Page 2 of Reaching Roland

“If that’s how it is in your marriage, I feel sorry for you. Me and my man know how to keep the magic alive.” He waggled his eyebrows twice, then slipped his sunglasses on and spun toward the front of the shop.

“How did I end up with such a dork for a brother?”

Michaela and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. The truth of the matter was, she and Austin adored each other.Her mother and his father had met in a support group for people who’d lost their spouses. Austin and Michaela had still been young then, and had grown up to be siblings in every sense of the word except by blood, which they put no stake in. They’d eventually taken over the salon from their mama, who’d inherited it as a barber shop from her late husband. It was really the coolest story, and I adored them all so much.

And if that wasn’t enough, they treated me like family. I’d seen many employees come and go through the years—most of them only wanting a place to work and use their skills—but for those of us who needed a place to land, we’d found family here in Labelle’s Salon.

The little speaker on my desk buzzed to life. “Kenny, Roland’s here. Do you want me to bring him back?”

Michaela snorted. “I’m pretty sure he knows the way at this point.”

I rolled my eyes at her, pushed the spearmint stick to the other side of my mouth, and pushed the button. “Yeah, I’m ready for him. Send him on back.”

Michaela arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “See. You agree, and I’m off. Unlike my brother, my in-laws are staying the weekend, so I have toilets to scrub and floors to clean.”

“Have fun with that.” And the thing was, she would. She adored her husband’s parents and lived to take care of her family.

Any thoughts of Michaela fell away as the silver fox in question appeared. I’d met Roland during the Christmas season at a Santa Breakfast hosted by the Takoda Outreach Center. Since I'd been playing Santa's elf, I’d brought my A-game in a green shirt and spandex pants that made my booty pop, a pointy hat with ajingle bell, my red combat boots, armed with a candy cane in my mouth, and of course, a whole lot of sass. He’d seemed a little overwhelmed by myHello, Daddy,so imagine my surprise when he'd scheduled an appointment with me here at the salon at the beginning of the year. The man really was a tall drink of water.

He smiled as he approached, and I tamped down the uptick of my pulse at the sight of it. Yes, Roland was extremely delicious, but he was also my friend’s straight father, and I’d do well to remember that.

“Hello, Kenny.”

Playing my part, I put a hand on my waist and cocked my hip. “Hello, Daddy.”

The skin around Roland’s eyes crinkled with amusement, and he shook his head. “Are you ever going to quit calling me that?” he asked, stopping right outside of that imaginary personal bubble we’d created as humans to be comfortable. He towered over me, like most people did, but with him, I never felt uncomfortable or unsafe. Roland carried a calming presence with him that I couldn't—nor would I ever try to—explain.

Blinking my eyelashes, I smirked. “Like you really want me to. You know you like it when I call you Daddy. Why should your son have all the fun?” His son, Cameron, was an acquaintance who I’d actually gotten to know a lot better recently. He and his boy, Indie, ran in the same circles as Julian, Austin’s son’s boy. Calling Roland Daddy served dual purposes. One, it amused him, and I thought he needed more humor in his life. Two, it drove his son—the Daddy—crazy, and Indie and I thought it was hilarious watching his face turn red as a tomato.

Chuckling, Roland took off his suit jacket and hung it on the peg between my and Austin's stations. After coming in ten weeks straight, he knew the routine. While he did that, I reached into my drawer and pulled out a freshly washed and pressed apron. He dutifully walked back to me and turned around, kneeling down enough for me to put the cape over his shoulders. I flung it around him with a flourish and snapped it behind his neck, then patted him on the shoulder. “All set, big guy. Have a seat.”

Roland dutifully did as he was told, settling into it with a sigh.

“Long day?” I asked.

His smile reflected back at me in the mirror. His stunning blue eyes were a sight to behold. “Yeah, I had a load of paperwork to get off my desk before I left today. I probably should've canceled my appointment, but this has become the highlight of my week.”

Do what now?Putting a hand on each of his shoulders, I bent down and met his gaze in the mirror. “Daddy, I'm not saying you shouldn't enjoy my company, but this shouldn’t be the highlight of your week.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? There's not a lot to do when you get old.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hush, you. You're not even close to old. You've got plenty of years, and a lot of game left.”

Roland snickered. “Okay, yeah. The ladies are tripping over themselves trying to get to me.”

I knew from Indie that Roland hadn’t even tried to date in the years since his wife passed away. At least, not that he or Cameron were aware. Considering how close they all were, I’d bet that they were right. Roland didn’t really strike me as aswipe-right on an app kind of guy. “Before I argue with you about this, are we doing the normal trim and shave?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know, it would be even more enjoyable if you let me wash these gorgeous locks.” I ran my hand through his hair. He kept it much shorter now that he came to me on a weekly basis.

He shook his head, grinning like he did every week when we had the same conversation. “Wet it with your spray bottle. There's no reason for you to take the extra time to do something I do every morning in the shower.”

I sighed dramatically. I’d known even before I asked that he'd refused. I wasn't sure what his issue was with having his hair washed, but who was I to argue? “You know it comes with the cut. If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

His face fell, and the sadness that he kept tucked under the surface passed behind his eyes before he schooled his expression. “I know. It's just…”

Wanting to keep him talking, I busied myself lining up my spray bottle, scissors, and electric razor on my tray. “Just what?” I prompted, pushing a little when his silence stretched on.

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