Hold On Tight(55)

“I love you, Micah,” I told him.

“I love you more, Momma.”

Not getting enough sleep last night was weighing on me. I was exhausted, and I had three blisters on my feet, which wasn’t helping. It was getting harder to cover up my yawns. Hillary had caught me yawning twice already. I knew she didn’t like me looking like I had partied hard all night. If she only knew the truth. I would explain about my car so she would at least know the reason I was obviously tired. I didn’t want her thinking this was from a night of partying.

“You got a customer, Sienna,” Gretchen called out. I turned around to see Cam Dodge dressed in his dress shirt and tie. I hadn’t expected to see him again, much less coming in for a haircut.

“Okay, I’m free for the next hour,” I said, and smiled at Cam.

His grin looked somewhat apologetic. I don’t know why. He had nothing to be sorry over. We had gone out once. No big deal that it had been almost two weeks ago.

“I need a trim,” he said, walking toward me. I motioned for him to take a seat in my chair, and then I put a cape over him and fastened it around his neck.

“Your current hairdresser unavailable?” I asked.

He gave me that crooked grin that made him cute. “I normally go to the barber shop. You’re easier on the eyes than Bill.”

Smiling, I reached for a comb and checked out his hair. “You want a wash and style too, or just a trim?”

“Are you the one who will wash it?” he asked, looking at me in the mirror.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Then yeah, wash me up. I’m filthy.”

This time I laughed. I doubted Cam had ever been filthy. He was always so clean and put together that he reminded me of a politician.

“Okay. Let’s get you clean first, then,” I told him, and led him back to the sinks.

I normally didn’t think anything of washing men’s hair, but the fact that Cam wanted me to wash it made me a little self-conscious. I made sure I had the water at a comfortable temperature for him, then tried really hard to focus on washing his hair and not thinking about the fact that he could probably see down my shirt when I leaned. Most guys closed their eyes when you washed their hair, but Cam’s eyes were open.

“You smell really good,” he said, making me even more nervous. I didn’t like being flirted with when I did hair.

“Thanks,” I replied. I quickly finished washing him and got the towel around his head, then led him back to his seat.

When he was back in my chair, his eyes met mine in the mirror. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked.

I was doing nothing. Well, that wasn’t true. I was probably watching one of the Star Wars movies with my son. “Not sure.”

He nodded and looked let down. “Is my not calling going to be held against me?”

No. Not really. I didn’t blame him for not calling. I wouldn’t have called me either after that craziness.

“No,” I assured him as I began combing his hair.

“So if I asked you out for tomorrow night . . . ?”

“I would have to speak with my son first. Then I’d need to talk to his grandparents,” I told him.

He nodded. “Fair enough. When you do that, let me know. I’d like another chance. One where we don’t run into your son’s uncle.”

Cam was a nice guy. He was attractive. But he wasn’t Dewayne. No one would ever be Dewayne. But I needed the guys I dated to at least make me forget Dewayne. Cam never would. I’d always be missing Dewayne’s tattoos and piercings and dreadlocks.

“I think that I’m a waste of your time, Cam. I have baggage, and I’m not emotionally ready to date.”

There, I had been honest. Cam frowned, then let out a sigh. “Fair enough. I figured there was more between you and Dewayne Falco than just your son.”

I couldn’t even argue with him.

I finished cutting his hair, and we talked about the weather, what could possibly be wrong with my car, and the high school cafeteria food. Then he paid me, tipped me way too much, and left.

I might have made a mistake turning him away, but I didn’t ever want to hurt someone. I knew how that felt, and there was no point in him wasting his time with me. I was a mess.





Six years ago . . .


DEWAYNE

Preston pulled up outside a house surrounded by cars, with loud music pumping out of the speakers. There were empty beer cans in the yard and even more red Solo cups. A bunch of guys were doing shots off some chick’s stomach on the front porch.

“You sure you want to do this? We partied too when we were in school. Ain’t like Dustin is doing anything we didn’t do,” Preston said, looking around at the high school party with illegal drinking going on. Whoever lived here must have been left home alone by really stupid parents.