by LK Farlow
“Cash Michael Carson.” Oh, shit, she full-named me. “You have a girlfriend?”
“Mom, no—”
“A girlfriend you haven’t ever mentioned? One I haven’t even met? A girlfri—”
This insanity has to stop. “MOM! I don’t have a girlfriend. I promise.”
“You want her to be your girlfriend,” Jake tosses out. Apparently, he’s feeling real helpful tonight. I'm this close to throwing him under the bus with Paige.
“You know what? You're right. I'd love nothing more than to date her. But thanks to you, she won't even speak to me. Wanna get into why?" I can feel my blood pressure rising. Damnit.
“You’re getting awfully upset over this, Cash. That’s not like you,” Mom says in that soft, soothing way only a mom is capable of. “There’s obviously something. Tell me about her.”
“Fuuuu . . .” I clear my throat. “All right. Her name is Myla Rose. She owns the salon in town with her best friend. She’s really good friends with Drake. We've spent some time together, and like I keep saying, your other son ruined any chance I had with her.” I'm trying my hardest to keep my anger at bay. It's a battle to not be mad at Jake over this to start with, and with the smarmy way he's acting? I'd say it's a losing battle.
"Jacob Paul, what did you do?"
"Mom, it's really nothing—a misunderstanding."
I snort my disbelief. "Of epic fucking proportions."
"Cash Michael, you watch your mouth!" Mom smacks the back of my head.
Twenty-four years on this earth, and my mother still scolds me like a child, God love her. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry."
Jake chuckles, which causes Paige to smack the back of his head. "I swear, Jake, y'all act like children sometimes. I mean, the twins are behaving better right now."
"What did you do to cause a rift between Cash and his girlfriend, Jake?"
I'm looking down at my lap, just waiting to see what story he spins. Though, I guess I shoulda been looking at him. Then, maybe, I’d have known this was coming.
“Did I mention she’s pregnant?” He casually throws it out there, almost like he's trying to deflect from the shit-storm he caused with her. Because he fucking is . . . asshole.
I’m not ashamed that she’s pregnant. Hell, no. I think she’s strong as shit—willing to go it alone and raise that baby. It’s actually a bit of a turn-on . . . like everything else about her. Jesus, I gotta get a grip on this shit.
“Oh, she’s . . . expecting?” Now, most people would be waiting for some judgey remark to fall from my Mom’s lips, but I swear, the woman’s a damn saint. “Well, isn’t that wonderful? Babies are a gift from God.” Her eyes are all watery, like she’s just been told she’s getting another grandbaby.
Oh, shit. That train needs to pull right back into the station.
“Yeah, Mom, it is. For her. Not us. Not you. Myla Rose is my . . . well, my nothing now. She's my nothing." I cut my eyes at Jake.
“Sure, sure. Of course,” she says.
“But you want her to be more?” Mom's tone is feathery soft. It's also a front. She's trying to lull me into a false sense of security so I'll open up and spill my heart to her. Like I said, these people are hounds, and now they have a scent to suss out.
“All right, let's leave Cash be,” Paige scolds, though by her smile, I can tell she’s enjoying this just as much as they are.
“Yeah, let’s leave Cash alone. Lord knows he’s too sensitive—”
Paige cuts her eyes to Jake. “Oh, you hush up, Mister. Don’t think you’re off the hook. Because you’re not. We’ll be talking later about your part in all of this.” Jake sinks into his chair with his mouth and eyes turned down, looking very much like a scolded puppy.
Over this conversation, I stand to start clearing the table. As I’m walking into the kitchen, I hear my mom ask, “Now what salon does she work at again?” Paige tells her the name before glancing up at me and lowering her voice before continuing. Mom’s reply to whatever Paige said is just as hushed.
“Cash, baby,” Mom yells. “Why don’t you load the dishes tonight?” Because that’s not at all obvious.
“Sure thing.”
I load the dishwasher the exact way I know she likes it, dry my hands, and make my way back out to the dining room—only to be met with a roomful of shit-eating grins. I’m in trouble.
“Cash,” Paige starts, puppy-dog eyes in full effect, “I totally forgot that we have to go out of town this weekend. Is there any way you could watch the boys?”
