She heard him before she saw him—corduroy slippers on hardwood, that slow morning shuffle he did when he wasn’t fully awake yet.
“What are you doing up?”
She turned, spatula in hand, and smiled. “Happy birthday, baby. I love you, and today is all about you.”
He stood in the doorway, shirtless, gray sweatpants hanging low, locs messy from sleep. His eyes shifted from her to the spread on the counter, then back to her. A flicker of surprise crossed his face—yet there was also joy at her excitement.
“Thank you, baby. You made all this?”
“I did.” She gestured to the kitchen island where she’d set everything up. “Sit down. Let me fix your plate.”
“Ken, you’re seven months pregnant. You should be sitting down.”
“It’s your birthday. I’m taking care of you today.” She pointed the spatula at him. “Now sit.”
He raised his hands in surrender and settled onto one of the barstools, watching her move around the kitchen. She fixed his plate first—stacked it high the way he liked—then made her own, smaller portion.
They ate together at the island, he stole fruit off her plate even though he had his own, she swatted his hand away and laughed. The morning sun came through the windows, catching his smooth mahogany skin. He was a gorgeous man.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, mouth full of pancake.
“You’ll see.”
“Ken.”
“What? It’s your birthday. Trust me and let me do this. We are trading places today.”
“Trading…”
The doorbell rang, cutting him off.
Rolani frowned, looking toward the front of the house. “Who the hell is that this early?”
“That’s part of the plan.” She wiped her hands on a napkin and stood. “Stay here.”
She waddled to the front door and opened it to find Dre on the porch, a barber bag slung over his shoulder, a clippers case in his hand.
“What’s good, Kennedi?” He grinned. “Birthday boy ready?”
“He doesn’t know yet. Come on in.”
She led Dre back to the kitchen, where Rolani was still sitting at the island, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.
“Dre?”
“Happy birthday, nigga.” Dre set his bag on the counter. “Your girl called me last week and said you needed to be right for whatever she got planned today.”
Rolani looked at Kennedi, his expression cracking open. “Not you got my barber to make a house call.”
“I told you. I’m taking care of you today.” She kissed his cheek. “Now finish eating so Dre can get you together.”
“Imma let you have this with yo sneaky ass. I love it, baby.”
“I’ve been planning for weeks.” She settled back onto her stool, rubbing her belly. “You deserve to feel special, Ro. You deserve to have someone make a fuss over you for once.”
He looked at her with that soft, unguarded expression that made her bashful, then went back to his food.
“Thank you.”
