This man had spent his whole life taking care of everybody else. His grandmother, his brother, his niece, and his business. He didn’t know how to sit still and receive. But today, she was going to teach him.
Rolani stepped to the sink and washed his hands while Kennedi took off for their bedroom. He shook his head at her, but he was already appreciative of whatever she had planned.
Dre set up in the living room—cape draped over a dining chair, clippers laid out on the coffee table, mirror propped up so Rolani could see.
“Just clean me up,” Rolani said. “Shape the beard, line me up.”
“I got you.”
The buzz of the clippers filled the room as Dre made small talk about Kennedi setting this up.
“You lucky bro. I’m happy for you too. This big shit.”
“Preciate that.”
The two men kicked and caught up until he was cleaning up and packing up to head out.
After Dre left, Rolani stood in the living room, freshly lined up, hair clippings still dusting his shoulders and neck.
“Now what?” he asked.
She took his hand. “Now you shower. And I’m helping.”
She led him to the master bathroom. She’d already set everything up this morning while he was still asleep—his body wash, exfoliant for his face, the beard oil, fresh towels warming on the rack.
She turned on the water, let it heat up until steam started filling the room. Then she turned to him.
“Take those off.”
He smirked. “It must be time for the birthday sex?”
“Please grow up and save that for later.” She laughed and tugged at the waistband of his sweats. “Take them off.”
He obliged, stepping out of his sweats and boxers, standing before her naked and unbothered. She’d seen him like this a hundred times, but this moment felt different. More intentional. She wasn’t undressing him for sex—she was undressing him to take care of him.
“Get in,” she said.
He stepped into the shower, and she pulled the t-shirt over her head and followed him in, still in her underwear because she wasn’t trying to be cute, just useful.
The warm water hit his shoulders, and she watched the hair clippings wash away, swirling down the drain. She grabbed the body wash and squeezed some onto the loofah.
“Turn around.”
He turned, and she started at his shoulders, working the soap into his skin in slow circles. Her hands moved down his back, pressing into the muscles that carried so much tension, so much weight. He groaned, head dropping forward.
“When’s the last time somebody did this for you?” she asked softly.
“Never.”
Her heart squeezed. She kept washing him — his back, his arms, his chest when he turned around. Her fingers slid into his scalp and massaged until his eyes closed.
“Feel good?”
“Hell yeah, but you know that’s my weakness.”
She saved his face for last, by the time he stepped out of the shower into the warm towel she was holding, he felt like a new man.
“Come on,” she said, leading him to the bedroom.
