Page 21 of Sangria

“Just black.”

“Really?” I’m slightly shocked by this. “None of that fancy crap women are always drinking?”

Zara shakes her head and in the process pulls her lower lip between her teeth briefly. “Too much sugar and it seems so unnatural. I never go into the trend of drinking coffee like that.”

“Two black coffees it’ll be. I’ll be right back.”

As I stand in line, I casually glance at her to see what she’s doing. I figured she’d pull out her phone to pass the time, but she doesn’t. Her hands are folded and resting on the table, and she’s watching me. I keep my eyes on her, trying to figure out why I’m so drawn to her until the woman behind me asks me to step forward because I’m next in line. I place my order and step aside, casually looking back at where Zara is sitting, but turning away before she can see me gawking at her.

With two cups of hot coffee in hand, I carefully make my way back to our small table. I’m pleasantly surprised that there isn’t a line in front of her asking for her autograph. Last night after she left, Stormy and Willow filled me in on how insanely popular she was and how I was way out of her league, not to mention that she was married to her high school sweetheart and I’d never stand a chance. I didn’t bother filling the girls in about Zara’s marital woes because it’s not my place nor did I tell them their daddy is fairly popular on the country music scene and that if we were back in Nashville things would be different. I just let them go on thinking that I’m ordinary. I suppose to them I am because I’m their daddy and they don’t see me the same way they see Zara.

“Here ya go,” I say as I set her mug down. She wraps her hands around the ceramic and pulls it toward her, bending her head slightly. “Smell good?” I ask as I sit down.

“Very. This is my favorite place.”

“It’s my first time here. Tell me why you like it.” I change the way I’m sitting so that I’m somewhat closer to her. I don’t know if I’m flirting or not. Or whether I should even let that word into my thoughts. I know she’s not ready to be hit on, but I can’t help myself.

“They don’t allow paparazzi in here or allow them to take pictures through the windows.”

“Are you bothered a lot by the media?” I ask.

Zara shrugs. “Sometimes. Right now I’m top news because of what Van did, but normally they take my picture if they see me shopping or something. Right now they’re camped out in front of my house, making me miserable.”

“I’m sorry.”

She smiles softly. “It’s not like that for you in Nashville?”

I sit back and fiddle with the handle on my mug. “Life in Tennessee is laid back. If I’m walking down the street, people say hey like we’ve been friends for years. The paparazzi really don’t bother us unless there’s something big going on. Plus it probably helps that I live on over twenty acres of land away from everyone else.”

“Wow, that must be so nice. The solitude.”

“Or it’s boring. Honestly, unless I’m on tour my life is fairly monotonous. I eat, sleep, write, and record. I rarely leave my land.”

“Do you have horses? I’ve always wanted to ride one.”

“I do. Want to take a trip to Nashville and learn to ride?” I look away quickly and wish I could take my question back. To avoid looking at her, I pick up my mug and take a drink, wishing I were anywhere but here right now. The last thing I want to do is put her in a position to turn me down or find some excuse as to why she can’t randomly take a trip to Nashville.

“I’d actually like that, Levi. I like the idea of getting away where no one would bother me, where I could walk outside and not worry about the paparazzi hiding behind my bushes to take my photos.” She too picks up her mug and drinks, almost as if she’s avoiding my response.

“As I told you last night, I’m here, Zara.”

“When can we leave?” she asks, throwing me off a bit.

“Um. . .”

Zara looks around before she leans closer and motions for me to do the same. “Here’s the thing. Van told me last night that he’s about to enter some rehab for sex addicts and I’d really like to disappear when he does that. I don’t want to be here when that happens. I don’t want the press hounding me for a reaction nor do I want to have to deal with my label. I want to disappear,” she says barely above a whisper.

As much as I want to tell her that we can leave in an hour, I can’t do that to the girls. I promised them we’d wait until school was out before I made them go back to Nashville.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m overstepping.”

“You’re not,” I say as I reach for her hand. Once again, I rest mine on top of hers for a brief second, hoping to convey that I’m okay with her asking to go to my place in Nashville.

“Maybe I’m the one overstepping,” I tell her. “I assumed you’d want me to go with you and right now I can’t leave because I promised the girls that I’d let them finish out the school year. Believe me I would love to get the hell out of Hollywood and be back on my ranch.”

“I expected you to go with me,” she tells me with a smile, and now I feel like she’s flirting with me, but I know better.

“I want to, but Stormy and Willow. . .”

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