He winked at Kennedi, and she felt that familiar surge of gratitude for having him in her corner.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“That said,” he continued, and her heart sank, “your mother’s not wrong. You’ve been so focused on work that you barely date. Hell, you barely even mention men anymore. When’s the last time you brought someone home?”
“Bloody hell, you too?” Kennedi looked between her parents, feeling like she was being tag-teamed. “Look, I just got back in town. I’m not focused on dating right now. But I hear you both.”
“We aren’t getting any younger,” her mother added, settling into her chair. “And we’ve already picked out names for my grandchildren. Biblical names. Strong names.”
“Mom! You sound so ridiculous. You and Dad could’ve given me a sibling, so all this pressure wouldn’t fall squarely on my shoulders. It’s not fair.”
She wanted to wrap this up before she blurted out that technically, she already had someone, let him tell it. A man who carried a gun, would beat someone in an elevator and fucked her so well he’d turned her world upside down. That conversation would probably send her mother into a frenzy of wedding plans and questions. Until she figured out what they were doing, well, what she was doing, she was keeping that secret too.
“Can we please eat dinner without planning my future?”
Truthfully, Kennedi wasn’t even sure if she wanted children until she found out about the growing child inside of her. But she couldn’t tell her mother that. Surely a lecture would follow on how God said, “Be fruitful and multiply.” As if he could only be speaking about children.
“Fine,” her mother said with a dramatic sigh, but Kennedi could see the wheels still turning. “But there’s something about a woman in love that glows. I want to see that glow on my daughter’s face. I want to see you happy, baby. Really happy.”
“Who says I’m not happy?”
“Time to eat, baby love.” Her mother called out to her father, ignoring her question. Kennedi wasn’t about to rope her into that conversation.
The blessing was said, plates were filled, and conversation flowed around the table. Her parents had moved on to discussing the real estate market, but Kennedi’s mind driftedto him. She smiled, picturing Rolani here. She could see him charming her father with talk about cars, making her mother laugh with that charm he easily laid on thick.
So what was her real problem?
The doorbell rang, cutting through her thoughts. Her father set down his fork with a curious look, but Kennedi barely glanced up. Little LA was starving and craving greasy turnip greens. She was on her second bowl.
Her dad’s voice drifted from the hallway, his polite greeting, a deeper voice responding, too low for her to make out the words.
“Kennedi,” her father called from the front door. “You got company, baby girl.”
She frowned, setting down her fork. “Company? I’m not expecting anyone.”
“Well, come on then,” her mother said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “Don’t keep whoever it is waiting. It’s rude.”
Kennedi pushed back from the table, tossing a few braids over her shoulder as she walked toward the hallway. “Daddy, who is?—”
She stopped dead in her tracks. No. No, he did not. Anger hit first. Then her body, completely unbothered by the anger, had its own response. He’d really shown up at her parents’ house. The audacity. The nerve. The...God, why does he look so good?
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said with a wink. He looked so good to her, too good. And he smelled even better; her nose tickled, inhaling his intoxicating scent. She fought the smile trying to form on her face as she took in the starched jeans, crisp white polo, white ones, a nice watch, and a gold herringbone necklace. But those hazel eyes and that breathtaking smile were unmistakable.
Her father was already leading him from the front room. “Heidi, this young man says he knows our Kennedi.”
She pushed her hair back and stepped closer, head tilted.
“I... what are you doing here?” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rolani shifted the weight of the gift bag in his left hand before closing the space between them. A bouquet of fresh roses peeked out, and a slim bakery box from the bakery on Mill Avenue hung under his arm. He wasn’t about to meet her people empty-handed.
He reached for her free hand with his right, lifted it to his lips, and pressed a slow kiss to her knuckles.
In front of my parents. This man is insane, she thought.
Her pulse kicked up despite herself.
“Since you, Shacarri Richardson, I came to where you’d be.” He paused, his smile taking on an edge. “Plus, I wanted to meet the beautiful people who raised you. I hope that’s cool?”
