I never expected Zara to show up at Stormy’s makeshift after party, but not only did she show up, she brought enough food to feed the entire Bel Air block that we live on. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I am more than capable of providing enough food for everyone.

It seems that when she’s around, I’m saying some ridiculous things, mostly for my own benefit and not for hers. I have a feeling she has stealth hearing because after I tell her that she’s already helping I hear a tiny gasp. Now that could be from some critter roaming through the bushes or the scuff of her shoe as we walk up the inclined driveway, but if I had to bet my prized Stetson that the sound came from her, I would.

As soon as we step onto the concrete porch, she brushes by me to open the door. “Thank you, ma’am,” I say with a wink and hear yet another audible gasp. I sort of like this game, and it makes me curious as to how many times country boy Levi Austin can make this woman lose her breath. Honestly, probably not too many once she realizes that we have absolutely nothing in common.

In the kitchen, Barbara and my mother rush to ease the burden of carrying so many bags. I could’ve made more than one trip, but I’d rather spend some time talking to Zara. It’s been entirely too long since I’ve felt drawn to a woman, let alone one like her. Outside appearances tell me right off that she’ll never fit into my world, nor would I fit into hers. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk, share a beer, and maybe laugh a little.

“Mama and Barb, this is Zara. She’s the lead singer of Reverend Sister. Stormy was in her video today.”

“The lead, actually, and she did an amazing job.” Zara smiles as she steps forward and shakes their hands. It occurs to me that I didn’t even give her my mother’s name and I feel completely awkward blurting it out now.

“That’s our girl,” my mama says, beaming at the accolade that Zara just bestowed onto Stormy.

“I was really impressed with her,” Zara adds, making my mother even prouder. If this were a date, I’d say that Zara is racking up the quality points with my mother.

“Levi should give you a tour of the house. Go on now; we’ll get the food out to everyone.” My mother winks at me, and all I can do is shake my head. With the height difference between Zara and I, there’s no doubt in my mind that she saw my mother’s not too subtle actions. Sometime later I’ll have to school my mother on the art of the pick-up, not that I’m a pro because as Barbara will happily point out, I’m always single when I need to have a woman on my arm.

Zara turns to me with a glint in her whiskey-colored eyes. I can already tell that if I’m not careful, I could be opening myself up to a world of hurt. It takes everything in me to break eye contact with her and not reach out and hold her hand.

“Follow me,” I say, tilting my head toward the hallway. Never in my life have I given another woman a tour of any home that I own. Iris helped design the house that I live in now, and I bought this one for the girls. I suppose it doesn’t help that I really never submerged myself into the dating scene.

“This house is beautiful, Levi.”

“Thank you. I think it’s rather small.”

Zara shakes her head. “Nah, I love how wide and open everything is.”

“So I think my mama just wanted us out of the kitchen. There really isn’t much to see,” I tell her as we walk down the hall toward the bedrooms. “This is Willow’s room.” I open the door to her bedroom and Zara walks in. Willow’s room is everything a pre-teen's room would be. It’s pink and girly with stuffed animals piled on her bed. There’s a corner dedicated to me, but either Zara doesn’t see it, or she’s already figured out who I am.

“I take it Willow must be…”

“My daughter.

Zara steps in and turns in a slow circle. “I had a room like this when I was ten.”

“That’s how old she is. As soon as we go outside, I’m sure you’ll meet her.” Zara tries and fails to mask her indifference about going outside, which sort of boggles my mind. If she didn’t want to hang out with the crew, why is she here?

We continue down the hall and go into Stormy’s room. Now that I know who Reverend Sister is, I’m slightly embarrassed to be showing her this room. Zara chuckles when she steps in and is immersed with pictures of herself.

“She’s a fan,” I say, shrugging. When Stormy was told she would be in the video, she yelled at the top of her lungs, dancing around while her agent was on the phone trying to give her details. Luckily for her, I was able to gather all the information necessary otherwise she probably would’ve missed the show.

“Levi Austin,” she says my name as if she’s out of breath or as if I’ve done something wrong. Zara is staring at one of the posters that Stormy has up in a montage of me. I’ve told the girls repeatedly that they didn’t need them, but they assured me it was their way of having me with them all the time. “This is you?” she asks, pointing at the larger than life picture of me on stage with my guitar.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, suddenly bashful about who I am.

“I had no idea. I can honestly say I’ve never heard of you.”

This should be an insult, but I don’t take it as one and tell her the same. “I had no idea who you were until today. I mean I’ve seen the posters and such, but never really paid attention.”

“How famous are you?” she asks. I find the question odd, and my facial expression must tell her as such. “I mean… actually, I don’t know what I mean so just forget it.”

I couldn’t if I tried. “In my world, pretty famous.”

Her cheeks turn red as she looks away from me. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?” I ask, stepping into the room. “The way I see it, we’re in the same boat. I didn’t know you, and you didn’t know me.”

