Torn(14)

I run my hands over my face, stopping to feel the bristle that's now thickening on my chin. I'm usually clean shaven. Some days I shave twice just to keep my jawline smooth. When I looked at myself in the mirror this morning after my shower, I saw a face that's changing.

Blaming it on the sparse beard would make sense but that's not what it is. I can't look at myself and see Asher Foster anymore, not since I heard that voicemail and realized that I'm not a Foster at all.

***

"Oh my God!" Her voice carries straight through Falon's studio and hits me full-on. "You're Asher Foster. Look, Jax. It's him. Just look."

I should have called when I was in the lobby of the building. If I would have, I might have avoided this. Now I'm f*cked. I say that because there's a cute blonde racing across the studio towards me. The fact that she's doing that in four inch heels is f*cking impressive.

"Ivy Marlow." I scoop her into my arms. "How the hell have you been?"

"You remember me?"

"How could I forget you?" I answer honestly.

I met Ivy and her husband at Caleb's wedding. Ivy's best friend is my sister-in-law, Bell. I wrote an original song as a wedding gift and after I'd finished singing it, Ivy came up to me while she was sobbing. It was, by far, the best reaction of the night. I'll never forget the way she looked with tears streaming down her face and her mascara running along with them.

"You know what they say about people who make it big." She wrinkles her nose. "They forget the little people."

"That's never going to happen." I look down at her. "Besides, you're one to talk about making it big. Your jewelry is everywhere right now."

"You're sweet and you're talented." She leans a touch closer. It's close enough that I can smell the lavender scent of her perfume. "You're really handsome now too."

"Now?" I lift my hand to the middle of my chest. "That hurts. What was I before?"

She laughs. "You were cute. You're different now. I'd say you're way…"

"I'm in the room, Ivy." Jax, her husband, taps her on the shoulder. "I'm standing right here. Try to control yourself, woman."

She laughs aloud then, turning on her heel to kiss him. I look past them and that's when I finally see what I came here for.

Falon's deep blue eyes meet mine and I watch as she draws in a quick breath, her hands stopping in mid-air as she holds tightly to her camera. She smiles at me and it feels like this is the only thing I need in the world right now. That is what drew me here. That smile and that face are all I want to think about today.





CHAPTER 11


Falon




The reason he's staring at me is obvious. My hair is straight. I look like a completely different person when I take an extra half hour in the morning to run a flat iron over my hair.

One of my sisters works as a hair stylist. I let her cut my hair once and that was enough. She cut my bangs to within an inch of their life, and my hairline. I had to wear hats for over a month until they finally grew out.

The lesson that taught me is that you get what you pay for when it comes to haircuts and shoes. I keep a log of excuses that I use whenever she tells me I need a trim. Instead, I visit a stylist down the street from here. She takes care of my hair and gives me the mini lectures I need to avoid damaging it. Hair dryers and hot irons are a no-no. She didn't need to warn me about the dangers of curling irons. I was blessed with a natural wave to my hair that transforms to a curl if I step anywhere near humidity.

Today, I straightened it with the hope that I'd see Asher again. He said he'd call, but judging by the fact that his days run well into the night, I knew there was a chance that somewhere in the next eighteen hours, my path would cross with his in person.

I lower my gaze before my mouth drops open or I shamelessly lick my lips. He hasn't shaved which makes him look even hotter than he did yesterday. Today he's wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. It's plain and on most men, it wouldn't merit a second look. It's not that way with Asher though. The whisper of toned abs is there beneath the tight shirt. His tattoos punctuate how muscular his arms are. The design is fluid and muted, as if he wants the world to understand something through the art on his skin. Something he's not willing to talk about.

When I look up again he's waving a hand across the studio at me. I reciprocate, aware that he's in a conversation with my clients. He knows them, apparently well enough that Ivy ran into his arms.

New York City is like that. It's filled with millions of people yet the degrees of separation are often miniscule. I should walk over and join in but I'm on the clock. I turn back towards the table and the handmade pink crystal bracelet that's next on the docket to photograph.

I drown out the sound of Asher's rich, deep voice behind me as he talks to Jax and Ivy and I focus on my work knowing that when they've packed up their jewelry and said their goodbyes, I'll be alone again with the man I haven't stopped thinking about since last night.

***

He glances at the door as it closes behind Ivy and her husband. He waited patiently on a chair in the corner while I worked. He chatted with Ivy, then Jax, about his upcoming tour and some of the new songs he's been writing.

They talked about a woman named Bell, who I gathered is related to Asher. He mentioned the name of a producer he worked with who Jax once met. I listened intently, wanting to absorb every trivial detail of his life that he was sharing with them.