Page 45 of Sangria

“Why are you smiling?”

She shrugs. “I think Zara is pretty.”

“She is,” I say, agreeing instantly. I motion for Willow to sit on the couch so I can talk to her before I go see if I can fix things with Stormy. “How would you feel if Zara and I were more than friends?”

“Does she make you happy?”

I can’t help but smile. “She does. I have never met someone like her, and she really wants to get to know you and your sister.” I push a tendril of her blonde hair behind her ear. More and more she’s trying to be like Stormy, growing up faster than she needs to be. It’s another reason I want both of them back in Nashville, so I can make sure they’re still acting their age and not this preconceived notion that fifteen is the new twenty-five. With Willow only being ten, I want her to experience everything a child should and then some.

“Will Zara be at the house when we get there?”

“Yeah,” I say with a small sigh. “Is that going to be okay?”

Willow nods eagerly. Her enthusiasm is great, but it makes me wonder how much time Iris spent with her or if she was left with a babysitter most of the time. I have to push those thoughts away though because there isn’t anything I can do about it if my suspicions are correct. It boils down to the fact that I made a mistake as their father when I let the girls come live with Iris in the first place.

“I’m going to go talk to your sister. Why don’t you double-check your luggage and make sure you have everything you need. It’ll take the movers a bit of time to get everything sent to us.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, following me down the hall. I knock lightly on Stormy’s door and wait for her to answer. As much as I want to barge in and be the alpha dad, I can’t do that to her. I will never experience what she’s going through. I have both my parents, who are still married and happily in love. She’s been through a divorce, living thousands of miles away from one parent, and now her mother has died. My gut is screaming for me to get her into therapy.

She opens the door with a huff and a teenage attitude. The scowl on her face must be painful. There is so much strain on her forehead to keep up the façade she has going on right now. I smile, trying to ease the tension that is building between us. The last thing I want is for this mole hole to turn into a mountain.

“May I come in?”

“You own the house, don’t you?”

Her snide remark has me biting the inside of my cheek. I could lash out, yell at her for being a brat, but that won’t solve anything. The inside of Stormy’s room is bare, with boxes piling along the walls. Some are marked for storage, while others are markeddonationorbedroom. It warms me to know that she’s considering giving away some of her stuff.

“What do you want to do with your mother’s belongings?” I ask, studying the now empty corner that used to be dedicated to me. Seeing her bare wall where my poster used to hang hits me square in the chest. I won’t have a shrine in either of my daughters' bedrooms anymore because they’ll be home with me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss seeing them.

“I thought that maybe we could come back once everyone is settled and the three of us could go through it.”

“That’s fine,” I tell her, agreeing that right now is probably not the best time. “I thought about selling the house, but am going to keep it. We’ll keep the house stocked for right now so that when we have to come back here for auditions and whatnot, we have a place to stay.”

The previous set scowl starts to ease up, but not by much. I know I have a long way to go until I can get a smile out of her. I move a few of her things over to her bed and sit on the edge. Stormy stands off to the side, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“About Zara. . . I know that I told you earlier this week that she and I were friends, and we are, but we’re also attracted to each other. We’re exploring a relationship, Stormy.”

“But, Dad—”

“There are no buts, Stormy. We’re adults who have a lot of chemistry, and we like each other. I know it’s hard to take in because of your situation, but believe me when I tell you this—I never thought in a million years that I’d have anything in common with a woman like Zara.”

“But you do?” she asks.

I shake my head. “It’s different. Whereas I had everything in common with your mom, Zara and I are learning to adapt to each other. Up until we met, neither of us had any idea who the other person was. I’m country. She’s rock and roll. I’m quiet. She’s loud. Her fans are crazy. Mine are subdued.”

“She’s more punk than rock and roll,” Stormy says, cracking the death glare she’s been giving me with a quick smile.

“Right, see! I don’t even know her genre, but I do know that I like her and she likes me.”

“She’s married,” Stormy points out, causing me to hang my head. This is my biggest fear and one that I haven’t admitted to anyone but myself. She and her soon-to-be ex have a history, one that is deep. There isn’t anything holding Zara to me.

“I know, but they’re getting a divorce.” At least that is what I’m telling myself until Zara proves me wrong. I know she’s filed, but with Van disappearing into rehab that has put everything on hold. Still, there’s a part of me that wonders what’s going to happen when he’s out, cured, and wants Zara back. Where does that leave me or us?

Stormy finally decides to sit by me. Her shoulder touches me, and I take that as a sign she’s willing to forgive me. “Here’s the thing, Daddy. All the dancers think I bought my way into that lead and they’re pissed. They don’t understand that you didn’t know Zara until the day of the video shoot.”

“Baby girl, that is going to happen no matter what. If you get a lead in a play or get accepted to a school that is hard to get into, people are going to say you bought your way in because of me. Even as you make a name for yourself with your talent, which I might add is very impressive according to Zara, but everyone is going to say things were handed to you because of me.”

“That’s not fair though. I’ve worked hard.”

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