I finally understand what it means to be on cloud nine. Still, it’s hard to describe how I’m feeling as Zara and I walk hand-in-hand down the streets of Nashville. Each look we receive has me wondering what that person is thinking. Here I am in my cowboy boots, jeans, and a t-shirt while she’s dressed in combat boots, fishnet stockings, denim shorts with my flannel tied around her waist, and a tank top. If we aren’t polar opposites, I don’t know what you’d call us. But, from the moment we got out of my truck, she reached for my hand and hasn’t let it go, unless it’s been so I can open the door for her, or if she’s trying on some clothes.

Yes, that’s right. Rocker chick Zara Phillips has tried on some countrified clothes today and even allowed me to purchase her a shirt or two. She drew that line at boots, but I still have time to get her to change her mind. I told her if anything, they’re a fashion statement and someone like her could bring them back in full-force. She, however, didn’t buy a single word I was trying to sell her.

Now, we’re sitting in a quaint little bistro, not far off the Row. It’s quiet, the staff recognized me but hasn’t said anything, which is why I love Nashville so much. Although I have to say after being in Los Angeles for a month and not being hounded by the media, the quiet was nice as well, except I know they can be relentless.

Zara and I spent the better half of our morning surfing through gossip sites, looking for articles about her. I told her I didn’t think we’d find much of anything, but she assured me otherwise. She was right, and each article we clicked on and read, my heart broke a bit more for her. The media is demanding to know where she is, what she’s been doing. They’re invasive, interviewing anyone that might know her whereabouts and whether or not she’s with Van. One site even went as far as to call the rehab center her ex is in to get a comment from him. Of course, he didn’t have any idea where Zara was, and that has really spurred the “Where’s Zara Phillips?” frenzy.

She’s with me, and I couldn’t be happier. I try not to think about the fact that I’ve only known her a week because it feels like she’s been in my life for years. Zara just fits. Watching her walk around my house this morning, I could easily see her there, every day, helping me get the kids off to school. My only concern is Stormy, and how she’s going to feel once she finds out that Zara and I aren’t content with being just friends. The last thing I want to do is upset her, to make her feel uncomfortable around Zara or to think I used her in any way whatsoever.

“Do you know what you want?” I ask, looking at her from over the top of my menu. Her hair is hidden under her knit beanie, something she was insistent upon doing before we left the house. Truth be told, I like her hair. I like the way it stands out against her creamy skin.

“I don’t know. What’s good?” she asks, taking a sip of her water.

“I’m a meat guy.” I found out quickly during breakfast that Zara rarely eats meat if she can help it. I admire her for sticking to her convictions and not giving into the temptation of bacon that I was waving in her face this morning. “I’m going to go with the turkey club.”

She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “Salad?”

Now I’m the one shaking my head. “Get something real. This isn’t our first date.” Of course, as soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize that yes, this could be considered a date.

“Okay, how about I get a BLT minus the B, with a cup of soup?”

“Sounds good, and for you Mr. Austin?” the waitress says. I hadn’t heard her approach, but it seems that she was within earshot of Zara’s order. I tell her what I want and hand her the menus.

“Does everyone know you in town?”

I shrug and grimace. “Sort of, I guess. I mean it’s kind of hard not to, ya know?” Zara reaches across the table and fiddles with my fingers until I take her hand in mine. It feels damn good to be connected to her like this. “I’m willin' to bet a few people know you too.” As the words tumble out, I fear that she’s going to let go of my hand. She doesn’t. Instead, she leans toward me with her lips somewhat puckered. I’d be a fool to not kiss her, but am also fearful of our surroundings.

The wrong brain takes over, and I find myself locking lips with the gorgeous woman across from me. The kiss is sweet, tender and slightly erotic as she slips her tongue into my mouth and moans. She pulls back, all too soon for my liking, and has a wicked smile on her face.

“That was evil,” I tell her. “But I enjoyed it.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for hours. There’s no one around so I thought now would be a good time.”

I rub my thumb over the top of her knuckle while gazing into her eyes. I’ve never been one to keep eye contact for very long, but staring at Zara is like learning a new song. I can’t get enough, and I want more. Each and every day, I want more.

“You can kiss me anytime, darlin’.” This time I’m the one initiating, and she’s all too eager to meet me in the middle, except now I’m cupping her face and turning my head at such an angle that if anyone is looking, they see mostly my ball cap.

When we part, the smile that is spread across her wet lips is worth all the stares we’re likely getting from the staff. The door chimes, causing me to sit up straight. The group that walks in is young and looks like they should still be in high school. I pull my hat down a bit lower and try to avoid making eye contact.

