Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Still, sitting in the back corner of the coffee shop, I wonder if I made the right decision by asking Zara for coffee. Even with her immediate response of yes, I’m still second-guessing everything every time the door chimes bang against the glass as the door is pushed open, only to have this instant let down that she hasn’t shown up yet. And still, my heart picks up pace when I see someone with platinum hair walking by the window, only to notice that the purple on the end is missing. My leg bounces anxiously each time I check the time, only to realize that I am very early and she still has five minutes until our set meeting time.
Of course, I start thinking about what happens when she doesn’t show. Do I text her again? Call her? Walk out of here with my tail between my legs and tell myself I gave it the ole Boy Scout try?
Or do I get all excited and embrace my rapidly beating heart and sweaty palms as she stalks toward me with a smile so bright that it could light up Music Row? What I end up doing is stumbling over the leg of the table, jabbing my thigh, and biting my tongue to keep from crying out as I walk toward her to give her a kiss on the cheek. I’m as smooth as they come, I tell ya.
“Are you okay?” she asks. I’m slightly embarrassed that she saw my epic blunder. I nod as casually as possible and take a few deep breaths, hoping to push away the throbbing pain in my leg. I pull out her chair and wait for her to sit down before I gingerly return to my seat. Zara is dressed as inconspicuously as possible. Her long hair is hidden under a beanie and the make-up she wore yesterday is nothing like what she has one now. The bold, vibrant colors are gone and replaced by subtlety. She looks angelic and completely different than the woman I met yesterday, and I have a feeling that I like both.
“I wish I could say I’m as graceful as Stormy when she dances, but that would be a fib.”
Zara laughs, and the sound shoots straight to my heart. I like the way it makes me feel and have a feeling that I may be blushing. “It’s something I’ve done many times, and I’m sure it’ll happen again,” she says, trying to ease my awkwardness. She doesn’t, but I don’t let on. I have a feeling anything that she does, is done so with as much elegance as humanly possible.
“What can I get ya to drink?” I ask her, and as I do, I find myself leaning forward so that we’re closer.
“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.