Page 22 of Fa-La La-La Land
“That can probably be arranged.” Rhys steps away from the tree and pulls down his shirt. I peel my eyes away from his abs, but not before he catches me.
He smirks, then stretches his arms above his head with a fake yawn. I may be weak-willed when it comes to six-packs, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of teasing me about it. I turn my back and grab another ornament from the box.
I unwind the layers of bubble wrap to reveal one of my favorites, a blown-glass ball I’ll want to hang high so it will catch the light from the window during the day and the overhead lights at night. That way, there will always be a rainbow or two somewhere in this room.
Circling the tree, I find the perfect spot, which happens to be very close to where Rhys is standing. But if I ask him to hang it, he’ll think I’m trying to get another look at his stomach. Which, yeah, I would be, but only out of curiosity. I don’t care how good he smells or how many abs he has—Rhys James is a client. I have to keep things professional.
I rise high on my tiptoes, but I can’t reach the spot I want.Rhys moves behind me. With his chest pressed to my back and his arm parallel to mine, he takes the ornament from me and hooks it onto one of the highest boughs.
“Is that a good spot?” His low voice rumbles down my neck like a warm breeze rustling leaves, awakening every sense.
Speechless, I nod. His fingertips brush my left hip. I drop my arm, and his follows, not quite touching, but the heat between us is palpable. His face is close to mine, and his eyes drop to my bare shoulder. If I leaned into him, he would kiss it. Then he would kiss me. My body knows this like the ocean knows when to rise depending on the position of the moon.
Our eyes lock. Everything goes still. I force myself to blink, and we both take a step away, putting distance and room to breathe normally between us.
You’d think I’d be used to being around my client Rhys James by now. But my body still reacts like he’s the on-stage-poster-on-my-wall Rhys James.
Rhys clears his throat, grabs an ornament, and moves to the other side of the tree, practically hiding from me. “So why do you love Christmas so much?”
I peek around the tree to see if he’s serious. “Lights, yummy food, presents from Santa Claus. What’s not to love?”
He lets out a scoff that clears away the charged air between us. “When you’re a kid, all those things are great. But Christmas loses its sparkle as you get older. Once you stop believing in Santa, it’s never quite the same.”
“Unless you don’t stop believing,” I say.
Rhys looks around the tree at me. “Unless you don’t stop believing inwhat?”
I roll my eyes. “Santa, obviously.”
“Are you telling me…” he says slowly, and I brace myself for what I know is coming next. “You still believe in Santa Claus?”
I scoop my hair back over my shoulders. “I’m telling you Ichooseto believe in a season of goodness and kindness and giving, even a touch of magic. Santa is all part of that.”
“That’s not a yes or no.”
“Let’s just say I still get a present hand-delivered by Santa every year, so I have a good reason to keep believing in him.”
He blinks again like he’s not sure if I’m teasing or not.
“Sit. I’ll explain.” I point to the couch, then grab a framed photo off an end table and plant myself next to Rhys, careful to leave space between us.
I show him the picture. “That’s my dad,” I say, pointing to the tall man with blond hair wearing a goofy Santa sweater. “And this is me, only a few days old.” I point to the black-haired baby sleeping in his arms, dressed in an elf costume. “This is the only Christmas we ever had together. He was deployed a week later and never came home.”
Rhys’s brow wrinkles with concern. “I’m sorry, Stella. Must’ve been tough growing up without him.”
I nod automatically, then shake my head. “I mean, it was, and it wasn’t. I didn’t know what it was like to have a dad, so I didn’t really miss having one. My mom’s parents and sister were in Italy, but I grew up surrounded by family. Granny and Grandpa Sparks. Britta and her brothers. Her parents. Her Thomsen grandparents treated my brother, Seb, and me like we were theirs too.”
I pause, glancing at the photo, before tucking my leg underneath me and shifting toward Rhys. “My parents had dreams to live somewhere besides Paradise once Dad retired from the military, but after he died, Mom couldn’t leave his family. She gave up her own dreams to live in this tiny town so Seb and I would never feel like we were missing out on having a dad.”
Rhys nods, rocking slightly before lifting his eyes to mine. “So, what does your dad have to do with youbelievingin Santa?”
I smile like I do every time I think of the Christmas I kept believing in Santa.
“Every year, Paradise has a month-long Christmas celebration called Yulefest.” In my excitement, I lean closer. That, or I can’t escape the magnetic pull Rhys James has on me. “There’s a parade with the same Santa every year, a local guy named Nick, who’s a dead-ringer for Santa. He even has a sleigh and real reindeer.”
“Do they fly?” The corner of Rhys’s mouth quirks into a sarcastic smile.
“Everyone knows reindeer only fly on Christmas Eve.” I return sarcasm with sarcasm, and the other corner of Rhys’s mouth curves up.
