Page 19 of Belonging: KT & Lolo (Good Hope: The Next Generation #2)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Did I say you could look at that?” KT’s voice cut sharper than intended as he stepped through the door.

Braxton, still studying the canvas on the easel, barely glanced back. “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

KT’s shoulders tensed. “When the faces the wall, that usually means it’s not for public viewing.”

Braxton turned with a casual shrug and ambled to the sofa. “Got it. Next time, I’ll take the hint.” He sat, then added, “It’s her, isn’t it?”

KT hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before dropping into the seat across from him. “How’d you guess?”

Braxton took a sip from his wineglass. “The brilliant blues—same shades as her eyes. That layered texture? It’s got your whole heart in it.”

KT arched a brow. “When did you start talking like a critic?”

“I’ve been listening to you my whole life.” Braxton lifted the glass in salute. “Some of it stuck.”

KT looked toward the canvas and nodded. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s good,” Braxton said, tone quiet but sincere.

“I can already see the finished version in my head. It won’t be literal—it never is—but it’ll be vibrant. Layered. Like her. Like…life.”

Braxton studied him for a moment longer. “She seems nice.”

“She is. Smart. Funny. She gets me, gets the art.” KT’s voice softened, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “She’s not trying to shape me into something I’m not. She just…sees me.”

“And she’s beautiful.”

“That’s true. But it’s the least extraordinary thing about her.”

Braxton gave a dry chuckle. “You really are gone.”

KT’s lips twitched. “Yeah.”

Braxton swirled the last of his wine. “You haven’t known her long. You knew Sonya for years, and it still took time to realize who she really was.”

KT flinched at the comparison. “Don’t bring up Sonya.”

“I’m just saying,” Braxton continued. “Sometimes the surface feels right, but it doesn’t hold up under pressure.”

KT’s jaw tightened. “Lolo’s not like Sonya.”

Braxton set down his glass. “When you two were talking earlier, I couldn’t help noticing you skipped over how she ended up here. It’s…convenient, isn’t it?”

“She told you,” KT said, his voice cooling. “Work stress. Needed a break. Family here. It tracks.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she chose Good Hope because you were here.”

KT stood, tension coiling through him. “You think she’s here to manipulate me?”

“I think you should slow down,” Braxton said carefully. “Make sure what you feel isn’t just timing or projection. You’ve got history with being pulled in by charm.”

KT’s eyes flashed. “This is different.”

“Maybe it is,” Braxton said, his tone even. “But maybe some of it doesn’t quite add up. Just…keep your eyes open. Don’t give aw ay something precious until you know she can be trusted with it.”

Silence stretched between them. KT finally looked back toward the easel.

“I already know,” he said quietly. “I trust her.”

Braxton didn’t argue. But he didn’t look convinced either.

The cabin had gone quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t just settle around you—it settled in you.

KT stood at the sink, rinsing two wineglasses. The one Braxton had used still held the faint scent of red. He didn’t know why he was washing them now, not when he could barely keep his eyes open. Maybe it was the need for rhythm. For control.

Outside, the wind stirred through the trees, brushing against the windows like an old friend. Inside, the only light came from the small lamp on the counter. It cast long shadows on the floor, turning the corners of the room to dusk.

He’d thought that talking to Braxton—really talking—might ease something inside him. Instead, it left a knot. Not just because of the questions his brother had asked, but because of the ones they’d stirred up.

What if you’re wrong? Braxton hadn’t said it out loud, but the implication lingered.

KT dried his hands and walked into the living room. The unfinished canvas on the easel waited. The rich blues and delicate lines held more of Lolo than she knew—and more of him than he’d ever meant to give.

He dragged a hand over his jaw and sank into the armchair. The tiredness in his body was bone-deep, but his mind refused to quiet.

Lolo hadn’t asked anything of him. Hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t plotted. She’d shown up in his life like sunlight cracking through clouds—unexpected, warm, real.

Yet, Braxton’s warning clung to him like smoke. What if you’re not seeing clearly? What if she came here for a reason you don’t understand yet?

KT leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the painting. His gut said he could trust her.

But his heart had been wrong before.

He rubbed the back of his neck and let his head fall back against the chair. The weight of possibility pressed down, quiet but heavy.

In the soft hush of the cabin, he made himself a promise—not to shut down, not to walk away.

But to pay attention.

To listen. Not just to what Lolo said or didn’t say, but to who she was when no one was looking.

