It’s after we land that I bring up the text from Zara telling me that she’ll have breakfast ready for us as a simple reminder of what’s waiting for us when we get home. The fact that she’s concerned about my girls and me, at this early hour, really hits home for me. Normally, I’d feel bad about not texting her right back, but I was busy with the girls and my mom, plus she indicated she was shutting her phone down, and I feel like she would’ve let me know that it was back on. I’m fairly new at this dating thing and could be completely wrong on the whole subject matter.

The girls are tired, yet oddly hyper for it being this early in the morning. I want to say it’s because they’re back where they belong, but I know that’s not true. I have a feeling that while I was sleeping, they were ingesting copious amounts of caffeine. Flying the red-eye is great in some cases, except right now all I want to do is go home and sleep. Actually, I want to crawl into bed and hold Zara. I know it’s ridiculous to think that I’ve missed her after one day, but it’s true.

All throughout the day while I was helping the girls pack and settling everything up at their schools, Zara was never far from my mind. I felt like a giddy schoolboy with his first crush, wondering when I was going to run into her again “by chance.” Knowing that she was in my house, treating it as her own only sent my feelings into overdrive.

I can’t tell if we’re moving too fast or not. We’ve both had limited love lives, both having married high school sweethearts, and both have suffered because of them. Granted, I casually dated—if you can call dinner out—dating, but stayed away from the hook-up game. That wasn’t a road I wanted to travel down, especially having two daughters. I didn’t want to set a bad example, even though I have no doubt that Iris did.

Which makes me think that I need to ask Zara to sleep in the guest bedroom. As much as I don’t want her to, I don’t want the girls to see the same lifestyle that they saw with their mother. Something tells me that Zara will understand.

With some of our luggage in hand and the rest being pushed on a trolley by a porter, the two chatty Kathys trail behind me as we make our way out of the terminal and into the parking garage where my truck is waiting. The girls haven’t stopped yammering since the plane landed, both going on about all the things they want to do.

“What about taking the horses out sometime today?” I suggest as I load their luggage into the back of the truck. I don’t bother looking at them to see their expression, but their quick silence has me wondering what they’re thinking. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve ridden, but I can tell you that Abby and Blaze will love it if you take them out.”

“What about you, Dad? Will you take Night out?” Stormy asks. I can’t say I much like her tone though. I brought up Stormy’s attitude with my mother, and while she didn’t experience anything teenagerish with her while I was gone, she did say that Stormy’s demeanor changed about an hour before I arrived at the house.

It’s unsettling to know or even think that your daughter has an issue with you or maybe it’s not with me, but with parental guidance. The more I think about her life, the more I realize that Iris let Stormy do whatever the hell she wanted, and Stormy has to know that she’ll have rules that must be followed.

“Of course.” My back is still to them as I continue to load the suitcases.

“And Zara? What will she ride?” This time I look at Stormy and shrug.

“I’m sure Zara is busy doing her own thing, Stormy. It’s not like she’s attached at my hip.”

Stormy scoffs and finally opens the truck door and climbs inside. I try not to let her attitude rub me the wrong way, but it pisses me off. I take a deep breath and climb out of the back of the truck, tip the porter, and make my way to the driver side where Willow is standing.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Her face is pensive. Sad.

“I don’t want you and Stormy to fight.”

I crouch down so that I’m looking up at her. “Stormy and I are just butting heads right now. She’s mad because she’s here. Her life in California is important to her, but she can do that here too. Everything will be fine, Willow.”

“Okay,” she says, quietly.

I help her climb in and send Stormy a glare that should tell her that I’m not happy with her attitude. I get being angry and hurt because of the situation, but taking it out on me, Zara, or her sister won’t fly.

The drive home is fairly quiet with only Willow asking questions about new buildings that have been constructed since the last time she was here. She asked about going to her grandparents, which I thought was a bit odd considering she just left my mother until she told me that Pop told her they were going to go shooting. Hearing her say that solidified my decision to bring them both back to Tennessee. They need a place where they can grow up with their family around them.

As soon as we pull in, I half expect the front door to open. When it doesn’t, I don’t let it bother me too much, but damn if I didn’t want to see Zara there, looking domestic. Willow rushes to the front door and pushes it open. I’m hot on her heels with Stormy dragging feet behind me.

It’s Willow’s gasp that has my eyes opening wide. The living room is completely decorated with balloons, streamers, and a giant sign welcoming home Stormy & Willow that is strung over the hearth, along with the smell of cinnamon wafting through the air.

“What’s all this?” Stormy asks.

