Page 38 of Fa-La La-La Land
“It’s ours,” Brianna says proudly, signing too.
Then Stella’s smile fades, though her voice stays polite. “Perfect. Now, if you could delete any photos or videos you took before this, that’d be great.”
There’s steel under her sweetness—the kind that makes grown adults listen. They scroll, delete, and show her the empty gallery. By the time we leave, I’m smiling for real. I even shake Chad’s hand and tell him I might check out his gym.
When we’re far enough away, I say, “How’d you do that?”
“Do what?”
“That whole thing—turning it around like that.”
She shrugs, gazing at the horizon where the sun is setting. “I just did. You looked like you needed a hand.”
I drop my board in the sand and towel off. With my towel snug around my waist, I swap the wetsuit for dry trackies. Stella watches—not ogling, more curious than anything.
“You want your own video?” I tease.
Her cheeks color before she laughs at herself. “We’d get a lot of engagement for sure. It’s impressive the way you surfers can make a quick change without flashing anyone.”
I untie my towel and toss it onto the sand. “Were you hoping I would?” I move closer to her.
Her cheeks turn pinker, but then her eyes narrow. “Don’t flatter yourself, Rhys James.”
Stella turns to stuff her towel and our finished lunch into a beach bag, and we ride the bikes back up the trail. Stella chatters the whole time as we ride side by side. The trail’s narrow; the pace easy.
“We’ve got your post for the day,” she says. “A good one, too. Maybe this rep rehab won’t be so painful after all.”
“I never said it would be painful.” I leave the rest unsaid:Not with you around.
She keeps talking—plans for the BBQ, decorations, playlists—and I let her. I like the sound of her voice more than the ideas themselves. Mum’ll be glad for the help; she’s been stretched thin since Dad’s stroke.
By the time we roll into the drive, the sun’s gone gold over the water. I want to kiss Stella goodbye. Really want to. But this isn’t one of those moments I can rush. Not with her.
“You want to come up to the house for dinner?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Plans with Piper. But we could surf again tomorrow. I can get footage while you teach me some more.”
“Yeah, I like that idea,” I say, smiling too easily.
Inside, I shower, then help Mum settle Dad at the table. He looks better tonight—stronger.
“Stella’s not joining us?” Mum asks.
“She’s got plans.”
“But you invited her?”
“‘Course I did.”
Mum’s lips twitch. “That pool house doesn’t have much of a kitchen. She might need to take most of her meals up here.”
I know exactly what she’s hinting at. “She might,” I say lightly.
“I like her,” Dad adds, his voice slow but sure.
“Yeah,” I admit, smiling. “Me too.”
Over dinner, I tell them about Stella and the beach incident. By dessert, her name’s come up half a dozen times. Every time, Mum and Dad share the same look—soft, knowing, like they’ve already seen how this ends.
