The chef looked up and smiled. “Congratulations,” he said warmly. “Dinner’s almost ready. I’ll be out of your way in five minutes.”
Kennedi stared, overwhelmed all over again.
Rolani guided her to the table, pulled out her chair, waited until she sat before taking his own seat across from her. Hegrabbed her ankle and slipped her heels off while massaging her feet and ankles. Anything to touch her.
“How did you...” She looked around, trying to process. “When did you even have time to do all this?”
“I got people.” He grinned.
The chef brought out the first course — seared scallops with a citrus reduction. Then the rest came: filet mignon, lobster tail, truffle mashed potatoes, and roasted asparagus. Everything was plated with care.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Chef Eddie said, setting down the last dish. “Dessert is in the fridge when you’re ready. Congratulations again.”
“Thank you,” they both said.
And then it was just them.
Rolani poured her some sparkling cider and himself some Scotch.
“To you,” he said, raising his glass. “To us. To doing shit backwards and making it work anyway.”
She laughed, clinking her glass against his. “To us.”
They ate slowly, savoring every bite.
“When did you know?” she asked after a while. “That you wanted to marry me?”
He was quiet for a moment, cutting into his steak. “Honestly? That first night in LA. But I really knew when Monroe texted me that you threatened to bash Monshay’s face in.” He looked up at her.
Her throat tightened. “Rolani...”
“I’m not saying I had the ring picked out that night,” he continued. “But I knew I wanted to know everything about you. I knew I wanted to be your husband.”
“You really mean that.”
“Every word.” He reached across the table, taking her left hand, thumb brushing over the ring. She stood then, came around the table, and settled carefully onto his lap.
“I love you,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve said it before.”
“I love you too, baby.” He kissed her, soft and slow. “More than I thought I could love anybody.”
They eventually finished dinner, moving through the courses slowly, talking about the future. They both agreed that the wedding would be soon. His place made more sense, bigger, more room for all three of them. He told her what type of father he wanted to be — present, consistent, nothing like his own. She told him what type of mother she was working toward. Strong. Supportive. Someone Little LA would be proud of.
By the time dessert made it from the fridge—Turtle Cheesecake with vanilla bean ice cream—it was almost midnight.
“I can’t believe this is my life,” Kennedi said, taking a bite.
“Believe it,” Rolani said, watching her. “I told you there’s more to come.”
She laughed. “What else could you possibly have planned?”
“Right now? Taking you home.” He stood, extending his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”
The drive back to his place was quiet, comfortable. Kennedi kept staring at the ring on her finger, watching it catch the streetlights as they passed. Rolani’s hand stayed on her thigh the whole time.
When they pulled into his driveway, the porch light was on. Monroe’s bedroom light was still glowing upstairs.
“She still up?” Kennedi asked.
