“Nah.” He shook his head, already pulling out his phone. “This ain’t happening. Not on my watch. I changed my mind. I outta beat yo realtor ass for even showing you this raggedy ass shit.”
When she’d first brought up needing office space, he’d offered to help, and she’d declined—quickly, firmly, not even letting him finish the offer. And he’d respected that. Backed off. Let her do her thing. But now? Now that was over.
“Come eat while I set some shit up.”
They ended up sitting on the tailgate of his truck in the empty parking lot, legs dangling, food spread between them. The sun was starting to dip lower, casting everything in that golden late-afternoon light that made the whole world look softer, warmer.
She unwrapped her sandwich—turkey avocado BLT, no tomatoes because pregnancy had made her hate them—and watched him pull out his phone.
“Yeah, Carter, it’s me,” Rolani said, his tone all business. “Nah, the other space. The one on Second Street... I don’t care what you got planned for it. It’s mine, I own it, and I need the keys today, nigga... Aight, meet me there in an hour.”
Kennedi took a bite of her sandwich, satisfaction spreading through her as she watched him work — phone in one hand, sandwich forgotten on the wrapper beside him, mind already three moves ahead. This was who he was. Always carrying something, always solving something. And here she was, one more thing on his plate.
He must’ve caught the look on her face because he set his phone down and leaned over, kissing her forehead. “Never too busy for you, baby doll.”
“I know, but?—”
“No buts.” He went back to his phone, scrolling through contacts. “You are my priority. Period.”
She bit her lip, fighting the smile trying to break free. This man.
“So tell me about this studio space,” he said after a while, taking a bite of his sandwich. “What’s the vision?”
She lit up immediately, sitting straighter. “Okay, so Through Ken’s Lens Studios is going to be multi-purpose. Of course, my podcast—I’m doing what I want with that. Vlogging showed me I have a lot of hobbies and things to talk about beyond journalism. But the studio part is for others who want to rent the space for their own podcasts. Coupeville is growing, and I want to grow with it. Having my own spot will really make me feel like I’ve got roots, you know?” She giggled, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, I just rambled.”
“Don’t apologize.” He turned to face her fully. “I like hearing you talk about your shit. You get all animated and passionate. It’s sexy.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Stop.”
“I’m serious.” His hand found her thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles. “And I’m helping. However, you need me to.”
“Rolani—”
“Before you start,” he cut her off, “I have properties all over the city. Commercial spots I’m holding for investment. One of them is perfect for what you’re trying to do. It’s on 2nd Street, near that donut shop you like. It’s sitting empty right now.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he kept going.
“Figure out your terms, because although you can have this building, I know you don’t want me giving you anything for free. But what I AM doing is making sure my woman is safe. That’s non-negotiable.”
She was quiet, her old instinct to fight surfacing—the need to prove she could do it alone, that she didn't need anyone. But then she looked at him, truly looked at him. He wasn't trying to control her. He wasn't trying to make her small or dependent. He wanted her to be safe. He wanted her to have what she needed without settling for less.
“Rolani, I can handle this on my own,” she started, then stopped herself. Took a breath. “Butttt I’m glad I don’t haveto anymore.” She laughed, the sound surprising her. “I’m okay being spoiled. I earned it.”
“You did, baby.”
“But,” she added, holding up a finger, “this is still business. I want a real lease. Everything official.”
“Deal.” He kissed her knuckles. “But this is also about me not being able to sleep at night knowing you’re in some fucked-up building that could catch fire or collapse. I can’t have that, Ken. I won’t.”
She exhaled slowly, letting herself really hear what he was saying. She’d spent so long equating independence with isolation, thinking that needing someone meant weakness. But Rolani wasn’t asking her to shrink. He was asking her to let him care.
“Can I at least see it before I decide?”
His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah. We can go look at it right now if you want.”
She left her car in the lot and climbed into his truck. The second she buckled in, Little LA started moving, kicking, flipping, and doing whatever acrobatics he did in there.
“We’re happy to see you, Daddy,” she said, grabbing his free hand and pressing it against her belly.
