Page 78 of Fa-La La-La Land
She lights up. “I know that song! You’re the one who sings it?”
“That’s me,” he says with a wink. “Can I come in and sing the rest for you?”
Lynette’s expression turns serious. “I don’t like it.”
He laughs, eyes flickering with all the warmth of a blue flame. “Fair enough. Me neither.”
“Your singing’s nice, though.” Lynette sends him a quick smile.
“How about this—you get dressed, come back to the Garden with us, and I’ll sing you a proper song? None of that ‘Fa-La’ rubbish.”
“Really?”
“‘Course I will.” He flashes her a grin. “But only if you promise to sing along. “
She beams, smiling from temple to temple.
Lynette’s always loved music, but I didn’t share that with Rhys on our way over. I told him a lot of other facts, but I’d forgotten that one. I’m surprised he jumped in to help in such an intuitive way. I shouldn’t be, though. Despite his hard shell, Rhys is in tune with other people’s feelings. I think that’s what makes his own songs so good. He gets what people are going through.
While I help Lynette put on plenty of layers—including wool socks—for the cold ride back to the Garden, Rhys covers the extra helmet in tinfoil, then, for good measure, does ours,too. By the time we lead Lynette to the toboggan, she’s so comfortable with Rhys that she offers to let him make her a new hat if Adam is too busy.
She even lets me take a short video of her talking about how “gentlemanly” my Australian friend is. Whether he’ll let me post it is a different question, but I’ve got it if we need some footage of Rhys being Rhys. People should know this is who he really is—a guy willing to do anything to keep people comfortable and happy.
With Lynette secure on the toboggan, Rhys climbs on the back of the snowmobile and wraps his arms around my waist. He’s holding me to keep from falling off, but I feel safer in his arms.
I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure he doesn’t have to sacrifice his own happiness for his fans’. I wish we could stay in this little internet-free bubble forever. If his feed is full of negative stuff about his new music, it’ll break his heart—and mine right along with it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rhys
Rescuing people, then singing for them doesn’t leave much time for worrying about whether your career’s gone down the drain. Then there’s the added bonus of putting things into perspective. The people Stella and I hauled into Adam’s place weren’t prepared for the storm for a variety of reasons, but one thing is certain—they would have been in serious trouble if this town hadn’t stepped in to help them.
Most of them are old, without a lot of family around to help out. A couple dozen people—including volunteers—line up in front of the eat-in counter, waiting for Adam and Stella to hand them a bowl of soup, a fresh roll, and a steaming cup of coffee or hot cocoa. The room smells of wood smoke and buttered bread, laughter mixing with the hiss of the propane stove. If Stella’s half as exhausted as I am, she’s ready to drop, but she just keeps smiling, calling everyone by name. Even a human rain cloud like me can’t help thinking people aren’t all bad when Stella’s around.
Something else I can’t help thinking is all that matters in lifeis relationships, yeah? If I never make another cent on my music, I’ll still have my friends and family. Danny’s voice still rattles round my head—all contracts and clauses—but none of that means a thing here. I’m one of the lucky blokes who could sell his house and live off the profits for the rest of my life. Not like I have been living, but if I’ve got Mum, Dad, and my mates, who cares?
I’m keen to add Stella to that lineup, if I didn’t think she’d get nervous I’m rushing things. But watching her jump in and help people only solidified my feelings for her. I value loyalty and kindness, and La-La’s got that in spades.
After letting her shoo me away a few times, I sidle up behind her. “Take a rest and eat. I can handle this.”
I slip the ladle from her hand and nudge her away from the soup pot simmering over the portable stove.
“Okay,” she relents, then scoots by me, squeezing my forearm with a thanks as she does.
We’re there until dusk when Adam makes us leave. People will be staying overnight, but there aren’t enough cots for Stella and me, so he insists he and his wife Evie, along with Zach and Georgia, can handle everything.
“You two should get back to your mom’s before it gets dark or starts snowing again,” he tells Stella.
She answers with an enormous yawn. By the time we get on our snow gear, she looks like she could fall asleep standing up.
“I’m driving,” I say after we trudge through a foot of fresh snow to get to the snowmobile.
For once, she doesn’t argue, only nods and hands me the key. I brush the snow off the seat and handles, then she climbs on behind me, pressing her body into my back and resting her head between my shoulder blades.
“Do you know how to get home?” she asks.
I want to tell her I feel like I’m already there. Instead, I say, “Might need some direction.”
