Ro: I KNEW IT. About to have my baby on Dateline. That’s some shit psychos eat.
Kennedi: Your baby is fine! He wants what he wants.
Ro: He wants his mama to stop traumatizing his taste buds.
She smiled despite her frustration and hit the call button instead of texting back. She needed to hear his voice anyway.
“Hey,” he answered on the second ring, and hearing his voice loosened the knot in her shoulders.
“Hey.” She looked around the sad little space again and sighed. “How far out are you?”
“About twenty minutes. What’s wrong? You sound upset.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I’m getting discouraged. That’s why I’m eating my feelings with this nasty-ass combo you were clowning me about.”
“Where are you at?”
“Twelve Oaks Plaza. Looking at another space that’s not gonna work.”
“Send me your location. I’m coming to you.”
She hesitated for half a second — sharing her location still felt intimate, an admission of trust she hadn’t fully said out loud yet, even though they were well past that point. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’re tired. I’m venting.”
“I know I don’t have to.” She could hear his blinker click. “But I’ve been gone, and you said ‘discouraged,’ so I can’t have that. Plus, you probably ain’t ate for real yet, and I’m not about to have my wife running on fumes out here.”
“Your wife, huh?”
“Don’t start. Send the location, Kennedi.”
She laughed and did as she was told, then stepped outside to wait. The April weather was doing what it did best, being unpredictable, but today was nice. A light breeze, bright sun, warmth that made winter feel like a distant memory. She inhaled, letting the fact that she was home, really home, settle over her.
Twenty minutes later, his black Silverado pulled up to the curb. He stepped out holding two bags from Panera and a drink carrier, looking way too good in a simple black hoodie and jeans. His locs were pulled back, gold flashing when he smiled at her.
She didn’t even wait. Just ran to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist like she hadn’t seen him in years.
“I missed you so much,” she said into his neck, breathing him in—cologne that made her want to live in his skin.
“I missed you too, baby.” His hands gripped her thighs, holding her up like she weighed nothing. “I’m all yours from here on out. I don’t like being away from y’all.”
She pulled back to look at him, his hazel eyes locked on hers. “How’d the Atlanta trip go?”
“Good. Deal’s done. First round of rims hitting stores next month.” His smile widened. “We did that shit, Ken.”
“You did that shit,” she corrected, but she was beaming. “I’m so proud of you.”
He set her down gently, his hand lingering on her waist. “You didn’t have to bring food,” she said, but she was already reaching for the bag. “I’m going to be as big as a house.”
“Yeah, I did. Y’all gotta eat.” He handed her a drink—an iced caramel latte, extra caramel, exactly how she liked it. How he remembered these things, she didn’t know. “Show me what you looking at.”
They walked back into the space together, and his face shifted the second he stepped inside. Unimpressed didn’t cover it. He was pissed.
“Fuck no.” He looked up at the water damage, then at the exposed wiring hanging from the ceiling like some horror movie set piece. “Ken, this shit is not up to code. You see that?” He pointed at the outlets, wires exposed, paint chipped around the edges. “That’s a fire hazard. And this?” He knocked on the wall, and it sounded hollow, weak, like one good push would put a hole straight through. “This building probably got asbestos in the walls.”
“It’s in my budget,” she said quietly, hating how defeated she sounded.
“I don’t give a fuck about your budget if you gonna die in here.” His voice was sharper than she’d heard it in weeks. He turned to her, eyes hard. “You really think I’m about to let you work out of some condemned building? Recording interviews by yourself, in a spot where the ceiling could fall on your head?”
“Rolani, I told you I wanted to do this myself.”
