Page 43 of Fa-La La-La Land
I take it. She’s stronger than she looks. We end up inches apart, her gaze anything but careful.
“Your words are telling me not to kiss you, but your lips aren’t. Which is it, Stella?” Hope edges me forward.
She glances left and right, then smiles and loops her arms around my neck. “Beach is pretty empty right now.”
That’s all the invitation I need to try stopping the world.
Chapter Fourteen
Stella
What’s it like to be kissed by Rhys James?
I spent years pondering that question and other mysteries of the universe while staring at the Rhys James posters hanging on my wall or watching him perform on stage.
I imagined he’d be pretty good at it—his lips are just the right proportion, not too big, not too small, and never chapped. I thought he might even be so great that he’d make everything go quiet. The constant chatter in my head, the noise of the outside world, the worries in my heart. He’d be tender and focused only on me, wanting, but never pushing for more.
Those fantasies didn’t come close to the reality of how the real Rhys James kisses. Like, not even in the same world close. Not even the same atmosphere close. The same solar system? Possibly, but probably not.
The world stopped the first time he kissed me and every time after that. Even the peck at the beach.
That is reason number two why we have to move slow. Slow-er,anyway. I’m not ready to have the kind of love Momand Dad had, and the chemistry between Rhys and me feels dangerously close to the zing Mom experienced the first time she saw Dad.
Reason number one, though, is that Rhys needs to find what he wants before rushing into any kind of relationship. As much as my parents loved each other, Mom married Dad and moved to America before she really knew what she wanted. When he died, it was too late for her to discover who she was outside of being a wife and mother. She opened an in-home preschool out of necessity rather than passion.
I mean, owning her own preschool and teaching kids with special needs led to her decision to become an occupational therapist once Seb and I were out of school, but I’ve always wondered what her life would have looked like if she’d taken a little more time to get to know herself along with Dad.
One thing that’s become clear as I’ve gotten to know Rhys in the past year—especially over the past few days—is that a lot of who he is was created by VibeHouse. Specifically Danny. Rhys didn’t get to use his teens and early twenties to figure that out for himself, and he’s wrestling to do it now. So, I want to move slow as much for him as for myself. Maybe even more.
But it won’t be easy.
First thing the next morning, Rhys shows up at my door. He’s already texted me that the waves are mush so surfing’s out, and I’m surprised to find him standing there with a café mocha from Frothed in one hand and a potted plant in the other.
“What’s this?” I ask as I take the spiky plant strung with tiny lights from him.
“Succulent. It will live at least three weeks, even if you don’t water it. Another thing to cross off your list.”
I smile my thanks and set it on my kitchen table, then spin it so the best side faces me. “And the lights?”
Rhys hands me the Frothed cup as his gaze sweeps acrossthe room. “To go with your Christmas décor. Did you addmorestuff in here?”
I nod. “Not much. A few Santa things. That’s it. This is perfect.” I lift the cup. “Did you get one for yourself?”
“Already drank it.”
“You’ve been busy this morning.” I glance at my watch to confirm it’s barely past eight. “Where’d you find a succulent and lights this early without getting hounded by fans?”
He sends me a wry grin. “Confession. I asked Mum to find them yesterday while we were surfing, and she picked up the coffee this morning…” I cock my head in mock disappointment. “But only because I was working on a song.”
“And you didn’t want to get hounded by fans,” I add.
“That too.” He chuckles, then looks pointedly at my sofa and the five decorative pillows there, all Santa-themed. “Not a lot of room left to sit.”
“Just toss them to one side.” I wave my hand toward the pillows. “I might have gone overboard. I couldn’t decide which one I liked best, so I bought them all.”
“They’re different?” Rhys picks up two of the pillows, examines them like one of those Find the Difference puzzles, then tosses them to the opposite side of the couch and sits.
He pats the cushion next to him and gives me a look that makes me want to skip the seat beside him in favor of his lap. I pretend I don’t see him motioning for me to join him and opt for a coffee-fueled adrenaline rush over a kiss-fueled one, keeping plenty of distance between us as I sip my coffee.
