[Southern Roots 01.0] Coming Up Roses

by LK Farlow

  “You know, with this new color, maybe I’d like a new cut as well? What do you think?”

  “I think you’d look amazing with some soft layers around your face and maybe a side-swept bang.”

  “Well, that sounds like a whole lotta gibberish to me, but I trust you.”

  I section her hair for how I’d like to cut it while she tells me about this new recipe she found on Pinterest. Except, she calls it Pin-Interest every time she mentions it. I’m fighting hard to hold back my smile—she’s just too cute.

  The door chimes as I’m about to snip the last section of her bangs, and Mrs. Cumberland pulls her head back from me.

  “Myla Rose, would you take a look?” Her eyes are laser-focused on the front desk. “That man is a cool drink of water on a hot day. I mean, gracious, if I were single and maybe twenty years younger . . .”

  I chance a peek over my shoulder and see Cash standing there, nephews in tow.

  “Yes, ma’am, he sure is something, all right.” I run my flat iron through her bangs to smooth out the marks my clips left behind and once again swivel her to face the mirror. “Here you go. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Myla Rose, this is perfection personified. I just love it!”

  My smile is beaming. This is why I do hair. There is nothing better than making someone love what they see in the mirror.

  “I’m glad you like it, Mrs. Cumberland. When you set up your appointment with Seraphine, remember to have her book it out two weeks later.”

  “I sure will,” she says before wrapping me into a tight hug. The kind of hug a mom gives—the kind I’ll give my little man.

  26

  Cash

  “Preston, Lucas—shoes on and to the truck. We don’t wanna be late for our appointment.”

  “We’s waiting on you, Uncle Cash,” Preston informs me as I walk into the living room, and sure enough, both boys are on the couch, ready to go.

  “Okay then, let’s go,” I tell them, grabbing my keys from the hook by the door. They hop off the couch and race out the door, neck in neck the whole way.

  “SHOTGUN!” Preston yells loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.

  “Try again, little man. It’s the backseat for both of y'all.”

  “But Dad lets—”

  “Your dad isn’t here, dude, and your mom left strict instructions. What Mom says, goes.” I open the back door and make sure they’re both properly buckled before getting us on the road toward Southern Roots.

  It’s only about a fifteen-minute drive, but in those fifteen minutes, they’ve asked every question known to man. From Why is the sky blue? to Where do babies come from? I swear, I’ve never been so glad to see a hair salon.

  “Now listen,” I tell them as we approach the door, “Use your manners, sit still, and for the love of God, don’t call Myla Rose my girlfriend. Got it?”

  “Got it,” they reply in unison.

  “Good mornin’, Cash and company. Y’all can take a seat. It’ll be just a few,” Seraphine says, directing us to the waiting area. I’m about to tell her that sounds fine when I feel someone staring at me.

  Surveying the salon, I immediately find the culprit—a blonde middle-aged woman sitting in . . . Myla Rose’s chair. Interesting.

  Azalea shuts off her blow dryer, allowing me to hear a snippet of their conversation. “Myla Rose, would you take a look? That man is a cool drink of water on a hot, hot day. I mean, gracious, if I were single and maybe twenty years younger . . .” Myla freezes and then slowly looks over her shoulder at me. I attempt to catch her eye, but she whips her head back around so fast I'm surprised it doesn't spin.

  That doesn’t stop me from hearing her words though. “Yes, ma’am, he sure is something, all right.” Even more interesting.

  “We don’t mind waitin’, Seraphine. Just call us when you’re ready.” I take a seat by the twins on the couch that's positioned across from the reception desk and thumb through some chick magazine while we wait.

  Not even five minutes later, our names are being called. “Come on, boys, Myla Rose is ready for Preston. Azalea will be ready for Lucas in just a bit. That okay?”

  “Sure thing.” We all stand and follow Seraphine back to Myla’s station. She attempts to introduce the twins to Myla Rose, but they just stand there and stare at her—and damn if I don't get it. I get awestruck by her too. After a few seconds, Seraphine shrugs her shoulders and retreats to the front desk.