“I would, but I have work all weekend,” Mom throws out.
I scrub a hand over my face. I know a setup when I see one. “Sure, Paige, I’ll keep the boys.”
“Great!” she exclaims. “Oh, and one more thing . . . think you could take them for a haircut?” Her smirk is now every bit as devilish as her husband's.
“Mmm. Sure thing.”
“Uncle Cash, we gets to meet your girlfriend?” Preston asks. The twins were so quiet throughout dinner, so focused on their food. I figured they weren't listening. They're like little sponges.
“Not my girlfriend, bud, but yeah, you’ll get to meet her.”
He turns to Lucas, and they start doing that weird twin thing where they communicate with blinks and nods—Lord only knows what they’re saying.
“Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Mills, I’m so glad you reached out,” I say into my phone.
“When would you be available to take measurements, Mr. Carson?” she asks, proper as can be.
I toggle over to my calendar app before replying. “Well, I’m about to pick up my nephews to keep for the weekend, so how about . . .” I scan my schedule, just to double-check. She doesn’t seem like the type of woman to forgive mistakes. “Tuesday afternoon around three thirty?”
“I suppose that will work. Do you have a pen and paper on hand to take down my address?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m ready when you are.” I jot down the street number and name before ending the call with the promise to confirm her appointment at least twenty-four hours in advance. I’m already regretting giving this lady a card, but work is work, and work leads to money.
Not to mention, she seems like the kind of lady who knows people, and that could be very beneficial for Carson’s Custom. So I’ll grin and bear it.
Once Mrs. Mills is added to my schedule, I check the time and gather up my stuff to head home. It’s just after lunch, but Jake and Paige will be by around two with the boys, so I’d better make sure the house is kid-ready.
Sure enough, at two o’clock on the dot, my doorbell starts buzzing. And buzzing. And buzzing. There’s just something about kids and doorbells.
I unlatch the door, and before anyone can say a word, the twins are wrapped around me, trying to wrestle me to the floor. “Uncle Cashmere, we stronger, we gonna beat you!” Preston shouts, warrior-voice in full effect.
“Yeah, prepare to be defeasted!” Lucas growls, backing his brother.
I wrap an arm around each of their waists, hoisting them over my shoulders. “Bud, I think you meant defeated.”
“That’s what I saids!” Lucas protests.
“Boys, let your uncle breathe. Y’all have all weekend. Now head on inside,” Paige admonishes as she walks up from the car, a blanket and stuffed animal bundled in each arm. A few seconds later, I hear the trunk slam, and Jake walks around from the back of their SUV, wheeling two small suitcases behind him.
“You can just leave those by the front door. I’ll get them settled in a bit,” I say, gesturing toward the pint-sized luggage.
“Will do. Y’all got big plans? You know, other than their haircuts?”
“I swear, I oughta knock that smirk right off your face.”
“Yeah, okay. All talk, baby brother. For real, though, y’all have fun.”
“But not too much fun,” Paige says. “And don’t forget bedtime is at eight. Please make sure they brush their teeth—”
“Mom!” Preston whines, “Uncle Cash knows dis stuff.”<
br />
“Yeah, just go!” Lucas chimes in. These boys always have each other's back. I love it.
“I’m just trying to spare Uncle Cash from y’all’s dragon breath—it ain’t no joke,” she retorts before flapping her arms like wings, roaring like a dragon. “Come give me hugs. Dad too, and be good. We love y’all.” She and Jake both kneel, wrapping the boys in a big group hug.
“Be back Sunday. Don’t call unless someone is dying,” Jake shouts as they walk out the door, earning him a smack from Paige. I just smile and tell them we’ll be fine before closing the door.
“All right, boys. What’s first?” I ask the twins once we hear their parents drive away.
“Nerf guns!” they shout in unison.
“Nerf guns,” I echo, heading to the hall closet where I keep the toys for when they visit. “Got a few new ones too.” Preston and Lucas come running behind me so fast, they skid into each other when they try to stop. They’re jumping up and down like they have springs in their shoes, grabby-hand-mode activated. “Now, y’all know the rules. No shooting them inside, and no face or junk shots. Got it?” They nod. “Good, let’s go!”
