Page 18 of Fa-La La-La Land
“Thanks, Stella.” He slides his wrist from my light hold until he has the tips of my fingers in his.
The thought occurs to me we’re standing close enough I could not only make my fantasies of kissing Rhys come true but could also cross off the second item on my 30 Before 30 List: kiss a rock star.
“Just doing my job, Rhys.” I slide my hand from his and reach for my car handle.
Rhys beats me to it and opens the door for me.
“Thanks.” I climb into the driver’s seat, then meet Rhys’s gaze. “Do you still love music, Rhys?”
His brows rise in surprise. “Yeah. ‘Course I do. Music’s never been the problem.”
“Just the music you don’t want to play anymore?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’d say that’s a me problem, not a music problem. I’ve gotta get my head back in the game.”
Rhys’s eyes flick away from mine. I don’t think he even believes what he’s said, but he’s trying to convince himself he should.
“I disagree.” With the door still open, I start my car. “Know your worth, Rhys. Say it ten times every morning.”
He huffs. “You turning life coach on me now, Stella?”
“Ten times,” I repeat before shutting my door and pulling into the street.
Rhys thinks he’s looking for a way back to who he was. I think what he’s actually searching for is a purpose that’s his own, not one manufactured by Danny and VibeHouse.
And if I can capture the story of him finding himself, fans will fall in love with him all over again.
Just notthisfan.
Chapter Seven
Rhys
Stella wastes no time wanting to post new content on my socials—including live posts. I’m not ready for that yet, so she settles for using tour footage that might distract people from my last concert. But she doesn’t stop there.
Within a week, she’s not only working with my PA to get everything moved out of the pool house—which means Mum roping me into some actual manual labor—but she’s also got Georgia decorating it to match the inside of my house. Although I get a bit of credit for that. I told Danny if he wanted Stella living in the pool house, he’d need to fork out to get it in proper shape for her. He looked surprised, but he didn’t even blink before saying yes.
I owe that to Stella’s morning mantra. Ever since she told me to use it, I’ve been looking in the mirror each day and saying,Know your worth, Rhys.
Feels weird, yeah, but I like the sound of it. And Danny saying yes to my demand? First bit of proof that maybe the bonkers affirmation actually works.
Stella’s inspiring in other ways too. Watching how quicklyshe transforms that sad old studio space into something shiny and new—but still somehow feels like me—is impressive. Boxes vanish. The bathroom and kitchenette go from grim to gleaming. New tiles, new fixtures, fresh paint coming next week, and the furniture Georgia’s picked out right after that.
I’m keen to see the final result. Not just the pool house—but me, once Stella starts sorting out my online presence. What she’s done to the pool house, she can probably do to my reputation. And that’s got me itching to get to work.
For the first time since I agreed to play Winter Lights, I’ve actually got ideas again. Little bits of melody and chord progressions keep popping into my head. I’d write them down or record them if I didn’t already know Danny would hate them. Still, I’m hoping the trip home to Oz I’ve planned with Mum and Dad will get things flowing properly.
Mum reckons a bit of time in Brisbane will help Dad regain some strength and maybe lift his spirits. It’s a long haul, but the doc gave us the okay—said to go while he’s still healthy enough for the trip. At his age, that window won’t stay open forever.
So, a few days before Stella moves into the pool house, we’ll be off to Brisbane.
I’m already feeling guilty that I won’t be around to help her move boxes and set things up. Now that Mum’s reminded me I’m capable of hard work, I wouldn’t mind pitching in. Mostly to be useful, but also because I keep thinking about the other day when she grabbed my arm. I noticed her eyes flick to my biceps—and that she didn’t let go right away.
Wouldn’t mind giving her another look at those muscles doing actual work. Maybe when I get back.
The morning we’re flying out, I spot Stella from my bedroom window. She’s heading into the pool house with a short red-haired woman I recognize instantly as Georgia Rose. Painters are supposed to show up today, so I figure that’s why she’s here. I don’t really have time to chat, but my feet have a mind of their own. By the time I’ve crossed the lawn, I’m already wondering what the hell I’m going to say.
When I step through the open door, both women have their backs to me. Stella’s dark hair is braided in two long plaits that hang over her shoulders. She’s wearing a tank top and baggy jeans that hang loose everywhereexceptwhere they shouldn’t, and suddenly my brain forgets how to form words.