And for now, that had to be enough.

As Lolo shut the blinds on the window facing KT’s cabin, she noticed his lights were still glowing.

She’d wondered if the brothers might head out, maybe take in all the Ding-A-Ling had to offer. But it looked like they’d decided to stay in.

What were they talking about? Was she part of the conversation?

Braxton had seemed decent, but his questions earlier had made clear his concern that she was using KT.

The thought twisted in her stomach, leaving a cold knot in her chest. Even if she hadn’t fallen for KT—and she had—she would never manipulate him for professional gain. That wasn’t who she was.

Her phone rang, slicing through the stillness and making her heart leap.

Maybe it was KT. Maybe he was calling to say he missed her.

She hurried into the kitchen, her rising hope dimming when she saw the screen.

Her father.

Still, her smile was real as she answered. “Hi, Dad.”

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” Scott Kendrick’s warm, familiar voice filled her ear.

“Nope, still up.” She dropped into the overstuffed chair and tucked her legs beneath her. “How’s Italy? Are you and Mom having a great time?”

“It’s been incredible. But I think we’ll both be ready to come home by the end.” A beat. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in Good Hope with KT Slattery?”

Lolo froze, then started to ask how her father knew, but he was already telling her.

“I called your brother earlier, and he mentioned it. Acted like he wasn’t supposed to, like it was a secret. Sweetie, you don’t have to worry about getting my hopes up. I think it’s fantastic you took the initiative to find out where Slattery was staying and go after him.”

“No. Dad, that’s not what happened.” Lolo took a deep breath. “It was pure coincidence that KT was in town. In no way did I plan this.”

“Oh, okay. Still, I assume you talked to him about the project.”

“I did. It’s still a no.”

“You reviewed our offer? We could go up. It’s not my preference, but if more money is what it will take?—”

“It’s not about the money,” she explained. “The last project drained him. He doesn’t want to do that to himself again.”

“Did you tell him about the concessions Malcolm’s willing to make?”

“I did.” She kept her voice even. “KT was clear—he’s out. But on the bright side, I’ve been working on some new concepts I think have real promise.”

Her father paused, then cleared his throat. “Well, that’s excellent news at least. I can’t wait to see them.”

Lolo glanced toward her desk and the sketches waiting there, lines alive with intention and new energy. “I’m not giving up. Not until I give Stillwell something that really lands.”

“You will.” Her father’s voice was steady, sure. “You’ve got the talent. And the eye. I believe in you, Lolo.”

She smiled, his confidence hitting exactly where it was needed. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”

“Love you, sweetie,” he said, his tone softening. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Love you, too.”

After the call ended, Lolo sat in the quiet, the phone still warm in her hand.

No, she wasn’t giving up. Not on herself—and not on what she was beginning to believe might just be her own way forward.

She stood and crossed to her desk, fingertips trailing across the edge of her sketchpad before she eased into the chair. Outside, the night was still, the only light in the room coming from the small lamp on her desk. It cast a soft golden pool across the page, just enough to work by.

Lolo picked up her pencil, its familiar weight grounding her.

She didn’t start with buildings. Not tonight.

Instead, her hand moved in quiet, fluid lines, shading curves, chasing light, letting emotion guide the strokes. A shoulder. A jawline. The suggestion of a profile looking off at something unseen.

She wasn’t sketching for approval or a proposal or a client. She was sketching to remember. To reconnect with the part of herself that felt clearest in stillness.

The part that had found something real. Someone real .

The pencil slowed as she added the final line, delicate but certain.

Lolo sat back, exhaling. It wasn’t finished. But it was hers.

For the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.

On Sunday, KT invited her to join him, Braxton and their grandparents at church. His eyes had been warm with something close to hope when he’d stopped by her cabin, but Lolo had hesitated.

It felt like a family thing—private, close-knit. She wasn’t sure she belonged. Not yet.

Instead, she laced up her running shoes and took off into the quiet of morning, choosing a new route. Her feet found a rhythm, steady and grounding, her breath fogging slightly in the cool air. For a while, it was just her and the open road.

When she spotted the Daily Grind, Zoe’s father’s coffee shop, she veered off course, lured by the promise of something warm and sweet.

The smell of fresh coffee wrapped around her like a hug as she stepped inside.

The place buzzed with Sunday morning energy—toddlers with sticky fingers, couples trading bites of breakfast sandwiches, a woman in the corner reading a novel.