  “Well, boys, looks like the cat’s got your tongues. Which one of you cuties is Preston?”

  Preston ever so slowly raises his hand. “Me. I’m Preston.”

  “Nice to meet you. You wanna hop up into my chair?”

  “You’re so pretty—like a princess!” he blurts, his cheeks taking on a pink tinge from embarrassment. “I–I mean . . . yes, ma’am, I can do that.”

  The booster seat she has in the chair makes it a little difficult, so it takes him two tries to get up into her chair, but when he does, she smiles at him like he’s just crossed the finish line in first place.

  “Good job, P. Can I call you P?” she asks him as she mists the water bottle over his hair.

  “Like a nickname?”

  “Just like a nickname.”

  He beams at her. “I like that.”

  Not one to be left out, Lucas pipes up, “I wants a nickname too!”

  “You do, huh?” Myla asks him. He gives her three sharp nods. “Well, how about . . . Lou?”

  “Lou. Lou. Lou,” he says, testing it out. After rolling it around a few more times, he gives his approval.

  “You needs one too, Miss Myla Rose,” Preston declares.

  “Hmm, I guess you’re right. I do.”

  “Could it be Princess Myla?” he asks.

  “I think I’d like that very much. So, P, how are we cutting your hair today?”

  I like how she directs her questions to him and not to me, and I know he likes it too.

  “Uncle Cash saids I look like a raggle-muffin. So, um. Just make me look like a normal boy.”

  “One normal boy haircut, coming up.”

  Lucas and I watch as she combs and cuts his hair, and while Lucas is much more interested in the hair on the ground, I’m interested in her.

  The way she’s so damn confident. The way each and every cut is precise. The way she holds a conversation with Preston while maintaining her focus. Watching her work is something else.

  Just as I’m about to attempt to insert myself into their conversation, Azalea comes over to let us know that she’s ready for Lucas. “Hey there, Lucas. You ready to get your haircut?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m ready. I want a normal boy haircut, just like my brother, please.”

  “Bud, we can do that for sure.” She pauses to examine the way Myla is cutting Preston’s hair before taking a hold of his hand and leading him to her chair.

  “We are just about finished, P. Let me trim up your neck and you can tell me whatcha think. But you have to sit real, real still—like a statue. Can you do that?” She expertly trims up his little neckline and runs her hands through his hair before rotating him to face the mirror.

  “It’s perfect, Princess Myla. My mommy will love it.”

  “Hey, what do you know? That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.” She removes his cape and lowers the chair before telling him, “Okay, dude. If you wanna go back up front, Miss Seraphine will give you a page to color and a small snack.” He thanks her and hurries along, anxious for that snack. I swear those boys have holes in their legs with the amount of food they consume.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me now, darlin'." The words fall from my lips before I even have a chance to think about them.

  “Guess so,” she says, her cheeks that pretty shade of pink I love so much. I’m not sure why, but it sure does make me feel good knowing that I have some kind of effect on her. “We cutting like we did the last time?”

  “Yeah, I liked that. Just trim it back down.�
� She runs her hands through my hair, trailing her nails across my scalp. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to hold in my groan.

  When she makes it to my neck, though, all bets are off.

  “Goddamn.” My voice is gruff and low. Gritty, like sandpaper. She jerks her hand away from me like she’s been burned, so I know she heard me. And that’s okay.

  Instead of acknowledging my remark, she jumps right into her work. She’s buzzing down the sides when I finally speak up. “Listen, I know we haven’t really talked about anything, but I–I'd really like a chance to explain.”

  “Let's just let sleeping dogs lie, okay?”

  "Not gonna happen. I need to talk to you. Please hear me out?"

  "Cash, please. It's okay. I just—I wish you'd have been upfront with me. Instead, you filled my head with all kinda thoughts. Really, though, let's just move on."

  I hate the sadness I hear in her voice. It guts me. I have to find a way to get her to listen to me.

