in earlier. They looked perfect. “But thank you. Seriously.”
“I was here anyway.” He picked up the bags from the floor and kissed her on the forehead. “Can’t have my baby living with broke shit.”
“I’ve never met a man who keeps a whole toolbox in their truck.”
“Well, first, you ain’t never met a nigga like me. Second, you never know when you might need it, and I was just raised like that, baby.”
She studied him for a second. This man came prepared for everything. “You know you’re kind of perfect, right? Annoyingly perfect.”
“Nah.” He grinned. “But it sounds like I’m making you eat those words.”
“Just a little.” She moved past him toward the kitchen. “Now come help me cook.”
“Yes ma’am.” He followed her and crowded her space the way he knew she secretly liked. "What we cooking anyway?"
“I had a taste for pizza. With cookies for dessert. I had a nightmare of a day, so I plan to stress-bake. And cookies are my favorite thing.”
“Who do I gotta see about this terrible day?”
“Nobody.” She bumped his hip. “Just one of those days. Nothing serious. I’m pregnant, and my hormones are all over the place. I’m fine.”
“Aight, but say the word. You know I’m not playing about you.” He meant it. If she needed him to handle something, he would. No hesitation.
“I will.” She handed him a measuring cup. Her fingers brushed his. The touch was light but intentional. She was glad she called him. “You ever made cookies before?”
“Nah, but I wanna learn.”
“Okay, wash your hands, and I’ll teach you.” She watched him move to the sink and appreciated the way he moved through her space. “Fair warning, though. You mess up my sweet treat, I’m kicking your ass.”
“That’s how you doing it?”
“That’s exactly how I’m doing it.” Her smile took the edge off the threat.
They fell into an easy rhythm. He built the cookie batter at her direction while she built the homemade pizzas.
“Aye, I told Giovanni about us today.” He focused on scooping the cookie dough out the way she had shown him.
“Oh yeah?” She kept portioning out cookie rounds with perfect precision, but he could tell she was listening hard. “What did he say?”
“He was tight. But not about us, but about me not telling him sooner. Talking about we’ve been boys since we were eight, sharing juice boxes and stealing candy.” He laughed, remembering Giovanni’s face.
“Well, to be fair, we were trying to keep it a secret at first.” She stole a chocolate chip from the bowl and popped it in her mouth. “That lasted what, two days?”
“Shit, not even.” He shook his head and grinned at the memory. “Riya pulled that shit at the radio station, and my little Ken Doll turned into a Chucky Doll.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You slammed your notebook on that glass like you were about to come through it.” He laughed. “That’s when I knew you were feeling me for real. I also knew you might be a little touched like me.”
“Y’all had me fucked up for real. Her being thirsty, you letting it happen. I haven’t even really gotten to go there with you because of Little LA’s reveal, but I’m not going to stand for none of that. Ever.”
“I already told you I ain’t that nigga. The way I wanna show out about you and with you…I’m not a fool.”
He could go so far, but he wasn’t trying to scare her away. Kennedi needed him to go at her pace, and he was cool with that. He was here to stay. But more than that, he wanted her to stay. For him. With him.
“Good to know,” she murmured, blushing. She focused on the cookies, but her smile stayed. “So Giovanni knows now. That gonna be weird at work?”
“Nah, he cool. He was happy for me. But that’s G. He always wants the best for me.” He didn’t know why he was shocked because Giovanni knew his character and who he was as a man. It seemed like everyone he cared about wanted this for him. That made him feel like that nigga.
“I told him you got me thinking about shit I’d never have.”
“What kind of shit?” she asked, her voice softer now.
“The forever kind,” he said before gripping the sides of her face and tonguing her down.
He couldn’t get enough of being in Kennedi’s space.
The timer went off, pulling them from the moment.
She turned in his arms, and he remained close as she swapped the pizza to bake the cookies. They cut the pizza and grabbed plates.
“Forever sounds good,” she said, leading him to the living room. He smiled as she turned on the TV, grabbed her water, and settled in his lap.
“Guess what week it is.”
“Hhmm,” he thought about it, taking a bite of pizza. “Shark Week?”
“See, you do listen to me.”
“Doll, you haven’t let me forget about Shark Week, that’s all you’ve been talking about for days. This shit better be all you hyped it up to be.”
“Oh, it will be. It’ll certainly be better than Pawn Stars.”
He smacked his teeth and mushed her upside the head softly before wrapping his arms around her waist. “This shit feels so natural with you.”
“It’s supposed to feel that way.” She settled deeper into his lap. “So what’s next for you? With business and everything.”
“I’m expanding SLV. Giovanni is joining in on the third location. Signature Rims coming through.” He took a bite of pizza. “Got some real estate deals closing next month. We building and stacking.”
“Okay, period. And we?” she repeated, testing the word.
“Yeah. We.” He kissed her temple. “You in this with me, Ken. All of it. And now I gotta make sure my son straight.”
“Lani, you are going to be such a good father.”
They sat there, her hand in his, Shark Week forgotten on the screen.
“I hope so, Ken.”
“Don’t doubt yourself. I need you to be confident in our ability to do this and do it right.”
“My bad, baby. I’ve been thinking about some shit.” He paused. “The night at the club. That wasn’t a good night for me. It would’ve been Pearl’s birthday. I’d gone to see her that morning, took her some flowers, and sat with her for a while. By the time night came, my head was gone.”
He picked up his drink. Set it back down.
“I wasn’t there to party, Ken. I was spiraling. Pearl being gone, you ignoring me since LA, all of it was hitting me at once. I went out looking for trouble. Looking for somebody to give me a reason to let some shit off.”
He paused, his hand moving to her belly.