"we fell in love the way you fall in leaves."
Juwan "Rocky" Rockwell has had a pretty hard life. Between trying to find a way to fend for himself and dealing with the normal hardships of teenage angst, he had nowhere to turn as an adolescent and no...
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"romantic drought"
"Excuse me, ladies," a voice cut through the conversation I was having with Lenée. I glanced over to find that the source was a man with smooth, tan skin and big brown eyes. If I had to guess, I'd say he stood at 5'11. He was a nice drink of water with his hair in four plaits. And his name was nothing short of extravagant— like he was destined to be great: Marlo Alexander.
"I see y'all got a station set up to do hair. You mind if I check y'all out?" he gave a small smile, and it was as cute as can be. "Not at all, sweetheart. Is there anything you want in particular?" Lenée inquired. "I wouldn't mind gettin' cornrowed by this beautiful woman right here," his eyes found my face while a mischievous smirk began taking his lips hostage.
I rolled my eyes. Okay, this "braid my hair so I can holla' at you" shit was getting played out now. I didn't want to appear rude in front of Lenée, so I took him on with a fake smile.
I led him toward one of the chairs we had open before grabbing my apron to put on. "You know— I don't usually do this," he broke the brief silence that reigned the air between us. "Do what?" I inquired. "I don't usually come at women like this," he chuckled the slightest bit. "Ya' could've fooled me," I commented.
He laughed softly as I draped a sheet over him, which I often did with other clients. "Well, I'm serious. . . I'm a shy guy, all in all. I just thought that if I came down here and showed you my work, you'd be able to give me an informed answer about working with me," he shifted the small portfolio that I didn't even realize that he brought along from under the sheet I put over him.
"I already gave you my answer," I simply shook my head while removing the ball hair ties from his soft hair. He kissed his teeth. "Oh, come on— what's your name?"
"Quinn," I replied. "Quinn. . . Quinn what?" he asked. "Campbell," I mumbled. "Ohhhh," he revealed a smile as if he'd just come to some sort of conclusion. "I'm not related to Naomi Campbell if that's what you're ohhh-ing about," I informed him.
"Ya' could've fooled me," he mocked me yet I couldn't help but laugh. "Look, just have a look whenever you can. Alright? I will be needing this back though," he handed the leatherback portfolio to me.
"Oh, I—" "Go on. Take it," he said it calmly, but I could see it in his eyes how much this meant to him. I reluctantly did so with a sigh, placing it amongst my belongings before returning to him.
I finished taking his hair down before raking my fingers through it a little and giving him a scalp massage. "Do you want your hair washed too or just braided?" I asked him. He pondered it for only a moment before opting for the braiding only. Within moments, I was parting his hair and making more conversation with him.
"What made you decide to go into photography?" I asked him. "I've always appreciated the beauty of things, so when I found out I could make money out of capturing the beauty out of something, I was all for it," he explained. "What made you want to do hair?"
