Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

She sits up quickly, reaching for my hands so I can pull her to her feet. I wrap one arm around her waist, drawing her chest into mine.

She's barefoot so I tower above her by a few inches. I move slowly with her in my arm, her hand holding tightly to mine, as I shuffle my feet along the hardwood floor.

"I knew you'd be good," she whispers as her head rests against my chin. "I knew you'd be the perfect dancer."

"Only with you," I say softly. "Only with you."

CHAPTER 27

Falon

It's Sunday which means Brooklyn family dinner night. I was going to bail because I have so much production to do on the images I took last week that I feel pressured to get it all done. I almost called my mom to tell her that work was too much but I didn't. The main reason is because she'll use that to remind me that I work too hard.

It's not that she's not proud of me. I know that she is. She worries about me devoting so much time to my job that I don't have a social life. She wants me to meet a nice New York boy and settle down. I doubt that she wants me to have thirteen children though. Even though my parents love us all, I often wonder if they could do it again, if they would make the same decisions they made back then.

"Did you get the hotel job, Falon?" My sister, Clara, asks as she shoves a basket of bread at me. I take it, knowing that I need to eat at least one slice. My mom bakes it every Sunday just for dinner. She always has and even though there are now more mouths to feed around this large dining room table, she still bakes the same size loaf as she did when I was growing up. The difference now is that she cuts the slices thinner so there's enough for my brother's wife, my sister's husband and my nephew.

"I don't know yet," I answer back when there's a lull in all the other conversations taking place. "I'm booked to do the shots at the hotel in Tribeca on Tuesday. I should hear something a week or two after that."

"How many other photographers are they considering?" She makes eye contact with me when she asks. Clara is, by far, my biggest supporter. She loaned me the money I needed to buy my first professional camera. She's an accountant and takes care of my financials. I pay her for that, even though she insisted I don't.

"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. I've tried not to think about it. When one of the junior executives in marketing for Bishop Hotels called to tell me that they'd arranged for me to photograph their flagship hotel on West Broadway, I was relieved.

I want this job more than I've wanted any other job. It could take my career to the next level.

"You'll get it, Seven." Elijah taps my shoulder as he walks behind my chair. "Do you know when we're going to Asher's studio yet?"

Dammit. I knew that was coming.

The first thing on my agenda when I walked into the house today was to find Elijah to see if he'd come into the city on Wednesday to hang out with Asher. I wanted to keep that quiet and away from the bulk of my family.

"Asher who?" My brother, Mike, turns towards me. "Who are you talking about, Eli?"

"Foster," he says simply.

"Falon is taking you to meet Asher Foster?" Clara chimes in. "As in the singer? You know him?"

I don't respond because it's a trick that I've used successfully whenever I want to disappear under all the crossed conversations that take place when my family gathers under one roof.

"Answer me." She's behind me now, her head lowered to mine. "How do you know him?"

I turn towards her. "I took his picture, Clara. It's no big deal. He met Eli and offered to sign his guitar, that's it."

"That's not it," Elijah says from where he's now seated across the table from us. "He's her boyfriend."

"No." I try to giggle but it comes out as more of an anxious cackle. "I'm not dating him."

Eli's eyes drop to his phone before he sighs, heavily. "If you're not dating him, why were you kissing him?"

Every conversation grinds to an abrupt halt as he turns his phone towards the table to show everyone, including me, a gossip website where there's a picture of me and Asher kissing in the pizza place in Brooklyn, completely oblivious to everyone around us.

***

"Were you embarrassed?" Asher looks down at his guitar. "What did your folks say?"

"I wasn't embarrassed at all." I want to make that clear before I say another word to him. "I kind of liked it. The caption under the picture identified me as unidentifiable brunette. That's my new claim to fame."

He grins lazily as his eyes meet mine. "You're anything but an unidentifiable brunette. I'm sorry they posted that photo. I didn't know anyone trailed me that night."