Page 40 of Fa-La La-La Land
“He’s a very big deal,” Stella says, patting my arm. “People will want your burritos if they know Rhys James likes them.”
I grin at Pedro and Veronica, suddenly more grateful than offended they didn’t know me. I’m almost sorry I outed myself—no wonder they never made a fuss. I don’t want that to change.
Pedro shakes his head and both hands. “No, gracias. George Lopez came once and told people about us. We had too much business. More than we could handle. We want things small. We like knowing our customers. We’re the right amount of busy.”
Veronica nods.
“Good on ya for keeping it like that,” I say. “Too busy is no bueno.” I pay for the burritos, leaving a bigger tip than usual as thanks for reminding me that big doesn’t mean better. Definitely doesn’t mean happier.
We lock the bikes and carry the burritos to the sand. Stella keeps darting her eyes my way.
“What?”
“You didn’t mind their not knowing you’re a huge star?”
I laugh. “Honestly? At first, yeah. But now it’s a relief. They’ve been nice because of whotheyare, not who I am.”
“Most people are nice, Rhys.” She spreads the blanket, sits cross-legged, unwraps her burrito.
“Easy for the girl from Paradise to say.” I drop beside her and take a bite of mine. “But they’ve given me something to think about.”
“Like what?” she asks around a mouthful.
“Like, they chose something I never got to choose. Once ‘Fa-La La-La’ hit, the goal was always more hits, bigger shows—more money for Danny, the label, anyone taking a cut.”
She studies me, eyes deep and searching. It thrills me and puts me on edge. I’m not sure what she’ll find beneath the surface.
But in un-Stella fashion, all she says is, “I’m getting up today. Time to cross surfing off my list.”
I bark a laugh, happy to skip the therapy. “Good on you, La-La. And you can keep surfing after you cross it off. We could make this a regular thing.”
Wecomes out casual, but my heart kicks at the thought of every morning like this.
“I’ll take that into consideration,”she says, squeezing into her wetsuit. “Let’s go in.”
I shimmy into my wettie. Minutes later, she’s prone on the board, bobbing while I hold the nose, waiting on the right set.
“You like it out here, don’t you?” She grips the rails, ready.
“‘Course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” The ocean lifts and drops us.
“I mean…it’s like your happy place. Where you can be you.”
“Suppose that’s right.” Our faces are close enough to kiss, but I’ll let her make that call.
“What else makes you happy, Rhys?”
I consider, struggling to watch the swell. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Does performing make you happy?” She should look back for the wave, but those eyes pin me.
A good wave rolls through, and I push off the sand to stay up. “It used to.”
“Why doesn’t it anymore?” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
I wish I’d done it first. “Reckon the music in my head isn’t the music I play on stage.”
“So why don’t you play that music?”