Forty-five minutes later, we’re all worn slap out. Those two go hard, that’s for damn sure. “Okay, what’s next?” I ask them between sips of ice water.
“Haircuts?” Preston asks, his sly grin so much like Jake’s.
“Yeah, so we can meets your girlfriend?” Lucas chimes in.
“Guys, she’s not my . . . never mind. Let me see if they have time, okay? Because y’all for sure need haircuts.”
Heading inside, I dial Southern Roots, refilling my ice water while I wait for someone to pick up.
“It’s a glorious Friday here at Southern Roots. This is Seraphine.” Her greeting causes me to chuckle. Girl’s got spunk.
“Hello there, Seraphine. This is Cash Carson.”
“Well, well, well. How may I help you, Mr. Carson?” she drawls into the phone.
“I was hoping to set up haircuts for me and my two nephews. Any time available this weekend?”
“Hang on, let me check . . .” I hear her clacking away on her keyboard. “You’re in luck—I can squeeze two of y’all onto Myla Rose’s book, and one onto Azalea’s if y’all can do 10:45 tomorrow mornin’?”
“Yes, please, put us down. Do you need their names or anything?”
“Yep, sure do.” I rattle off their names, and then she hits me with, “Now, I have you and Preston down with Myla and Lucas down with Azalea. We’ll see y’all tomorrow." Something about the way she emphasized my name has my gears turning.
I rinse my glass in the sink and grab the boys each a popsicle before rejoining them in the backyard. “Okay, we’re all set to get haircuts tomorrow mornin’.”
“We gots to wait all the way to tomorrow?”
“Yep, all the way until tomorrow, bud.” And damn, tomorrow can’t come fast enough. To say I’m anxious to see Myla Rose is an understatement. Other than our stilted exchange at Simon's and a quick ‘thanks for the flowers’ text, I haven’t heard from her at all.
So, tomorrow, I find out if my olive branch was enough to at least earn me an attempt to get back in her good graces.
25
Myla Rose
“Myla, don’t kill me, but . . .”
“But what, Seraphine?”
“I booked you two more haircuts tomorrow.”
“Okay, that’s no biggie. I only have Mrs. Cumberland, so I have room.”
When Azalea and I opened Southern Roots, we decided to only do half a day on Saturdays—and with how busy I’ve been lately, combined with how tired this little bean keeps me, I’m glad for it. “Are they new or repeat?”
“Both?” Seraphine replies, wringing her hands together.
“Okay . . . you’re acting ten kinds of crazy. What gives?”
“I booked you Cash and his nephew,” she confesses.
“Oh.” My nightmare of a date with Cash is common knowledge at the salon, so I can see why she’s hesitant. Lemonade, Myla, lemonade.
“All right, still no big deal. Thanks for letting me know.” Cool, calm, and collected may as well be my middle name—never mind that my left eye keeps twitching.
“Uh, yeah, no problem.” She doesn’t look convinced that I’m okay with her booking him.
But, I am. I totally am. Oh, bless it, I can’t even convince myself, much less someone else. There is just something about him that I can’t shake. And I need to shake it, pronto.
Like, by tomorrow. I can’t pinpoint what exactly it is about him. I mean, he just does it for me. Which is ab-fucking-surd, especially since he only wanted to get some.
Yet, I constantly find myself thinking about the lazy way he drawls out my name, as if he’s savoring every letter. At night, I dream about the feel of his strong hands and his heart-stopping smile. Snap out of it, Myla Rose
“Hey, I’m sure you already know, but AzzyJo—”
“I did what, now?” Azalea sasses, inserting herself into the conversation.
“Well, I was trying to tell Seraphine that you called her cousin to set up an interview.”
“Yes! Mags mentioned it when we talked the other day.” Seraphine's smile is so wide her cheeks look like they might split.
“I bet you’ll be glad to have her here, huh?” Azalea asks.
“I really am. It’ll be nice to have a little help taking care of Daddy, that’s for sure.”
