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sarina

His Gorgeously Gorgeous Glory

I hear Dad before I actually see him the next week—the familiar jingle of his gold bangles and Sapphire’s nervous yapping echo inside the salon foyer. From my suite in the back, I hear him compliment Joshua on his “handsome physique” before he coos something unintelligible to his Pomeranian. I can guarantee he brought the little beast in her pink stroller because “my precious baby cannot be made to walk on a leash like a commoner”.

“Daughters!” His voice carries through the halls, and I know that if Nisha is in her suite, she’s smiling just the same as me.

I can picture him in one of his Hawaiian button-downs, checking himself out in the large foyer mirror. He’s here for his bi-weekly hair appointment, almost an hour early, I should add. The man ignored going to the doctor for a “stomachache” for days and ended up having an emergency gallbladder removal, but he wouldn’t dream of being late to his various vanity appointments.

On her cat tree inside my suite, wearing her green dinosaur costume, complete with a row of pink fabric spikes, Snatch yawns disdainfully. She’s clearly heard the arrival of her archenemy, but is completely unperturbed by Sapphire’s “tough dog” bark from behind her mesh enclosure. She may hate our daily dress-up sessions, but she has no idea how cute she looks with her naked, wrinkly skin peeking out from beneath fluffy costumes.

And then I hear what I was expecting to right around this time.

“Goodbye! Goodbye!”

One of the other cats—probably Vajayjay—continues to push one of her communication buttons on the floor, signaling her sentiments for my dad’s dog. We’ve taught all the cats to use the buttons, and it’s made for some hilarious moments in the salon.

“Oh, you hush, you scornful little gremlin!” Dad says to her. “You’re just jealous of my Sapphire’s luscious fur.”

Finishing up cleaning my station and suite since the departure of my last client, I stride down the corridor toward my dad.

“At least our cats can use full sentences, Dad,” I tease, knowing he’ll take the bait, as I close the distance between us.

He lets me wrap my arms around him, even though he’s trying to act annoyed. He’s at least three inches shorter than my five-feet-seven, but what he lacks in height, he makes up for in flair and personality.

“Excuse you,” Dad huffs, dramatically turning his face away to dodge my kiss on his temple. “Sapphire communicates with me just fine, thank you. She doesn’t need rudimentary buttons to speak her mind like an uncultured house pet.”

As if on cue, another, “Goodbye! Goodbye!” blares out inside the lobby as Vajayjay jumps on the button, more aggressively than usual, making me giggle and my dad swear under his breath.

From her stroller, Sapphire lets out a haughty sniff, her nose in the air. She’s clearly taking acting lessons from my dad.

“You’re early for your appointment today,” I say to him. “I thought you had your yoga class right now.”

Dad frowns. “The instructor got sick, so I figured I’d make a few sandwiches for my babies and bring them by.” He takes out two perfectly wrapped sandwiches in butcher paper with little bows around them, and my chest warms at the sight of them. He holds them close to his chest when I try to reach for them. “But now that you’ve insulted your dog-sister, I’m not sure I’m feeling as generous.”

He’s wrapped Nisha’s and my sandwiches just like this for as long as I can remember. My friends in school would always be amazed that my dad went the extra mile with his presentation of our food. Sometimes he’d even write us endearing quotes about why daughters were special on the wrapper.

I turn to Sapphire, who growls at me, seeing through my feigned sincerity. “I’m sorry, Sapphire. I shouldn’t have insulted your intelligence.”

“That’s better,” Dad says, handing me my sandwich. He watches as I find a seat on the lobby sofa before quickly unwrapping my sandwich and biting into it. “Darling, no need to act like a wild creature. You can take small, civilized bites like I’ve taught you. What if a potential suitor walks in?”

“Dad, the only suitor I’m interested in is this sandwich.” I take another healthy bite of turkey and cheese—my only real food since my coffee this morning. “God bless you, you remembered the spicy mustard.”

Dad places Sapphire’s stroller near the window so she can look out. “There you go, my sweet peach,” he whispers, thinking I can’t hear. “Perfect angle for you to look down at all the peasants walking by.” He turns back to me, tilting his head offendedly. “When have I forgotten? Spicy mustard on yours and pickles on your sister’s.”

Literally three minutes later, I’m finishing up the last bite of my sandwich when the door buzzes and a client enters. I quickly finish up, scrunching the wrapper into a ball, and dabbing the corner of my mouth with a napkin. Joshua’s greeting floats inside the entryway, followed by a response that makes me feel like a part of my turkey sandwich is lodged in my airway. Goosebumps spread over my arms as the rich and familiar voice travels through the salon and straight into my bloodstream.

“No worries.” The timbre of his voice reminds me of aged whiskey and rich chocolate. “I don’t mind waiting for her.”

