Page 73 of Fa-La La-La Land
“Storm’s here. We’ve got to end now. Everyone needs to get home.”
Adam steps to the mic. “Guess you’ve all heard a storm’s coming. We’ve got to shut it down. Let’s give a big round of applause to Rhys James. Thank him for coming out, giving us this concert, and being here in Paradise.”
I stand, ready to help move people out. But no one wants to go. They start chanting, “One more! One more! One more!”
I look at Adam. He looks at me and shrugs, like it’s my call whether these people all get snowed in because they want to hear one more tune.
And I decide—these are the kind of people I wouldn’t mind being stuck with. “All right, I’ve got something new for you. Let’s see what you think.”
I don’t even have to tell Adam and Bear what it is. They’re already playing before I sit at the piano, look at Stella, and start in on “December Dreams.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Stella
When Rhys finishes my song, there’s a feeling in the air I can’t describe. More than one girl has her hand pressed to her heart. Guys rearrange their hats in that telltale sign they’re hoping no one notices they’re choked up. The applause is lighter than for “Fa-La” because everyone’s processing their feelings.
I get it. I’ve played the song on repeat since Rhys gave it to me, and it still hits me hard every time. “December Dreams” is one of those songs that leaves you breathless, wanting more but afraid any more would ruin the moment. Like when you eat the perfect dessert, wanting to scrape the plate clean while knowing if you take one more bite it’ll be too much.
After calling thanks to Rhys, the guests shuffle out. We all know what it means when there’s a storm warning. The air, though, still hums with the final note, lingering even after the last customers walk out of the Garden into the storm. My eyes go to Rhys’s. We hold each other’s gaze, then look away. There are things to say, but I don’t think either of us knows how to step into the space between us.
I clear tables. Rhys does the same, but Adam shoos us both toward the door.
“Get home and stay put,” he orders. “This isn’t just a little blizzard. Stella, I don’t care if he’s supposed to leave tomorrow—don’t you dare try to get Rhys through that canyon.”
“I wouldn’t make her do that.” Rhys furrows his brow at the snow pounding the window so hard the outside lights are hazy orbs floating in the distance.
“I know you wouldn’t, but she’s stubborn enough to try.” Adam nods toward me, and I shoot him an irritated glare.
“I get it, mate,” Rhys says. “We’ll stay put.”
“Heard, Chef.” I zip my coat and give Adam a hug he’ll hate. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
Rhys and I dash for the truck, getting pelted so hard by wind and snow, the twenty scant feet feel like a mile. The drive home is a whiteout the entire three miles. The wind howls through the trees, whistling against the truck windows like something alive. Street signs are covered, and landmarks I’ve known my entire life are barely recognizable. Luckily, it’s a straight shot from the Garden to Mom’s, because I would have missed any turns. As it is, I almost drive past my mom’s house.
Navigating through the blizzard is stressful enough that Rhys and I don’t talk. But even after I park, the silence continues. We had a moment when Rhys was on stage, and I know he sang “December Dreams” for me. That wordless exchange, though, doesn’t fix what we said before the show. WhatIsaid.
Things get even more awkward when we walk inside—at least for me—because now we’re alone. Not just for a few hours, but until this storm passes and Mom can get home. I sense Rhys holding back, waiting for me to bridge the gap between us. Which is only fair. I’m the one who held back how I really feel about him.
We strip off our coats and boots in the mudroom,wisps of breath hanging in the cold air we’ve brought in with us before quickly disappearing. Rhys follows me into the warmth of the kitchen, where the heater hums. I flip on the lights, blinking against their brightness after hours in the dimly lit Garden.
“Do you want something to eat?”
“Could eat,” Rhys answers. “Was too keyed up before the show. You need a hand? Or mind if I clean up a bit?”
“Go shower. I’m fine.” I need a minute alone to process the last few hours. Really, the last couple of months since VibeHouse hired me.
It’s hard to believe it’s only been a few months—and even less time than that since Rhys and I started seeing each other. I feel like I’ve both known him forever but also like I’m still getting to know him. Which is true, I guess. The Rhys I thought I knew doesn’t really exist, except on stage. I still have a lot to learn about him, but he also has a lot to learn about himself, too.
While Rhys showers, I make grilled cheese sandwiches, thinking about what to say to him when he comes back. The only words that come to me, though, are the lyrics of the song he gave me. He poured out his heart when he wrote them, but when he sang them tonight, he sang with his whole soul.
More than any other moment we’ve shared, those three minutes showed me who Rhys is at his core. There’s still so much to discover about each other, but our hearts are already familiar friends.
I’m scared to death about what comes next, but I have to do what Mom said and grab hold of love when it’s right in front of me. The one thing I left off my 30 Before 30 List was to live without regret. If I let this moment go, I’ll spend my life wishing I hadn’t.
But I don’t want to have to choose between the Rhys I saw on stage tonight and the Rhys who’s been someone else on stageevery other time I’ve been to his concerts. That’s not the Rhys I’m in love with anymore. I want the real Rhys.
When he comes back into the kitchen and sits at the table, I hand him his grilled cheese, then sit across from him. “I wish you could singyoursongs at Winter Lights. Everybody loved them tonight. You especially.” I lift my gaze to his, trying not to push, but wanting so badly for him to have his Christmas wish. “You loved being on stage tonight in a way I’ve never seen you love it before.”
