Page 61 of Fa-La La-La Land
“Why do you have so much cash?” I ask. “Do you have a side hustle as a stripper?”
He snorts. “My name’s not on cash like it is on a credit card. Less chance of someone clockin’ who I am.”
I nod. But I’ve seen recognition in every adult’s—and a few kids’—eyes in this line. They know exactly who he is, no credit card necessary. The fact that not one person has been surprised to see Rhys James in Paradise—or me with him—is a testament to how fast news spreads in a small town. No one has a problem letting us crowd to the front of the line. When Rhys’s back isturned, more than one mom mouths to me to call her or points to Rhys and gives me a thumbs up.
Hope and Charly are at the front of the line when we get there. Despite Charly’s questionable taste in favorite songs, Rhys is smitten with her. Even though Hope tries to refuse, he insists she take the twenty he hands Charly to let me go first.
Rhys tries to nudge me forward, but I shake my head. “You bribed your way here. You first. And you might give believing a try, like I did.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it again when I raise an eyebrow. I need to know what Rhys wants for Christmas, so I’m not about to budge. I’d love to give him the kind of Christmas magic I get to experience every year.
“Fine,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile. He trudges up to Nick like a man on his way to a dentist appointment.
Nick pats his knee for Rhys to sit. Rhys gives me a look that could curdle eggnog, then perches on the very edge, gripping his thighs to keep from actually sitting.
“What’s your name, young fella?” Nick asks, patting Rhys on the back.
“Rhys,” he says, reluctant but polite.
“Rhys?” Nick repeats before ho-ho-hoing loudly. “I hear you’re a very talented musician.”
Rhys glances sideways. “Who told you that?”
“Why, one of my elves, of course! Told me you’ve had a rough year, but you’ve still been a very good boy.”
“Hasshenow?” he says to Nick while shooting me an accusing look.
I raise both hands—wasn’t me. I haven’t talked to Nick since last Christmas, so I’m not the elf he got his intel from.
Nick winks. “He certainly has. Larry’s one of my best elves. He told me what you might want, but I’d rather hear it from you.”
Between his twinkling eyes, real beard, and rosy cheeks, Nick really could be Santa’s double. He definitely works some Christmas magic on Rhys. Something in him shifts—his shoulders drop a little, the defensiveness softens. He leans in, whispering something I can’t hear. For a split second, I swear I see the same look in his eyes I’ve seen when he sings something that means too much to speak it.
Whatever he says makes Nick’s eyes go glassy. When Rhys stands, there’s a ghost of a smirk on his lips, but behind it—something else. Hope…or maybe fear.
Which is great, except I was hoping to overhear his request. Now I’ll have to risk my “nice” status and try to get it out of Nick. Based on the look on Nick’s face, whatever Rhys asked for is a lot harder to make or buy than, say, a new guitar.
It’s the same look I remember when I was nine and asked for a letter from Dad.
“Go stand by Charly,” I tell Rhys, shooing him away before I take his place.
“How are you, Stella, peach?” Nick gives me a tight squeeze, and I hug him back. “We’ve missed you around here. You ready to come back yet?”
“I’ve missed everyone too, Nick, but no, I’m not ready to come back. LA isn’t Paradise, but it’s a close second.”
He chuckles. “Long as you spend Christmas here at home.”
“Wouldn’t miss it!”
A chip in the gold-painted trim that lines his red velvet chair catches my eye. This chair used to seem so big and luxurious. I’ve never noticed the spots where the velvet is rubbed thin or the fraying cuff of Nick’s suit. I’m hit with a wave of sadness that washes away the excitement of the morning. Everything gets older.
Except for Dad.
It occurs to me that the day is coming soon when I’ll beolder than Dad was when he died. What will his letters sound like then? Every one I’ve received has some piece of advice for the age I’m at. In grade school, it was about trying everything, then sticking to the things I loved. In middle school, it was treating everyone like a friend. In high school, it was setting goals and achieving them. I’m in his military and newly married years now. The advice he gave me last year was about self-discipline.
The one common thread through all the letters, though—the one thing he wants most for me—is to be kind.
I think I know Dad well enough now to recognize that, no matter how many letters I get from him, or whoever is writing them, he’ll always have that one piece of advice for me.Be kind.