I turn toward the sound before I think better of it, and there he is–-Mr. Troy Winters, no longer wearing a brace and in all his gorgeously gorgeous glory. He’s wearing a tan henley that stretches across his shoulders like it’s holding on for dear life.

What is he doing here?

I mean, obviously, I know what he’s doing here, but why was I not alerted by someone that he was coming? Why was I not alerted that he’d become a client of ours?

Why do I smell planned deceit here from my best friend and my sister?

Troy’s gaze catches mine, holding momentarily, before mine disconnects and lands on an adorable little girl at his side, holding his hand. Her cherub cheeks seem naturally pink, and while her eyes are the same color as her father’s, her hair has various shades of auburn, copper, and maroon.

I’m just about to speak—though I have no idea what I’m about to say; I was just going to let my mouth take the lead—when I see Dad’s eyes spark, and he zeroes in on Troy like a heat-seeking missile.

“Well, hello, handsome,” he practically purrs, walking toward Troy and his daughter. “You look vaguely familiar. Are you one of my daughters’ clients?”

“Dad,” I manage, feeling my cheeks heat. “This is Troy Winters, the pitcher for the Blazers. He’s also Rome’s temporary assistant baseball coach while he recovers from his surgery.”

Dad extends his multi-ringed hand in Troy’s direction, as if he’s expecting Troy to bow and press a kiss. “Suraj Arora.” He eyes Troy's arms appreciatively. “My boyfriend Emanuel is a huge fan of the Blazers.” My dad bends to greet the little girl, now scooting behind Troy’s leg. I don’t blame her; I’m planning another escape underneath one of the tables myself. “And who is this little darling?”

And that’s when my heart thuds against my chest once again. Troy kneels down to his daughter’s level and signs to her.

Signs!

My hands tingle with muscle memory and suddenly, I feel like I’m ten again, signing jokes to my mother while sitting next to her on the sofa.

“Can you tell him what your name is?” Troy’s fingers move with precision, and I find myself walking toward them before I even realize I’m doing it.

The little girl watches me approach and something about her tugs at my chest, begging for me to be near her—perhaps it’s her shy and angelic face, or perhaps it’s her vibrant eyes that speak louder than any spoken words could.

I drop to my knees, my hands moving on their own. “Hi,” I sign, my hands recalling how to speak fluidly, despite not doing so on a daily basis anymore.

Sometimes Nisha, Dad, and I will sign to each other if we’re having a secret conversation, but it’s not often.

“My name is Sarina.” I spell out my name slowly, a pang piercing my chest with the vision of my sweet mom in front of me.

The little girl stares at me with wide eyes, and when I look over at Troy, he’s wearing the same expression—like I’ve just stunned them with a magic trick.

I clear my throat. “Does she know her alphabet yet?”

“She . . .” he starts and then stops, his shock still etched on his face. “She only knows how to spell out her name, but she uses a visual clue to shorten it.”

“That makes sense.” I turn back to his daughter. “I’m Sarina.” This time I add my name sign, a “S” with one hand, while I comb the hair at my shoulder with my other.

As if my effort has finally won her over, Troy’s daughter steps out from behind him, her face lit up with a mixture of surprise and excitement. She puts her index and thumb together, keeping the other three fingers lifted, before tapping around the base of her neck. Pearl .

Dad, who’s been rather quiet this whole time, bends to find her eyes. “Hi, Pearl,” he signs, his bangles jingling. “I’m her daddy.”

Troy’s questioning eyes flick from my father to me like he’s trying to find the missing pieces of a puzzle. His shoulder brushes mine, and I realize it’s the closest we’ve been since the first night we met. And even over the past week since our tension-filled encounter at Rome’s baseball practice, I’ve scurried out as quickly as possible at the sight of him after dropping Rome off.

“You both know ASL?” His voice is as soft as his gaze on me.

“My late wife was deaf,” Dad answers for me, signing as he speaks to include Pearl in the conversation. He winks at Troy. “We raised our girls to know sign language as fluently as spoken English?—”

“Though,” I interrupt, also signing as I speak, “I’m a bit rusty now that . . .” I clear my throat again. “Now that my mom is no longer alive.”

Dad’s eyes shimmer instantly, like they always do at the mention of Mom.

He came out a year before she died almost fifteen years ago—an aneurysm while she prayed at the beloved Hindu temple she went to every week—but they continued to live with each other. Hell, I’d even say they had a better relationship after he came out, a friendship that was stronger than even their marriage was.

They’d spend hours in the kitchen, hands moving quickly between cooking and speaking as they gossiped about something or another. Sometimes, I’d come down the stairs to find them crying from laughter, Mom’s shoulders shaking silently while Dad was holding his stomach.

The memory catches in my throat, and I’m glad it’s exactly at that time that Snatch comes over to inspect Pearl, her tail swishing behind her dinosaur costume. Though I won’t deny it, I’m a little surprised she decided to join a crowd. It’s rare for my cat to be social unless there are treats involved.

