Page 28 of Fa-La La-La Land
Her brow lifts, suspicious. For a second, I think she’s onto me, but then she turns and disappears inside.
I try not to worry she won’t come back, but the thought crosses my mind. When she reappears, I forget how to breathe.
She’s wearing a colorful bikini top and a long wrap skirt that moves with each step, showing flashes of tanned legs. The browns, golds, and oranges in the fabric make her eyes look deeper, brighter. I swallow hard and lick my lips as she crosses the patio.
“Chef made us some smoothies,” I say, forcing my eyes anywhere but the curve of her collarbone.
“Chef?”
“Rita. My chef.”
“You have a full-time chef?” She takes the smoothie I hand her and sips, her red lips closing around the straw like a ribbon tied on a present.
“Mostly for Dad,” I say with a shrug. “He’s on a special diet. Didn’t want Mum stressing about cooking three meals a day.”
“Oh, that’s yummy.” She smacks her lips. “I didn’t realize your dad had health problems.”
I try not to watch her mouth. “He had a stroke about six months ago. He’s still recovering. We’ve kept it quiet—he and Mum shouldn’t lose their privacy just because I’m their son.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She sets down her glass, tilts her head. “Would he be up for meeting me? I’d love to meet your mom too.”
Her sincerity throws me. Most people get awkward around Dad now that he’s slower and can’t talk like he used to.
“You can meet them right now,” I say, setting my smoothie aside and nodding toward the house.
We head inside through the back door. Rita’s at the sink, washing dishes. Stella walks right up to her, hand outstretched.
“You must be Rita. I’m Stella. That smoothie was the best I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
Rita looks surprised—probably the first time aguest’s ever thanked her for anything. She dries her hands and shakes Stella’s. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“I loved it! Can I have the recipe—or is it top secret?”
Rita chuckles. “No secrets. Rhys gave it to me.”
Stella glances at me, eyebrows raised.
“Got it from Archie,” I explain. “He’s the smoothie expert, after coaching Dex for so long.”
I guide Stella toward the kitchen table, where Mum’s helping Dad with his oatmeal. He’s doing better, feeding himself again, though the long flight probably set him back a bit physically. Mentally, though—he’s been sharper since seeing old mates in Brisbane.
“Mum, Dad, this is Stella, my new social media specialist.”
Mum’s grin could light a stadium. “Are you all settled into the pool house, love? Sorry we weren’t here to help you move in.”
“I think so. It’s nice to meet you.” Stella shakes Mum’s hand, then gently squeezes Dad’s, realizing he can’t lift it.
“Rhys says you and I will be working together a bit, Mrs. Smith,” she tells Mum.
“Oh, please, call me Millie,” Mum says with a warm laugh. Most people call her Mrs. James, not knowing James is my middle name.Surf Cityproducers thought “Smith” was too plain, so Rhys James was born. I’ve had little say in it since.
“Millie, not Camellia?” Stella asks softly.
“Absolutely not,” Mum says, chuckling. “I’ve only been called that twice—once when I was christened and again when that same priest asked if I’d take Jack here to be my husband. But if you’d rather, I can call you by your nickname.”
“Aussies love their nicknames,” I say to Stella. “Dad’s real name is?—”
“John,” she finishes, a little pink inthe cheeks. Then quickly to Mum: “My brother and cousins call me Sparky, but I hate that name.”