  “Shit.” I run a hand through my hair, knocking her hands away. “Listen to me and listen closely. Those texts were from my brother. He's usually a good guy, but sometimes he's an immature asshole. He wasn't being serious—he was giving me a hard time. Doesn't make it right, but that's the long and short of it. I'm so goddamn sorry. Truly."

  “Oh, okay. If you say so, Cash.” She still sounds unsure, and that’s not working for me.

  “I swear it. I was lucky you even gave me the chance to take you out again, and I promise you with all that I am—that isn't the kind of guy I am. I don't sleep around, and I sure as hell don't treat women like they're disposable. I've only been in one serious relationship, and you know how that ended. Jake thought he was being funny. He knows, now, that he wasn't."

  I rotate the chair around so that I'm facing her. She needs to see me. I plant my feet firmly on the floor and reach out and pull her closer, my hand to her hip. I'm operating on pure instinct. The need to feel her is almost overwhelming.

  “Please, darlin’. I’m sorry, so fucking sorry.”

  I hold her stare—I want to be sure she sees my apology in addition to hearing it. “And know this, Myla Rose. If you ever give me the privilege of taking you out again, I won’t mess it up. Not even a little.”

  With my last words, I give her hip a light squeeze, just for emphasis. Startled, she tips toward me. Her hands fly to my shoulders to brace herself. For a few seconds, we stay just like that, and all feels right in the world.

  27

  Myla Rose

  His eyes have me rooted. I don't think I could move even if the building were on fire. His mouth's moving, but his words are silent—I can't hear them over the ringing in my ears.

  The very second his fingers wrapped around my hip, I'm pretty sure the earth stopped spinning.

  I know we've been standing like this for longer than we should. I'm all but on top of him. But from this position, I can see his truth swirling about in his thunderstorm eyes. I can see that he didn't mean to hurt me and that he wasn't just trying to sleep with me. I can see it all, laid bare.

  But I can't seem to speak.

  "Myla Rose, you okay?"

  "Yeah. Yup. Sure am." I push myself into an upright position, using his broad shoulders for leverage. The feel of him under my hands is almost too much. My brain is screaming for me to move away, but the rest of me is begging to move closer.

  "You sure, darlin’?"

  "Absolutely. Let's finish up this haircut, 'kay?" He gives a gruff nod and unplants his feet, allowing me to position the chair how I want it.

  Which would be facing away from the mirror. I'm trying with all my might to pretend he doesn't melt me, and seeing his face every time I check his reflection won't do a damn thing to help.

  "All done. We gonna wash it?"

  "Not today." He shakes his hair out and finger combs it out of his face. "I'm thinking of taking the boys to the beach."

  "It's a gorgeous day for sure. Perfect beach weather." I twirl the ends of my hair around my fingers, hating this awkward small talk were making.

  "You like the beach, Princess Myla?" Preston asks.

  "I sure do, P. I haven't been in forever, though."

  "You can come with us. Uncle Cash won't mind."

  I'm racking my brain, trying to come up with a way to let Preston down easy when Azalea and Lucas walk over to where we’re all gathered.

  "Go where with whom?" Azalea asks.

  "To the beach. With us. She saids she loves the beach."

  I can see it all over her face—how badly she wants to laugh at my predicament. Instead of coming to my rescue, she decides to play Devil's advocate.

  "Oh, yes. Ms. Myla loooves the beach! And she's all finished at work for the day!"

  "YES!" the twins shout together with a high five.

  "Darlin', you don't have to go . . ." Cash offers, though his tone betrays his words. He wants me there just as much as they do.

  "No, Cash, it's fine. I'll meet y'all down at The Pass in about an hour—sound good?"

  "Fucking amazing," he whispers, loud enough for only me to hear.

  "I can't believe you, Az. You hung me out to dry!"

  "Oh, hush up. You were gonna say yes. I could see it in your eyes, sister-girl."

  I scowl at her from where I'm sitting on my bed as she flits around my room, packing my beach bag.

  "I might not have. You don't know that I was gonna—"

  "I do, and you were. No way in hell were you gonna crush those boys' hearts."

  Every word she speaks is truth. I guess when you're friends this long, you can't hide much.