“But this is Hollywood. I should know everyone.”

“Ah yes, Hollywood. I live in Nashville,” I tell her. I motion for her to follow me and continue the tour.

“So you split your time?”

Shaking my head slightly, we step outside onto the patio. I purposely avoided showing her the master bedroom or the last guest bedroom where I have been sleeping. With my hand on the small of her back, I guide her up a small flight of stairs to a pergola that overlooks the pool. I don’t know if she purposely avoids looking at the pool where a few of the people in there all know her name or what, but I gather she’s much like me when it comes to attention. Less is far better in some cases.

“I rarely come here. The girls,” I say nodding toward the pool where both are, “live here with their mother. Or they did.”

“What does that mean?” she asks.

I sigh and readjust my hat. “She died last month.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Zara places her hand on mine, and I have no desire to pull away from her. I realize that I could play the broken-hearted widow right now, but that’s not me. I wear everything on my sleeve and lying is not a quality that I’m fond of unless it means hiding my identity.

“We were divorced,” I tell her just as my mother arrives with a tray of drinks and a copious amount of food. Zara laughs as she thanks my mama who once again winks at me. I can’t help but frown, wondering what she’s thinking.

“How long?” she asks.

I take a long sip of the ice-tea my mother brought out, instantly missing this and the sweet tea that I’m used too. “Almost three years.”

“Was it hard?”

Shrugging. “At first, maybe, but mostly because of the girls. I have full custody of them, but Iris, their mother, she moved out here and told Stormy about the dance school here. I didn’t want to hold Stormy back from following her dreams, so I let the girls move out here with their mother.”

“And now you’re living in her house?”

I look over my shoulder at the house before meeting Zara’s gaze. “It’s my house. I bought it for the girls, so they had a place to live. Iris… she was unstable after our divorce. She wanted to relive her teen years because they had been taken away when we got pregnant with Stormy.” I shrug and finish off my drink. “I let her go because I just wanted her happy.”

“She was your soul mate?”

I ponder her question for a few seconds before shaking my head. “No, she wasn’t. I thought she was until she died. Her death made me realize that our days were left back in high school and we were vastly different people. I was hurt when she asked for a divorce, but let her go and gave her whatever she asked for because…”

“Because you wanted her happy?”

I nod and find myself smiling even if it’s barely touching my lips.

“I’m married…”

And for some reason hearing her say that plummets my heart into the depths of my stomach. It’s not that I thought we were going to start dating, but hearing that she is attached to someone else doesn’t sit well with me.

“He cheated on me a month ago. I kicked him out and filed for divorce, but he’s not handling it well.”

And now I want to kick his ass.

“He’s in my band; he plays the drums. My publicist is telling me to get over it. The label is pissed, and I’m angry that no one is siding with me.”

“Did you cheat on him?” I ask although it’s none of my business.

She shakes her head rapidly. “God no. Up until about two weeks ago, I was walking around my house like a zombie, determined to forget everything except the paparazzi is camped out in front. I’ve been a prisoner in my own home until today, but anyway, it was like a light bulb went off. My husband…or soon to be former one, was in the paper with another woman and I thought ‘why the hell am I moping around when he’s not’ and decided that the man I once considered my soul mate isn’t because people don’t do that to their soul mates.”

She’s right, although to my knowledge Iris never cheated. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she had. Letting her go was hard enough, but to learn that she had given herself to another while married to me would’ve probably been devastating.

“I’m sorry you’re goin’ through such a hard time. The door is open whenever you need to escape.” Why on earth I just invited her to come over whenever she wants, I have no idea. I can’t even promise that we’ll be here once school lets out. This isn’t my home, and I want to get back to Nashville. Songs have to be written, recorded and produced.

But I find myself wanting to know more about her and plan to spend some time surfing the web to read up on the enigma that is Zara Phillips. I know for a fact she would never encourage me to do it and deep down I’m hoping she does the same with me. I have nothing to hide, and there isn’t anything scandalous about me online.

Zara meets my eyes, and for a moment I feel a connection. It’s stupid to think that there would ever be anything between us other than a brief friendship because of our backgrounds. I don’t believe that mumbo jumbo about opposites attracting. You’re normally drawn to people in your category, especially in the music industry.

Yet, I feel something, a current or a bond that is bringing us together. She didn’t have to come over here today, but she did, and clearly, it wasn’t to spend time with the crew. I reach across the table and place my hand on hers, careful not to bother the burn from earlier.

“I know our divorces aren’t the same, but if you need anything, I’m here.”

She squeezes my hand back and doesn’t let go nor do I pull away. The gesture isn’t lost on me, and I honestly like the feeling of her small hand being encased by mine. It isn’t until my name is yelled that I’m pulling away and while I may not be touching her, I am looking at her and smiling.