Page 46 of Fa-La La-La Land
“Okay, you’ve broken me. Let’s find something to cross off my list.” I jump up and tug him to his feet.
“Italy.” He presses close and glowers at me, but the storm clouds are gone.
“I told you—I can’t drop everything and fly to Italy.” Even though the more he talks about it, the more I want to.
“Nowyou decide to be a realist? You disappoint me, La-La.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Rhys puts his finger to my lips to stop me.
“What about over Thanksgiving? Is your mum working then?”
I stare at him. I thought he was teasing, but he’s serious.Rhys Jameswants to take Mom and me to Italy for gelato. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. Not only for me, but for Mom too.
Rhys is right. This is no time to be practical.
“I have to ride a Vespa while we’re there. That’s number seven. And we have to be back in time for Paradise’s Christmas Parade. That’s not on my list, but I’ve never missed it, and I have to ask Nick for what I want.”
Rhys’s face brightens. “We can make both happen. When’s the parade?”
My smile matches his. “The day after Thanksgiving. Friday morning.”
“Ripper. I’ve never been to a Christmas parade.”
I start to laugh, but the earnest look on Rhys’s face stops me. He thought mywemeant the two of us, not just Mom and me. I was surprised before. It’s nothing compared to how I feel now.
“You really want to go to Paradise for the Christmas Parade?”
“‘Course I do.” Rhys slides his arms around my waist. “I’d like to see if Santa can make my wish come true too. And apparently, you know the realest one.”
“I do, but you have to believe. That’s where the magic comes from.” I tip my chin in challenge. Rhys can tease all he wants, but he’s not going to shake my commitment to believing in the concept of Santa.
“La-La, I reckon if I can believe a girl like you is keen on me, I can believe in Santa Claus.” The way his mouth curves into a soft smile takes my breath away. “But I’ve got questions about his labor practices. I’m not sure those elves are being treated fairly…”
I stop whatever he’s about to say next with a kiss, and we forget about crossing anything off my list today.
Chapter Fifteen
Rhys
Over the next couple of weeks, Stella and I spend a lot of time together. We plan the barbie, which I insist she cook for and “make edible” for list reasons—but also because that’s the only way she’d agree to let me have just my mates over.
I thought it was a bit of genius on my part, until she turned it around on me. She’d only agree if I let her post on my socials about a couple of public outings: a “spontaneous” coffee run that includes tipping off reporters (and a big tip for the baristas) and a visit to a local shelter I’d planned to keep private.
The posts get a decent number of likes, but not like I used to get. Every time Danny brings up my dwindling followers on my socials and listens on Spotify, I feel like he’s charting my downfall. I can’t help worry if my name’s about to be added to the has-been list right after Katy Perry or worse, Robin Thicke.
The only thing that keeps me from spiraling is my time with Stella, even when we can only act like a couple in private. I get it, and when it’s just us, I swear she’s as gone for me as I am for her. But the way she switches back to professional inpublic—cool, collected, untouchable—has me wondering if I’m the only one falling this hard.
Some days I wish I hadn’t talked her into Italy. Her mum’s so keen that now she has to go, whatever her feelings about me. Maybe she’s holding out ’til after the trip to say it’s all business. But then she’ll thread her fingers through my hair or slip her hand into mine, and I forget every reason to doubt her.
I try to hold on to those moments when negative thoughts sneak in. I pour my feelings into writing new songs. I finish the song about Stella’s eyes and come up with a couple of verses for another song. But neither of them will work for Winter Lights. They’re too slow. Too moody. They’re what I feel—not what Danny wants. What heclaimsthe fans want. Problem is, I can’t get Stella’s song out of my head to make room for the type of song I should be writing.
So one day, when Stella’s working with Piper, I put down the tracks in my home studio. I play the piano, then add guitar and voice. When I finish, the song isn’t where I want it to be, but I like it. It’s so different from my usual stuff that people would have to listen closely to recognize it’s me. My voice is raw, and between the piano and acoustic guitar, it’s nothing like anything I’ve recorded with VibeHouse. But I’ve got a deeper sense of pride than I’ve ever felt about another song.
It’s a shame no one will hear it, but at least I’ve cleared enough space to finally focus on rehearsing for Winter Lights. I’ve mucked around too long to write something original for it, so Danny’s already sent on a song for me—some shiny pop thing written by a team of strangers. Catchy, sure, but it’s not me. Still, I told him I’d sing it. The festival’s too big to take chances with pride. If I can pull off his song, maybe he’ll loosen the reins next time.
When Stella comes over for dinner—like she’s been doing nearly every night—and asks me what I did all day, I debatewhether to tell her, but just as I decide not to, Mum answers, “Rhys has been hiding away in his studio all day, working on a new song. He even recorded it! Maybe we can convince him to play it for us after he’s finished kitchen duty.”
I’m shaking my head before she’s finished, and her face goes a shade whiter when she realizes she’s done something wrong.
