Page 3 of Be With Me

I laughed. “Knock it off. You know damn well you’re not calling anyone.”

Willow turned the phone around so I could see. The word “Mom” and our foster mother’s phone number was lit up on the screen, and it was ringing. I tried to grab it from her, but she pulled it away just in time. “You’re such a fucking brat,” I laughed.

“Hi, Mom!” she said a moment later. I could hear our foster mother’s southern drawl on the other end. Willow winked at me. “I’m good.” She paused as the woman who was our mother for all intents and purposes fired off the usual questions. “Yeah, I’m still working at the craft shop. Nope, still not dating anyone.” Another pause. “Because I’m tired of men and all the girls at work are straight.” She grinned at me. “So, Tyler’s here. Uh huh. Yup.” Her face screwed up in thought. “I’m not sure,” she dragged out the words, adding a touch of drama to her show. “He seems to be okay, but he’s really nervous about something and won’t tell me what it is.” Another pause. “Sure. Okay. Yup. Love you, too.” With a look of triumph, she held the phone out to me.

I made no move to take it. “Really?” I asked her.

“Tyler, you better pick up the phone.” Our mother’s laughing voice could barely be heard above the energetic music playing through the speakers in the ceiling.

I rolled my eyes, much to Willow’s amusement, and took the phone from her outstretched hand. “Hi, Mom.”

“Honey, why do you tease your sister like that?”

“Because it’s fun.” I stuck my tongue out at Willow like I used to do when we were younger. She was a few years older and came from a completely different background. But once we’d both gotten comfortable in our new home, we’d grown up just like any two siblings. And that included me getting away with murder while she got stuck cleaning the house—when she wasn’t bogged down with homework, anyway. Willow had taken all advanced classes through high school and college, graduating with a double major in law and political science. Why she worked in a craft store was a mystery none of us knew the answer to.

I chatted with my foster mother, not realizing until just this moment how much I’d missed her and our foster dad. They lived in the northern part of Texas near Amarillo, and that’s where we’d grown up. As the only two kids in the house, my sister and I had grown close. When I’d decided to move to Seattle a few years ago, Willow had decided to come with me. We’d roomed together at first, until she met her ex-boyfriend and moved in with him, leaving me with the apartment all to myself. After they broke it off, she’d decided to stay on her own, although she was never very far away. And out of necessity, I’d found a smaller, cheaper apartment near Pioneer Square. I’d just got settled in right before I found Snickers. It was good that my new place allowed pets.

After reassuring my mom that all was okay and catching her up on what was happening in my life—at least the happy, abbreviated version—I hung up right as the waitress showed up to take our orders. “I can’t believe you did that to me,” I shot at her when we were alone again.

Willow wasn’t affected by my attempt at anger. She waved a hand in the air. “Pfft. Whatever. You need to call home more.”

She was right. However, that wasn’t the point. “You’re lucky we’re in a public place.”

“Or what?” Her eyes narrowed, and she was once again the ten-year-old girl who’d dared me to stop her from snooping through my stuff.

I shook my head, fighting the urge to smile. I was unable to stay upset with the only stable person in my life. “Don’t you have someone else to harass?”

“Nope,” she answered cheerfully. “Just you.”

“Great.” I sighed dramatically.

“So, who are you shooting with?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Uh, that author Stefanie Heathers.”

“Didn’t you work with her before?”

“Yeah, last year.” I looked around the restaurant, checking out the other patrons and the décor, hoping like hell she’d drop it. “Have you heard from the loser again?”

Those eyes narrowed in on me again. She completely ignored my question about her ex. “You really are nervous about this shoot.” Resting her arms on the table, she leaned in. “The question is, why? I know it’s not the author. Or what she plans to do with your photo. You’ve been on lots of romance covers.”

“Let it go, Willow.”

Again, she completely ignored me. Per the usual. “Who’s the photographer?”

The back of my neck burned, and I rubbed it again. “I don’t know. Who cares?”

A look of satisfaction crossed her face and she sat back in her chair. “Well, as I know for a fact that you’re completely straight, there’s only one female photographer—that I know of—that you’ve worked with before, and that’s the chick who did the last cover Stefanie Heathers wanted, isn’t it?”

“She’s not a ‘chick’, Willow. She’s a professional photographer.”

“I’m right! Aren’t I? It’s the photographer chick you’re nervous about seeing!” She practically crowed with delight at figuring me out.

I threw up my hands. “Fine. Yes. Okay? Are you happy, now?”

All signs of teasing fell from her face. “Are you going to ask her out?”

“No!” Then I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” At the thought of being alone with Ailee, my blood raced through my body until I felt lightheaded. I looked at my sister and dropped all sense of pretense. It was no use anyway. “She’s not like other women.” I didn’t know how else to explain it.

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