Inside, Rolani took his seat across from Riya, the host, but his focus wasn’t on her. His gaze kept flicking to the glass where Kennedi sat in the viewing area, pen in hand, notebook open, face all business. She might have thought she was hidden behind that professional mask, but he felt her eyes on him anyway.
Riya leaned toward the mic, her tone smooth and practiced. “We’re here with Rolani Pracher, co-founder of Customs by Giovanni and the creative genius behind some of the most jaw-dropping custom paint jobs in the South. Tell us how it all started.”
He leaned in. “It started in Giovanni’s daddy’s garage when we were kids. I spent just about every weekend at Gio’s house, and Saturdays meant one thing—we’d be under the hood of some car, learning whatever Mr. Dowlen wanted to teach us.”
Through the glass, he saw Kennedi’s pen moving fast, her head tilted slightly as she took it in. She was catching details she’d never heard before.
“So cars were always in your blood?” Riya asked, smiling.
Rolani shook his head. “Nah, cars were Gio’s first. For me, it was a way to stay outta trouble. Then I fell in love with painting. Mr. Dowlen could do it all—mechanics, body work, restoration. After we rebuilt the Camaro, he handed me a spray gun and told me to paint it. That’s when it clicked. That’s when I knew.”
“You’d found your calling?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Mixing colors, taking rust and bent-up metal and turning it into something that became a high for me. And I kept getting better. Ain’t nobody fucking with me now.”
“That’s beautiful,” Riya said, her voice almost purring. “And now you two have turned that teenage passion into an empire.”
Rolani nodded. “Yeah. But it all goes back to Mr. Dowlen. He used to say idle hands and minds are the devil’s playground. He believed in putting kids to work, teaching us skills that would never go away. He showed us that we could build, and that was far more important than tearing things up.”
“That’s powerful. And now you’re not just building cars, you’re building opportunities. What would you say to the young people listening right now who might be in the same kind of situation you were in back then?”
“First thing — come see us when we open Idle Hands. That's exactly what it's for.” He paused. “But bigger than that, where you come from doesn't decide where you end up. Put the work in and trust the process — your win is on the other side of it.”
“Good shit,” Gordan, the male host, added. “Mr. Dowlen was like that man. Believing that men should be men. We need that back.”
“Exactly, and I’mma keep it real, that goes for the young women too. Don’t leave them out of the conversation. My grandmother was the blueprint for everything I know about work ethic and showing up. My niece is fourteen and smarter than my brother and me combined. The women in our communities carry just as much weight, sometimes more, and they deserve the same opportunities to build. Idle Hands ain’t only for the young men. It's for everybody who needs somewhere to go and something to do with their hands.”
He paused, letting that land.
“Everybody got a choice. You can let it bury you, or you can flip it and build something out of it. I chose to turn my pain into purpose, my struggle into strength. I’m living proof your past doesn’t have to be your prison. You got the keys to your own freedom. The question is, do you have the courage to use them?”
Riya smiled, lashes fluttering. “That's an incredible story. What drives you now?”
Rolani's eyes cut to the glass. Kennedi's pen had stopped moving.
“That's hard to answer,” he said, tone low. “But I’d say everything — my future, the moves I still gotta make, and definitely my family. Those by blood and the ones I found.”
He glanced back toward Kennedi, hoping she understood what he was saying.
Riya seized on the pause, shifting into a sultry register that made Kennedi’s spine straighten. “Now, switching gears—our listeners want to know about the man behind the business. You married? Dating?”
Rolani’s expression didn’t change. “Aye, I’m focused on the business right now.”
Riya tilted her head slightly, smiling like she was sharing a private joke with the audience. “So you’re focused on business right now… meaning there isn’t anyone special distracting you?”
Kennedi's grip tightened on her pen as Riya's manicured nails traced a pattern against his skin.
She laughed softly. “That’s surprising. A man with vision, discipline, and that kind of presence? I would’ve assumed somebody locked you down.”
Rolani pulled back smoothly, professionally, but he didn’t tell her to stop. “Appreciate the interest, but we should wrap this up or get back to the business.”
“Of course.” Riya’s hand lingered a second too long before she pulled away. “But just so you know, my offer stands. Anytime you want to discuss... opportunities... You have my number.”
Through the glass, Kennedi felt heat crawl up her neck.
“Locked you down? On air?” she muttered.
Her pen pressed into the page.
