Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Stella
Iknow what Rhys wants me to ask for. And the only one who wants it more than him may be me.
Not just to cross things off my list—but because this Rhys right here is the fantasy Rhys.
The one who’s fun. Playful. Silly. The Rhys who’s on stage.
The Rhys I thought I was in love with when I was thirteen.
This is the Rhys I want to kiss me.
It’s the Rhys I work for who stops me.
What happens when we get out of this pool—and I have to convince him to show the fun, playful Rhys in reels and TikToks?
When I have to coax him to let his fans see that side of him when it’s not scripted or rehearsed?
The fun side that’s not part of the slightly manic persona Danny’s pushed on him.
So, instead of asking him for the thing we both clearly want. I ask for something else.
“Take me to get a tattoo.”
Rhys’s eyes crease with confusion. “Tattoo? That’s on your list?”
I nod.
“And that’s what you want to start with?” His hands loosen behind my back, and I already regret not asking for the kiss I really want.
It was the right thing to do…but the hardest, too. I’ve dreamed of kissing Rhys since the first time I saw him singing on “Surf City High.” I suppose if I were ready to give that dream up completely, I’d find my way out of his arms.
But I’m still here, trying to work out how to do what I don’t want to do.
I drop my hands from around his neck and step back, but my fingers find the winding vines that trail across his right shoulder and trace them around his biceps, down his forearm, all the way to his wrist. “Tattoos are permanent. I want something that looks good and means something. Like yours.”
His hands move to my hips. “What gave you the idea these tattoos mean something?”
“Meeting your mom and dad, then seeing this up close.” I point to the flower wrapping gently from the inside of his arm toward the outer edge. I’ve seen the tattoo before but as a flicker under his sleeve, not like this. Not close enough to study.
The flower is delicate but detailed, with soft, sweeping lines etched in black and gray. Beneath it, in cursive script, the name Camellia. On the opposite side, almost like a counterweight, is a minimalist compass rose. A clean, sharp font spells out Jack.
I trace the flower with my eyes, not my fingers. “It’s beautiful,” I say quietly. “What’s the flower?”
“A camellia,” he says with a touch of sarcasm.
“I guess that should have been obvious,” I answer with a laugh. “But why the name Camellia if she goes by Millie?”
The corners of Rhys’s mouth soften. “She’s called that, but she planted camellias around our house in Brisbane, then did the same when she moved here.
” He nods to the flower bed near the pool house, where pink flowers with the same delicate petals cover the green-leafed bushes.
“Sometimes I wonder if she became Millie the same way I became Rhys James. Someone else decided for us, and the name stuck too tight to shake off.”
I take a deep breath. “Is that what I smell when I walk outside? Camellias?”
Rhys bobs his head up and down. “Nice, yeah?”
I nod and move closer, unable to resist touching the flower before drawing my finger to the compass entwined in the camellia’s leaves. “Why this for your dad?” I ask.
Rhys’s gaze moves from my fingers to my eyes with a searching look before he says, “He’s solid as they come. Never has said much, even before his stroke, but he’s always there. Like true north.”
I cup his biceps and trail my thumb around the compass. “I know I just met them, but it seems like you got them both right.”
He lifts his opposite shoulder, a little self-conscious. “Didn’t want anything flashy. Just something that’d point me home if I ever forgot the way.”
“I’d like something like that to honor my parents,” I say, still studying the camellia’s intricate petals juxtaposed with the sharp lines of the compass.
My gaze moves to a spot along his ribs where a thin, sweeping line of ink follows the curve of muscle and skin.
My fingers follow. At first, I think it’s a wave.
But when I look closer, I see it’s not just a wave.
It’s a bluff drawn with soft, deliberate strokes.
There’s a single pine tree etched into the curve of the hill, tucked above the break.
And beneath it, in tiny, nearly hidden script, 28. 1011° S, 153.4556° E.
“What’s this?” I graze my fingers over the tattoo, and Rhys sucks in his breath.