  "I just . . . the thought of parading myself around in a swimsuit with this big ol’ belly is bad enough. Doing it in front of Cash is downright mortifying."

  "You are b-e-a-u-tiful, Myles. What gives?"

  "Have you seen my stretch marks?"

  "No, idiot, and you haven't either. You look adorable, like you swallowed a soccer ball. You give other mamas bump envy."

  I work my way up off the bed and lift my top. "Look! See!" I point to the small white lines marring my lower abdomen.

  "Once again, you're beautiful. If something as insignificant as stretch marks is a deal breaker, then he really is an asshole."

  "You really think so?"

  "I know so, babe, so go get changed. You don't wanna be late."

  I immediately spot Cash and the boys playing in the sand near the lagoon. From the looks of it, they're constructing an incredible and intricate sandcastle.

  "Hey, boys! What’re y'all building?"

  Preston rushes over to me, kicking sand up with his little feet the entire way. "We're building a castle for you, Princess!"

  Be still my heart . . . "For me?" I ask, stooping down to his level.

  "Yes, ma'am. Uncle Cash saids all princesses need castles."

  "Your uncle’s a wise man, P. Any chance y'all wanna let me help?"

  "Yes-yes-yes-yes!" We walk hand-in-hand to where Cash and Lucas are diligently working on my castle. "Uncle Cashmere, Myla is gonna help us!"

  I linger just a moment before plopping down in the sand next to where Preston is digging a moat around the castle.

  "What can I do to help?"

  Lucas hands me a plastic sand mold. "We needs some starfish, Princess Myla. You like starfish?"

  "Love em, Lou. Did you know they can regenerate?"

  "Agenerate? What's that?"

  "Re-gen-er-ate. It means if they lose a limb, they can grow it back!"

  "Like a lizard!" Preston pipes up.

  "Yeah, bud, just like a lizard."

  After about ten more minutes of construction, Preston sighs loudly, announcing his boredom. "Can we swim now?"

  "Sure thing, little man. Y'all just stay in the lagoon," Cash tells them before turning to me. "You wanna swim too?"

  "Sure, it's some kinda hot out here today."

  He stands and whips the shirt he's wearing over his head and extends a hand down to me.
My mouth’s so dry it feels like it's been stuffed with cotton balls.

  Have mercy, he is all man.

  "Come on, darlin'. Up you go,” he says, hauling me to my feet. "And ditch that cover-up."

  28

  Cash

  I walk to the edge of the water, right where the twins are playing, but my eyes never move from her body. No, I stare unabashedly as she removes the breezy cover-up she's hiding under.

  She toys with the hem, running the gauzy fabric between her fingers before ever so slowly lifting it. When she reveals her string bikini-clad bottom, I almost tell her to pull the cover-up back down.

  She's too damn beautiful, and I know for a fact that every man on this beach is imagining untying those strings.

  She continues, revealing her rounded belly and then her perky, high breasts. I make a break for deeper water to hide my body's reaction to her. I have no desire for the entire beach to witness the tent in my swim trunks, especially the twins.

  Myla Rose neatly folds her cover-up and heads toward where the boys are playing. "Y'all know how to swim?"

  I watch her as she stands there with the twins, her pale skin glowing in the sunlight. I don't remember where I heard it, but someone once told me a woman is her most beautiful when she's with child, and looking at Myla Rose, all belly in her two-piece, I have to agree.

  "We do!" Preston tells her proudly, adjusting his life jacket.

  "Well, come on then, boys!"

  I meet them about halfway out, where the water is waist deep on the boys, and immediately, they start splashing up a storm. I freeze, worried Myla is going to be pissed, but before I can even scold the boys, she's splashing them right back.

  I swear, this woman might just be perfect.

  "I'm hungry!" Preston whines as we walk back to our towels.

  "I'm tired and hungry and my fingers feel like . . . what's the word?" Lucas wriggles his fingers in front of his face.

  "Prunes, Lou. Your fingers feel like prunes," Myla tells him as she begins unpacking her giant tote bag.