Page 7 of Fa-La La-La Land
“Stuck on the 405.”
I tsk. “Welcome to LA.”
“I don’t mind,” Stella says brightly. “Gives me a chance toreturn calls while also driving slow enough to get a good look at LA.”
“She doesn’t look her best from the freeway.” I boost myself onto the counter and picture Stella, the only person on the 405 enjoying the slowdown—and the view of graffiti and concrete.
“But there’s somuchto see, and it’s different every time. Like yesterday, I saw a tent on the side of this underpass—which made me sad—but today it’s gone. Not to sound shallow, but I want to believe that person found somewhere more permanent to stay because people like Britta are trying to help solve homelessness. Little efforts can make a big difference.”
I scoff, but I’m smiling. Her naiveté is both unbelievable and endearing. But also a bit dangerous, I realize, when I hear her callHelloand I know it’s not for me.
“Stella, stop waving to the person in the car next to you.”
She laughs. “How’d you know?”
“I just did.”
“He waved first. He looks friendly enough. He’s smiling.”
“Smiles can mean a lotta different things.” I scoff again. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
“He’s rolling down his window. I think he wants to say hello.”
“Stella! Don’t?—”
I’m too late. She’s already greeting the guy in the car next to her. I don’t hear what he says back, but I hear her uncertain, “Oh…” followed by, “I have a boyfriend, but good luck finding someone who is interested.”
My stomach does a funny twist when she saysboyfriend.
“Hold on, Rhys,” she says. “I’ve gotta change lanes, and I need to focus.”
“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. Is he here or back in Paradise?” I’m nonchalant. Just making conversation until she’s ready to move on to more serious subjects.
“I don’t. It’s something I say when I want to let someone down easy.”
“He hit on you?” My stomach twists in a different direction, and I clutch my mobile tighter.
“More like heinvitedme to pull over at the next exit to…well, it’s not really worth repeating.” She sighs.
“Stella, this isn’t small-town Idaho. Maybe there you can make conversation with random men who say hello while stuck in traffic, but not in LA.” I take a sip of my soda to stop myself from lecturing—but mostly to cool the anger simmering at the thought of whatever rubbish that bloke might’ve said to her.
“Well, we don’t really have traffic in Paradise—unless you get caught behind a tractor—but the roads are only two lanes, and there’s no way to talk to the person in the car behind you. I usually knew them anyway. Can I tell you how much I love seeing so many people every day who I’ll probably never see again? No one knows my story.”
This right here—thisis why I want to take Stella to dinner. Something about her makes me want to know all her stories.
“I get the appeal for sure. The whole world thinks they knowmystory.” I blow out a breath, trying not to think about the viral TikToks and reels of my Lumen Field meltdown.
“I told you a year ago you needed to take control of the narrative,” she says, only a hint of accusation in her tone.
“I know. I believed you. But VibeHouse already had a social media manager for me.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” she teases, and for the first time in weeks, I actually laugh.
Only for a beat, but it’s enough. It feels good to talk to someone who isn’t pretending my life can be fixed with a PR campaign.
“Not great. That’s whyI need you.”
“Again…I believe I suggested the same thing on our way to Britta & Dex’s wedding.”
