Page 16 of Reaching Roland

Kenny threw his arms up in the air. “Thank you, Indie. Finally someone who agrees with me.”

“Agrees with you about what?” Cameron asked with narrowed eyes.

Kenny stared at him for a second, then cast a devilish grin at me. “That Daddy isn't old. I swear”—he planted his hands on his hips—“every time he comes into the salon, he says how he's so old.” I bit back a grin. His Daddy comments were going to make steam blow out of the top of Cameron’s head.

In similar fashion, Indie put his hands on his hips and glared at me. “No, you're only as old as you think you are, and you sure don't act old.”

Good grief, I had my hands full with these two in the same room.

“That's what I said,” Miss Georgina interjected from the sink. I realized that she’d pulled out a strainer and was proceeding to wash our strawberries.

“Miss Georgina, you don't have to do that,” I said, walking toward her.

“Nonsense. I don't have the energy to go picking anymore sinceI amold, but I enjoy this.”

I chuckled and hugged her slight body into my side.

“Can we please get back to the fact that Kenny took my father strawberry picking?” Cameron demanded.

With a mischievous gleam in his eye, Kenny smiled and came over and leaned into me. “Actually, Daddy took me strawberry picking. He pre-ordered our tickets and everything. And the hay ride out to the field was especially fun since there were so many people, so we had to squish together.” He sighed dreamily. “It was the best day ever.”

My son's eyes widened, and I didn’t know whether to tell him to chill out or tell Kenny to stop giving my son such a hard time. Either way, it was entertaining.

Indie cackled. “Kenny, I knew you were extraordinary the first time I met you in the salon, but I have to say, I'm even more in love with you now.”

Kenny curtsied. “Thank you very much. I feel the same way about you. But…” He went to Indie and leaned toward him, stage whispering, “Did you know Daddy’s bossy?”

Indie’s head jerked back. “My Rolly? He’s the sweetest, gentlest giant ever.”

Kenny pursed his lips and shook his head. “That’s what I thought, too, but he’s had us all fooled.”

Indie grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the table, pushing him into a seat, and sat down next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Sounding completely put out, he said, “First, he made me change my shoes. Can you imagine? I had on my red cowboy boots, which matched my outfit perfectly?—”

My snort interrupted him, and he quirked an eyebrow in my direction. “Tell me your sneakers weren’t more comfortable. Your feet would’ve been killing you by the time we walked down all those aisles.”

His bottom lip jutted out. “Okay, fair. Lucky for you, these didn’t kill the aesthetic of my outfit.” He pushed back his chair far enough to hold out his sneakered foot toward Indie.

“Those do look nice,” Indie agreed.

“But then”—Kenny rested both elbows on the table and leaned in toward Indie—“he told me all about these delicious crepes that they served in their little restaurant but wouldn’t let me get them. He made me get a savory salad with cut-up strawberries on it.”

“Which you devoured. The crepes were too much sweetness in one day if you want me to make you that dessert, shortcake.”

“Shortcake?” Indie asked, perking up.

Kenny’s head bobbed up and down. “Daddy says it’s not fair for me to get to call him Daddy if I don’t have a nickname, too.” He shrugged. “What can I do?”

“What’s happening?” Cameron muttered, looking at me in bewilderment.

“Hush, Daddy.” Indie glared at his boyfriend. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Don’t even start, peacock.”

Kenny smiled at Cameron cheekily. “Well, you call Indie peacock, so that sounds fair to me.”

“It… but we’re… it’s not the same thing,” Cameron stammered, his face going bright red.

---