“Heard that. When Grams got sick, I wouldn’t have made it without the help of Az and the boys, that’s for damn sure. You know we’re here if you need help, right?”
God bless Seraphine, she’s tough as damn nails. Her mama, much like mine, ran off, which is what brought us together. Her daddy, on the other hand . . . the man’s got a heart of gold.
Unfortunately, that heart’s failing him, and Seraphine’s doing her best to take care of him. She graduated high school last summer and has been working for us at the salon because the hours match up to when his nurse can be there. But I know she wants to do more than be a receptionist for us. She’s just biding her time. One day, I know that girl will spread her wings and fly. I mean, fucking fly—she’ll do great things.
“I know, but y’all have your own things going on.” We both dead-eye her, causing her to add, “Seriously, with the nurse and Mags arriving next week, I’ve got a good handle on things. But if it ever feels like too much, I promise to call y’all first, okay?”
Azalea and I both nod, finding her answer up to par.
“So, what were y’all discussing before all of these emotions got involved?” Azalea asks.
“Well, I was tellin’ Myla that I added two haircuts to her book tomorrow. Speaking of, I added one to yours as well. Lucas Carson at 10:45.”
“Lucas Carson? Never heard of him.” AzzyJo tilts her head to the side as if she’s trying to reach deep for a face to put with the name.
“You wouldn’t have. He’s a kid. You know his uncle though.”
“His uncle?” She tilts her head the other way. Seraphine and I stay silent, knowing she’s only seconds from connecting the dots. “Oh! No way!”
“Yes, ma’am, and he’s on Myla’s book along with his other nephew.”
“You good with that, Myles?”
“Mmm, sure thing. Can’t friggin’ wait.”
“You ready for today?” Azalea asks as we go about setting the salon up for the day.
“Why wouldn’t I be?"
“Hey, I’m just asking—”
“Good mornin’, ladies,” Seraphine sing-songs as she walks into the salon.
I twirl around at the sound of her voice. “Hi. You’re off today—what gives?”
“Oh, like I’d miss today,” she replies, and I roll my eyes and Azalea snorts. “And I brought coffee. You’re welcome.”
She sets a to-go cup on each of our stations before marching back to the dispensary. Azalea shoots me a look full of amusement before picking up her coffee and following Ser
aphine.
I reluctantly follow suit. “Are y’all ever going to stop giving me shit about him? I mean, my stars alive.”
They exchange a knowing look, and Azalea asks, “Did you ever let him explain himself?”
“She's right, you know?” Seraphine quips. "You should hear him out and then decide if you wanna be mad."
“No, no, no. I'm not mad. Not one bit. We hung out a few times and went on one date. Turns out we weren't on the same page.” Minimize and hide those feelings, girl. “Sure, I hate that he led me on, but we're both adults and capable of acting like it. He left a note saying sorry, and I just wanna let the past be, got it? I mean, it’s not like I’m pining away for him.” I slap a hand to my forehead—why did I say that?
“Aren’t you?” AzzyJo fires back.
“Ugh, forget this.” I check the time on my phone. “This conversation is finished. It’s time to open.” I snatch up my coffee and stomp out to my station.
I know I’m overreacting, but still. My grand exit has me feeling a bit better, and I know chatting with Mrs. Cumberland will finish the job. That woman is a ball of energy and so full of life, it’s impossible to be anything but happy in her presence.
Just what I need before his haircut.
Azalea and Seraphine file out behind me, and Seraphine drops her gaze to the floor as she walks past me on her way to the front desk.
Great, now I feel bad.
“You know we were only messing with you, right?” Azalea asks. “No need to pitch a fit.”
She walks away and joins Seraphine at the front desk before I can even form a reply. Looks like I’ll need to add groveling to my to-do list today.
“Oh, Myla Rose, this color is just a little slice of heaven. Exactly what I was goin’ for!” Mrs. Cumberland exclaims when I spin her to face the mirror after blowing her out.
I lightened her hair up a bit to blend out those pesky silver strands, as she calls them. But God bless her, you’d think I’d performed a miracle with how excited she is over it.
"I’m glad you like it. And you should definitely be able to go a week or two longer between touch-ups.”