“Figured. Mr. Walters seems like he keeps it low-key.”
“Yeah, that's Kenneth Walters, cool until he's not. He liked you.”
“I like to hear that. But the biggest fear, though?” His voice dropped. “Losing the people I love. That shit rewires you.”
“Black men and their grandmamas.” She said it softly, with understanding. She’d lost her own grandmother three years ago and still felt the absence. “I love it.”
His laugh came unexpectedly. “Man, we really do love our grandmas. Can't even bullshit about it.” He leaned forward. “She kept me straight when the streets were calling loud as hell. Well, straight as she could. I am my daddy's child.”
The shift in his voice from player to unguarded made her melt. He trusted her. And she was starting to trust him too. All of this felt too good to be true. Too easy. And from what she knew, that hadn’t been either of their stories.
“What do you miss most about her?”
“Everything. But if I’m being real...” He paused, eyes going somewhere else. “Sunday dinners. She’d cook for the whole block, making sure everybody ate a good meal at least once a week. She had this big ass laugh that’d fill up the whole house; it made you forget whatever bullshit was weighing on you. Used to tell me the right one would find me when I wasn’t even looking. She always wanted that for me. Mama issues and shit.”
The way he looked at her when he returned to the present made her forget how to breathe.
“And have you?” The question came out in a whisper. “Found that person?”
Their eyes locked, everything else fading to static. “Yeah. I think I have. I hope I have.”
Her face warmed under his gaze, the heat rising before she could hide it. “Rolani...”
“Look.” He reached over softly, his fingers finding hers. “I ain’t never had a lot of people really riding for me. Pearl, Robin, Giovanni, and his pops before cancer got him. But I’m ready to see what love and sharing life with somebody actually look like. Idone all the other shit—ran the streets, got my paper up, proved whatever the fuck I thought I needed to prove. Now I want something I never thought a nigga like me deserved.”
The server came through with their plates, steam rising off the fried catfish, but Kennedi barely noticed, still processing what he laid out.
“Your turn,” he said, breaking the moment as he grabbed the hot sauce, drowning his fish before taking a bite. “How has a woman as beautiful and talented as you stayed on the market?”
She paused, fingers tightening on her glass. “Some men see my independence and want to break it down, challenge it. That’s going to turn me off every single time. And it’s easier by yourself in my line of work. Men in this field are weird.”
“Like that nigga in the elevator.” Rolani’s voice had gone cold.
“Exactly.” She met his eyes. “That fool was talking about giving me babies, making me a wife. Like that was some prize or all that I was good for. It’s always like that.”
Rolani sat back, jaw working. He thought back to David and the way he had her pinned and scared.
“I should’ve sent that nigga to meet his maker.”
Heat flooded through her—not fear. Desire. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, so absolute.
“We wouldn’t be here if you did.”
“Real shit.” He leaned forward. “But that’s what I’m saying. You been dealing with niggas who see your ambition as a threat or an opportunity to get at you. Not as who you are.” His voice dropped. “I see you, Ken. The work you put in, the way you don’t back down. That shit turns me on more than you know.”
She blinked. “Rolani, you are always gassing me up and saying the right things.”
“I’m serious. I like watching you work. When you get super focused, you get that little crease between your eyebrows, andyou start chewing your lip.” He leaned closer. “That shit makes me want to put you through the mattress, respectfully.”
“I don’t?—”
“You do. And I like it.”
Despite everything, she laughed. “You’re a mess.”
“Maybe. But I’m right, though.” He stole a piece of her cornbread, maintaining eye contact like it was a challenge. “And you still ain’t eating. Come on, Ken. Let me feed you.”
Before she could say anything, he forked a piece of catfish from her plate, golden and steaming. She watched him lick his lips before blowing on the hot fish, her whole body going tight. Lord, she was supposed to be a grown woman with some self-control, not sitting here getting wet watching a man cool down food. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, crossed them again.
