“Okay...” Kennedi drew out the word, waiting.
Spirit took a breath. “I’ve been writing romance novels. Under an alias. And I just love it, Ken. I need to give it a real shot, not treat it like some side thing I do when I’m bored. And I feel like I need to be in one place for a second, you know? I feel how you felt. Shit, maybe love will find me too.”
“Whew, honey.” Kennedi sat back, processing. “So much to unpack there. Let’s start with bitch, I need the link, and why are you not yelling this from the mountaintops? I’m proud of you.”
“I don’t know.” Spirit’s voice went quieter, more vulnerable. “I guess I wanted to keep it to myself until I knew it wasn’t a hobby. Until it felt real enough to claim out loud. And thank you—I can’t believe this shit is actually happening.”
“What inspired you to do this, sis?” Kennedi’s eyes lit up. “Oh, and do they be fuckin’?”
“They definitely be fuckin’, sis.” Spirit laughed, some of the tension easing. “But my other reason for being home...” She trailed off, fingers picking at the edge of a napkin. “I stayed away from this place because heartache consumed me for years. I need to release that shit for real.”
Kennedi’s expression shifted, concern replacing excitement. “Sis, I love you, and this takes courage. He really did a number on you.” She paused. “Is he still around?”
“You could say that.” Spirit’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Being back is making me confront some hard truths, but I’m good. Ready to do this. Ready to be an auntie.” Her voice brightened, pushing past the weight. “It was fun doing what I was doing, but this writing thing? This is my gift, you know?”
“I know.” Kennedi reached over, squeezing her hand. “I know.”
For the next few hours, they talked through so much. Spirit stretched out on the couch, one leg tucked under her, while Kennedi curled into the opposite corner, her hand never straying far from her belly. Between them, the charcuterie board slowly disappeared—pepperoni vanishing first, followed by cubes of sharp cheddar and handfuls of grapes.
They talked about work—Kennedi’s podcast, the documentary series she was building, and preparing for motherhood. Spirit admitted she was scared to be back home, her voice going quieter when she said it. Then she pulled up her author page on her phone, finally letting Kennedi see the three books she’d been hiding for a year. One release had turned into three, and she was home to work on telling her own story through fiction. She went into each one—plot, characters, the worlds she’d built—while Kennedi added them to her TBR with genuine excitement.
Kennedi checked her watch: 1:15 PM. Right on cue, her phone buzzed. Rolani’s name lit up the screen, and her whole face changed.
Spirit noticed immediately. “Look at you. Can’t even see his name without smiling.”
Kennedi started gathering her things—keys, phone, the new Stanley cup Rolani bought her because he said she didn’t drink enough water.
“Shut up.” But she was grinning as she answered. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey, doll baby. You straight?”
“I’m good. Hanging with Spirit. About to head out to get Monroe.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, still moving around the room.
“I appreciate you, for real. I know I keep saying it, but?—”
“Rolani.” Her voice went flat, but the smile stayed. “You’ve thanked me every single day since you left. Multiple times a day. I got it, baby. For real.”
Spirit covered her mouth to keep from laughing, but also melting at the exchange. She knew Rolani not only needed this but also deserved it.
“My bad.” His tone shifted, dropped lower. “I miss y’all. Miss you especially. I ain’t never had to do this before.”
“We miss you too.” Kennedi glanced at Spirit, then turned slightly away, voice going softer. “When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow night. Late, probably. But I’ll come straight home. You gon’ be there?”
“No place I’d rather be.”
There was a pause, heavy enough to feel even through the phone. Then his voice came back quieter, more intimate. “You know what I been thinking about?”
“What?” But she already knew from his tone where this was going.
“How good you gon’ look bent over the arm of the couch, looking back at me, telling me not to stop.” His words were deliberate, spaced out like he was savoring them. “I’m eating that pussy from the back too.”
Heat flooded her face. She turned completely away from Spirit now, walking toward the hallway. She’d missed this — his voice cutting through whatever stress the day threw at her, the way sleep came easier wrapped up in him. Missed him, period. More than she knew how to say out loud.
“Rolani, I have company.”
“What that mean to me? You got me out here distracted as hell, thinking about how a nigga ain’t even gotta put it in to have you creaming. How good that pregnant pussy feels swallowing my dick. The sounds you make when I hit that spot.” He paused. “You miss me, Ken?”