Piper, Nisha, and I rescued our three cats from an abusive situation in a bad part of town a few years ago, and while Piper’s cat, Vajayjay, has shown signs of warming up to certain people—namely Piper’s husband and the love of Vajayjay’s life—the other two cats have always been more aloof.

We all watch with rapt fascination as my cat walks over to one of the buttons. She circles it as if deciding whether to press it before stepping on it. Her eyes beckon Pearl. “Let’s play!”

Pearl grins, understanding that my cat is up to something but not knowing what’s been said. I rub her bicep gently to get her attention. “She wants to play with you.”

Pearl’s eyes widen with excitement before she tugs on her dad’s sleeve. Her expression is so hopeful and sincere as she asks for permission, I almost want to pick her up and squeeze her in a hug.

“Yes, Princess,” he signs, his eyes gentle on his daughter. “If Sarina says it’s okay, you can.”

Walking over to the front desk, I take out the long string with a fluffy mouse at the end and hand it to Pearl, telling her to drag it around the floor for Snatch.

Pearl lets out a soft giggle, taking the string from me before skipping to the middle of the foyer. She waves the string around the floor, and Snatch quickly tries to squash the mouse. Pearl giggles every time Snatch tries to catch it, and my heart bursts with the sound.

My dad joins the two of them, signing to Pearl to move it this way and that, and I allow myself another moment to enjoy the scene before I snap back into the present.

Because there’s still the matter of Pearl’s father—the man who’s been sneaking into my thoughts untethered since that night in Bull River, Colorado. The same man who seems hellbent on complicating my life with his easy smiles, his godly biceps, and his ability to magically appear wherever I am.

I turn to look up at Troy, wrapping my arms around my chest, hoping they’ll protect the beating organ inside. “So let me get this straight. You lie about being a chef, somehow end up being my son’s baseball coach, and then just materialize with your adorable daughter in my salon?” I raise a brow, ignoring the way his closeness makes my pulse race. “Should I be concerned you’re stalking me, Mr. Trojan?”

He tilts his head, that infuriating smile playing on his lips. “Says the woman who told me she was a flight attendant, then proceeded to show up to my baseball game, and now happens to be at the salon I frequent. Seen from another perspective, I’d say you were the one stalking me.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, and it’s irritating that it makes him look more attractive. “I get it. You’re a crazed fan.”

“Crazed fan?” I deadpan. “Are you delusional, too, Winters? Also, what do you mean, the salon you ‘frequent’? This is your first time here.”

He leans in, his intoxicating scent of cedarwood and honey making my head swim. “Aww, are you keeping track of me, Rina? A little birdie told me someone’s been very interested in my recovery.” He lowers his voice to just above a whisper. “I was touched by your concern.”

“Dev’s a blabbermouth,” I mutter, hoping my cheeks don’t look flushed. “I only called him because Rome was concerned.”

“Just Rome?” His voice softens, and he takes another step closer, making escape seem like an increasingly good option. “Because weekly calls for an update seem a bit . . . thorough for someone passing along her son’s worries.”

I open my mouth to defend myself when Piper chooses that exact moment to emerge from her suite, her eyes darting between me and Troy, and that mischievous grin of hers turning up a notch. What the hell is my best friend up to?

“Hey, Troy! Welcome in! Glad Dev was able to convince you to see me. Ready to come on back?” She pauses, looking down at her phone before dramatically slapping her forehead. “Oh shoot! Wouldn’t you know it? It’s a text from my rabbit sitter. She said she’s feeling sick and needs to go home, so she can’t take Natalie Nutbottom, Kevin, and their respective spouses to the vet today.”

“Their . . . spouses?” Troy asks beside me, and I can hear the confusion in his voice.

Piper turns to me with what I know is a fake-concerned face. “Sarina, you just got done with your client, didn’t you? Can you possibly . . .?”

Oh, this little weasel!

I glare at her, channeling every ounce of my “I’m going to murder you later” expression at her like fire-lit arrows. “Actually, I was just about to do my dad’s hair.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I can wait!” my dad chimes in with suspicious cheerfulness. “I’ll continue to practice my ASL with Pearl.” He signs to the little girl, who’s still happily playing keep-away with my suddenly friendly cat. “You go and work your magic on her daddy.” He winks, and I know, I just know , this is all a setup.

I take a deep breath, waving my hand toward the corridor, reluctantly urging my new and unexpected client forward. “After you.”

I throw daggers with my eyes once more at Piper and Dad before I glare at Joshua, who’s been standing behind the front desk doing something on the computer this entire time.

He raises his hands. “Hey! What did I do?”

I groan audibly as I follow Troy, watching his broad shoulders shake as he tries to muffle his laugh.

Ugh. I need new friends and a new father.