“Nothing.” It wasn’t nothing but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to say those words to him. She’d only ever said it once andwasn’t sure if she was ready to be rejected. Although his actions said he did, at every turn he aimed to please, make her happy, and ensure she was safe. I love you was scooting closer and closer. “I’ll see you later. Dinner is in the crockpot, and Monroe needs baking soda for her science project. It’s the weekend, so don’t let her work on it all night. Make her be a kid.”
He stared at her for a second, taking it all in. The way she stood in the gap for him with Monroe. The way she made sure there was food waiting at home—home, because that’s what it had become with her in it. The way she trusted him with her body, her business, her dreams. The way she let him protect her without losing herself.
His head felt so full he could float away. He was so damn lucky. All he could think about while he was gone was getting back to her. It’s why he’d told Giovanni he was falling back for a minute. They’d done what needed to be done, and the business was running itself.
She kissed him one more time, soft and sweet, then headed for his truck.
“Okay, Momma. Go have fun.”
He shook his head, laughing at himself. She had him wrapped around her finger, but she deserved it. She’d made it clear she was a rider for real.
She blew him a kiss as she drove away.
Chapter Twenty-One
TWO WEEKS LATER
Kennedi stoodin front of her bedroom mirror, smoothing down the black midi dress one more time. She was proud of the She was proud of her reflection looking back at her. Hair freshly done in soft curls from the salon that morning, nails a soft pink, skin glowing from the facial her mom had insisted she get.
“That man is spoiling you,” her mom had said when she dropped her off an hour ago. “Don’t fight it, baby. Let him.”
And Kennedi had. For once, she’d let someone take care of her without guilt, without the need to prove she could do it herself.
She checked her phone. Rolani said he’d be here at 7. It was 6:58.
A knock at the door.
She smiled, grabbing her clutch and slipping on her heels before heading to answer it.
When she opened the door, Rolani stood there looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine. All black—black button-down that fit him perfectly, top buttons undone showing his chain, black slacks tailored to his frame. Locs freshly retwisted and pulled back. Gold gleaming when he smiled at her.
In one hand, he held a bouquet of peonies—her favorite. In the other, a small gift bag with tissue paper peeking out the top.
“Damn, Ken,” he said, eyes roaming over her as she walked toward him. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She did a little spin. “The self-care day was needed. I feel good.”
“You look better than good, baby.” He pulled her close, one hand on her waist, the other cupping her face.
“You look good too. Really good.”
“These are for you. And this is for Little LA.”
Her eyes widened. “You got the baby something?”
“Open it.”
She set the flowers down on her entry table and took the bag, pulling out the tissue paper. Inside was the softest baby onesie she’d ever felt—cream-colored with “Made in L.A… ishh.” embroidered on the front in gold thread.
“Baby, this is so cute. I love it.”
“Good, bring it with us. You ready?”
“Ready for what? You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“The studio.”
She frowned. “My studio? Why?”