It doesn’t work because one of the girls is walking toward us. “Sorry,” I mutter to Zara.

“It’s okay. If anyone gets it, I do.”

Maybe that is why we’ve connected so well because she understands this life, even if I don’t understand the magnitude of hers.

The teen girl approaches our table. I smile and prepare myself to answer all her questions, stand to pose for a picture and give her whatever autographs she wants, as long as it’s done quickly so I can go back to Zara. But she’s not looking at me. She’s focused on Zara.

“You’re Zara Phillips, right?” the teen asks.

My eyes bug out at the mention of her name as Zara’s face goes even paler than she already is. I open my mouth to say something, but words escape me. It wasn’t moments ago that I told her I thought someone would know her, but I honestly never expected this to happen.

“I am,” Zara says softly. I try to decipher if she’s upset or put off like I am, but I can’t tell.

“OH! MY! GOD!” The girl squeals in a high-pitched tone that has my ears bleeding. “I am so in love with you and Van. I mean, you’re like the perfect couple, and I just know this separation is nothing more than a publicity ploy because your new album is coming out. But seriously, why are you in Nash?”

My blood boils at this chick’s onslaught toward Zara, not to mention the bullshit statement about her separation from Van being a publicity ploy. The expression on her face is a mixture of hurt, anger, and disgust. It’s fans like this that make us want to stay home and live the life of hermits.

And Nash? Is that some hipster term that I’m not aware of?

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Zara says as she extends her hand to shake that of the teens. She’s more humble than I would be right now.

“You too, it’s like… this is like my dream come true and stuff.”

And stuff? What other stuff could there be?

“Is Van here?” she asks, looking around the bistro. I look too because surely someone is playing a cruel joke on us right now.

“No, sorry,” Zara looks at me and pleads for help. Of course, I’m going to give it to her. I signal for the waitress and hand her twenty.

“Sorry, we’re fixin' to leave.” I reach for Zara’s hand and hold it firmly in mine.

“Wait, you’re not with him, are you? That’s like…”

We don’t hear what it’s like because we’re out the door and I’m helping her into my truck. I rush to the other side and get it, and quickly start it.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, knowing nothing I say right now is going to make things any better.

“It’s not your fault. I probably shouldn’t have kissed you.”

As soon as I’m out in traffic, I look at her. “Don’t say that.”

She grimaces and shows me her phone. Sure enough, there’s a picture of us kissing while inside the place. It was taken from one of the other patrons or staff. I shake my head and take her phone from her hand setting it on my dash asI pull her to me. Zara rests her head on my shoulder, not caring that we’re in traffic and that people can see inside my truck.

“So maybe venturing out in public isn’t what we do just yet,” I say as I navigate us home.

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you, if that’s what you’re saying, Levi. I like you a lot, or I wouldn’t be with you right now, and we definitely wouldn’t have slept together.”

“I know I’m just--”

“Worried?” she asks.

I nod. At the same time, both our phones start going off. My console tells me that Barbara is calling and when Zara takes her phone off the dashboard, she shows me that the name is Laura.

“That’s my bitch publicist,” she says with a sneer.

“I’ll answer mine,” I tell her, pressing the button on my steering wheel. “Hello, Barb.”

“Levi, what have you done?”

I look at Zara and wink. “You’ll have to be a little more specific. The past few days I have done quite a bit of stuff.”

“With Zara? It’s all over the wires. My email is going crazy; my phone is ringing off the hook. I thought she was just a friend.”

“She was,” I say. “And now she’s not.” I kiss Zara on her temple and return my eyes to the road. The last things I want to do is put her life in danger or leave my children without a father. Although, there’s a good chance that Stormy may hate me after this.

“Levi, believe me when I tell you, this has disaster written all over it. No one is going to understand how American’s Country star ended up with a rocker from Los Angeles who is heading for a nasty divorce.”

“No one needs to understand anything, Barb. This is the stuff my songs are about, finding love when you least expect it. I can tell you right now, Zara and I didn’t expect to have a connection.”

“No we didn’t,” she says softly.

“Wait, is she in the truck with you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Why don’t you come over for dinner and let’s chat? See you in a few hours.” I don’t give Barbara a chance to reject my invitation before hanging up. I pull over to the side of the road and turn to face Zara.

“I don’t care about what others say,” I tell her. “I want to be with you, to explore where we can take this. I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

“Me either,” she says, pulling me into a kiss.