I shrug and look from her to Willow, who has a beaming smile on her face. “I don’t know.” Out of the corner of my eye, Zara appears. She looks shy and reserved as if she’s testing the waters.

“Zara,” Willow screeches as she runs toward her, only stopping when the two have collided with their arms wrapped around each other. If there was any hesitation in Willow’s acceptance of Zara being here, it’s definitely gone now.

“You remember Willow?” I ask, directing my question at Zara.

“I do. Did you have a nice flight? Are you hungry? I made French toast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Stormy says before she turns toward the hall that will lead to her bedroom. The three of us watch her go and all jump when the door slams shut.

“She’s pmsing,” Willow says. Zara and I both snicker at Willow’s assumption. “I’m starving.”

“Come on, let’s eat.” I motion for them both to follow me into the kitchen, where it’s decorated almost the same. I look quickly at Zara, who shrugs. I didn’t leave her a car, not that she couldn’t have one delivered to her, so I’m curious as to how she had all of this done. Barbara could’ve helped, but she still has reservations about Zara and me, and I can’t imagine she would extend services too much.

Zara takes over in the kitchen, plating up food for all of us. I half expect her to sit down at the table, but she disappears down the hall with a plate of food. I sit quietly and listen as she knocks on Stormy’s door. Surprisingly it opens, and a few words are exchanged, but I’m unable to decipher them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her as she returns to the kitchen and sits down.

“I did,” she says. “Barb and I had a long talk about everything: you, the girls, and business. The last thing I want to do is upset Stormy.”

“Stormy’s attitude is mine to deal with, Zara.”

She shakes her head. I catch her smiling at Willow, who is sharing the same sentiment. “If I’m going to be here, they both need to know that I’m here for them as well.”

My eyes pin to her eyes, but only briefly. I have to look away, afraid that I might shed a tear. Days… that is how long I’ve known this woman, and I’m already falling head over heels in love with her.

Glancing back at Willow, she’s still smiling as she stuffs her face with French toast doused in syrup. I shake my head, and they both laugh as if I’m the last one to get the joke. I’m not. Believe me. I know when I’m being ganged up on, and honestly, I love it. If Zara wants to be a part of our lives, she’s more than welcome.

Since Zara prepared breakfast, I man the cleanup duties in the kitchen while Willow cleans off the table. I turn on some music, making it loud enough to carry throughout the house and start a dance party with Willow once she’s completed her chore. In the corner, Zara is snickering, commenting on my moves, but Willow is laughing. She’s giggling so hard that she has tears rolling down her face.

And when Stormy comes out to see what all the fuss is about, I take her by her hands and pull her into the kitchen and dance with her. She balks at first, but gives in soon enough and starts shaking her hips right along to the music. When I look at Zara, she’s videotaping us and if I’m not mistaken, bobbing her head up and down to the beat of the song.

When it’s over, I collapse in a heap, onto the counter, panting as if I’ve just run a marathon.

“Daddy, how do you expect to go on tour if you’re an old man?” Stormy says in between fits of laughter.

“Daddy’s not old, Stormy.”

“Thanks, Willow,” I say, half out of breath.

“He’s ancient,” Willow says, giggling even louder.

“You guys are very funny.” I try to concentrate on loading the dishwasher, but the disc jockeys on the local country station are mentioning my name. I go to turn it off, but Zara tells me that she wants to hear what they’re saying.

“Are the rumors true regarding Levi Austin and Reverend Sister’s lead singer, Zara Phillips?”

“Could be. He spent a month out in Los Angeles, right about the time she filed for divorce, and now she’s here. I’d say it’s pretty serious.”

I scoff at the radio, but Zara laughs. “We’ve known each other for a week,” she points out as I nod.

“Daddy says never to listen to anything you hear on the radio, and that only if it comes from the horse’s mouth should you believe it,” Stormy says.

My mouth drops open in shock. I thought for sure she would storm out of here, mumbling something about how I’ve ruined her life.

“Zara and I met at the video shoot, not any time before that. You know I wouldn’t lie to you, Stormy. I know that things are movin' fast for everyone, but if I wasn’t sure about Zara, I wouldn’t have you and your sister here right now.”

Stormy smiles as she looks from Zara to me. It’s the first genuine smile I have seen on her face since before her mother passed away. I’m not going to take it for granted either because I know women… well, at least the Austin ones, and their attitudes can switch on the fly.

I pull Stormy into my arms and kiss the top of her head before scooping up a handful of dish soap bubbles and blowing them on her. She squeals and proceeds to do the same, but doesn’t throw them at me, but at Zara. It’s from that point that the first annual Austin/Phillips bubble war starts.