Page 68 of Fa-La La-La Land
Guilt hits me square in the chest. She’ll miss Christmas Eve and her letter because of me and Winter Lights. Yeah, it’s her job—the show’s gotta go on my socials—but the sacrifice is too big. I dunno how I’ll make it up to her.
When I glance at her, the answer comes to me. I’ve got to take Adam up on his offer. I’ll not only be giving Stella something she wants but also thanking Liv and Jax at the same time. The least I can do for all three of them is sing a few songs.
“What time do you two finish up?” I ask Liv and Jax as they head back to their truck.
“Five,” Jax answers.
“Come to the Garden. I’m playing there tonight.”
“You are?” Stella sounds as surprised as I feel.
“I am,” I sigh.
“I’ll let Adam know.” She’s already texting before she finishes the sentence.
“Seriously?” Liv squeals. “Can I bring some friends?”
“Go ahead, but no video, no pictures. I’ll play some new stuff I don’t want out yet. This one’s just for you lot. A thank-you.” My eyes drift to Stella. She’s the one I want to sing for…singto.Then I nod toward the bucket. “But maybe keep this whole mess between us, yeah?”
“We’ve gotta file a report,” Jax says.
Stella steps in. “Say his name’s Rhys Smith. It’ll be more accurate anyway.”
Liv grins. “Right. Rhys Smith.”
They hang around long enough to jot the report, get my signature, and hand me a list of song requests. By the time the truck pulls away, a half dozen neighbors have gathered, asking what happened.
I retreat to the backyard to grab more inflatables—and mostly to avoid being recognized—while Stellatells everyone, “My guest got stuck in a tree putting up Mom’s Santa, and we’d like to keep that private.”
I’m too far away for her to hear my muttered, “Yeah, right,” but I keep it under my breath anyway. Everyone in town knows who her “guest” is after the parade yesterday.
I may not believe in Santa, but I really want to believe this little town will keep my humiliation under wraps.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stella
While Rhys hides out in the backyard, I convince the neighbors to leave by telling them Rhys is performing at the Garden tonight, and as long as they don’t post anything about it on their socials—both before and after the show—they’re invited to come. I’m taking an enormous risk, I know, but I want this show to be a turning point for him. If people like the new songs—and I’m sure they will—that could be the confidence boost that gets him to realize he doesn’t need Danny or VibeHouse.
Rhys comes back around the house to the front yard, balancing two bins of inflatables in his arms, stacked so tall that he has to peek around to see where he’s going. When he sets them down, then straightens and stretches, he’s actually smiling. Not only with his mouth, but with his whole body. His usual caged-animal energy is more of a big-lab-on-a-leash vibe. He should be all nerves and annoyance after the tree incident, but he’s more at ease than I’ve ever seen him…except when he sang at the Garden after Thanksgiving dinner.
Is the fresh Paradise air the source of his transformation?Or maybe getting into the Christmas spirit? Or could it be heisexcited about singing his own songs in front of an audience tonight?
My guess is the last one. At least, I hope it is.
We spend the rest of the morning putting up all the inflatables while the snow continues to fall. By the time we’re finished, Mom’s yard is not only covered in blow-up snowmen, Santas, penguins in scarves, and the Holy Family—but also more than half a foot of snow.
“Let’s make a snowman,” Rhys says, still in his yellow lab era.
I’ve spent every winter of my life living in freezing conditions, but after two days in the cold, I’m ready to be warm again. One thing I’ve learned living in sunny LA is that weather isn’t for enduring; it’s for enjoying. And I’mnotenjoying this cold anymore.
“There’s not enough snow yet, and I’m freezing. Come on. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” I start up the snow-covered walkway to the front door but only make it a few steps before something hits me in the back.
I turn. Rhys is packing snow between his hands, a tight, mischievous grin stretched across his face.
“Did you just throw a snowball at me?” I plant my hands on my hips and glare at him, but the way his eyes shine with every shade of blue works its magic on me.
“Pretty good for my first time, yeah?” He tosses another snowball at me that hits me square in the chest.
