Page 76 of Fa-La La-La Land
“Are you trying to break me?” I scold. “You don’t lead with‘I’m not falling in love with you.’You start with‘I’ve already fallen.’”
She bites her lip. “Remember when I said give it a second? Look what happens when you do. Things turn out better than you expected.”
I deepen my glare. “So you’re teaching me a lesson now?”
“Not intentionally, but…” She shrugs, the corner of her mouth quirking.
I hook a finger through her belt loop and tug her closer. “You really love me?”
Her hands slip around my shoulders, her smile changing, warmer now, and steady. “I really do, Rhys. Like, a lot. So much more than I did when I was thirteen.”
My heart thumps in my ears, solid and loud, drowning out the wind rattling the windows. I close the distance, kiss her once, long and deep, before standing and scooping her into my arms. “And who would you rather kiss—me or my poster?”
She laughs softly, curling into my chest as I carry her to the couch. “It’s a toss-up. I’ll need more data to decide.”
“Happy to oblige.” I set her down and give Stella all the data she wants.
For once, I’m not faking it. Not on stage, not in song. Just me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stella
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a campout inside when the power’s gone out. But I predict it will be the best time I’ve ever had camping in. The other times have been with Mom and Seb, not Rhys James, the man I’m officially, undeniably in love with, who’s currently building a roaring fire that would impress even Grandpa.
I’m wrapped in blankets on the sofa, trying to stay calm about the videos showing up online. I want to keep Rhys from panicking, but I’m worried, too. Personally, I don’t know how anyone could hate his songs, but “Fa-La La-La Land” is a favorite. The thing with popular Christmas songs is people like the originals for their familiarity and nostalgia, even if newer versions are better.
Comments on the posts were good, but who knows what people are saying now. My gut tells me this could be the push Rhys needs to break away from VibeHouse and come into his own. That will be easier to do if viewers keep showing love for his music.
My job now is to keep Rhys distracted until the power isback on and he can finish his conversation with Danny while I do damage control on his socials. So we roast marshmallows in the fire, build s’mores, get chocolate and marshmallow all over our hands and faces, then help each other get it off, which sometimes requires kissing, and does an excellent job of distracting both of us from the things outside we can’t do anything about.
The storm still rages outside, wind howling at the windows, while logs crackle in the fireplace and we stay curled up under the blankets. We’re wearing as many clothes as possible because the temperature in the house has already dropped, and it’ll keep getting colder. Seb is never going to let me live down not having the generator ready to go, but it’s worth the cost when I get to spend the night in Rhys’s arms.
The next day, a knock on the front door wakes us.
Rhys sits up, blinking in the hazy light coming through the curtains, his black hair sticking out in every direction. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know.” Our phones are powered down, the digital clocks blink 11:08—the time when the power went out—and the gray sky outside gives zero clues.
Whoever is at the door pounds again and yells, “Sparky! You in there?”
“It’s Zach.” I stand and wrap a quilt around myself. The cold air inside mixes with the smell of smoke and melted marshmallows.
“Do we have to answer?” Rhys asks with a teasing grin, tugging at the quilt. “Feels criminal to get up when it’s this warm.”
I almost join him back on the floor in our nest of blankets, safe and warm, away from all the pressures outside. But Zach pounds again.
“Spark—Stella! Are you okay?” he yells.
I roll my head toward the door, and Rhys lets go of the quilt. His grin stays, though, making my stomach flip. This is my life now. I’ve been in love with some version of Rhys James for years, but now the best version of him is in love with me. I still can’t process that fact.
“I’m coming, Zach!” I yell, then smooth Rhys’s hair before hugging the quilt around my shoulders and going to the door.
I open it to find Zach, wearing a helmet and dressed head to toe in snow gear. Snow covers the front porch, and he brings a mess of it with him, along with a biting, stiff wind, when he steps inside, closing the door behind him. He takes off his helmet, then pulls off the face mask he’s wearing under it.
“What are you doing here?” I motion toward the entryway rug, and he steps back to let it soak up the snow melting off him.
“Helping the fire department do a safety check. I saw smoke coming from your chimney but no lights and worried you don’t have any heat.”
