Page 54 of Coming Up Roses

“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.”

“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.

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