“That’s Burleigh Point—where I learned to surf. Where I used to watch the sun come up before anyone knew my name. Got it inked the day before my plane touched down in LA so I wouldn’t forget where I started.”
I glance up at him, surprised by his sentimentality. I’ve never seen that on stage or heard it in his songs. It’s a piece of himself he keeps hidden, like this tattoo. I wonder if that’s by his choice…or by Danny’s.
“You really are full of surprises, Rhys James.” Impulsively, I tip my chin, wondering if it’s too late to ask for help crossing at least one kiss off my list. Knowing I’m swimming in dangerous waters but feeling completely safe.
He grins, then drops his gaze, almost shy. “Don’t tell the tabloids. Gotta make them think I’m all glitter and green sequin vests.”
“I know you’re more than that, Rhys.” My words are as much a revelation to me as they seem to be to Rhys, judging by the surprise on his face. “Maybe everyone else should know, too.”
I don’t return his chuckle, even though it might make him more comfortable. The more I get to know Rhys, the more I wonder if comfortable isn’t what he’s actually looking for anymore.
With his hands still on my hips, Rhys pulls me closer. “You think you know me pretty well. What else have you figured out?”
A warm breeze blows through the palm trees that line the backyard, rustling their fronds while carrying the light, woodsy smell of camellias.
The wind runs invisible fingers across my shoulders, sending a shiver down my spine, across my waist to meet the very real fingers Rhys has cupped around my hips.
“I still have a lot to learn.” My gaze is drawn to his blue eyes, shimmering ocean-like in the bright sun. “But I’ll tell you what I’d really like to figure out.”
“What’s that?”
“Why you’re so different on stage than off.”
Rhys blinks, his eyes turning dark before he drops his hands and puts distance between us. “I’m paid to be that person.”
I should let it go. I’m getting paid to make sure Rhys is Rhys James in front of his fans, not ask him uncomfortable questions like I’m his therapist. I’m not even sure if he has one of those. If I were smart, I’d suggest he hire one instead of trying to pull things out of him myself.
But me being me, I keep pushing him like he’s stretched out on a couch in a psychologist’s office rather than standing in a pool with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’ve seen that person while we’ve been in the pool,” I say. “I saw it last night when we decorated my tree. You’re fun and relaxed. Silly, even. Nobody’s paying you to be here.”
“You prefer that Rhys? The silly one?” he asks in a tight voice.
“Not that I prefer.” I’ve hurt his feelings, but I’m not sure how. “It’s an observation.”
Rhys puts more distance between us so we’re not within reach of each other, then runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “I thought we were headed for an underwater kiss here, not an interrogation.”
I don’t have time to say anything else before he dips under the water and swims away, leaving me wondering if I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.
Not only because I didn’t kiss him, but because I’ve pushed him to a place of vulnerability where I’m not willing to go.
If I were, I would have told him to kiss me when I had the chance.
My 30 Before 30 List is supposed to be about embracing opportunities before they disappear. It’s about living life as though today might be my last. It’s about living the life in my twenties neither of my parents had the chance to live.
And I let fear get in the way of crossing at least two items off it. Not only fear of how kissing would affect our working relationship but also fear of falling for him.
Kissing doesn’t have to mean anything, and falling for someone is a choice.
Rhys plants his hands on the edge and lifts himself with a controlled grace that only makes me feel worse. Every muscle in his back and arms flexes, taunting me. Like he wants me to see it. Like this is his payback.
It works.
But physical attraction isn’t reason enough to apologize for pushing him to share more than he’s ready to. Whether we ever kiss, Rhys has to let me in if I’m going to make his socials feel authentic.
I follow his lead and get out of the pool, but I take the steps instead. By the time I reach the patio, he’s grabbed towels from the storage bench. He tosses one to me, which I barely catch.
“Reckon we ought to do some work,” he says without looking at me. “What pictures do you want first?”
“Right.” I wrap the towel around my shoulders and look over the backyard, switching to work mode.
“How about we start out easy with some shots by the pool? Then maybe later today I could get some video of you with your parents. Would they mind being on camera? I think people seeing you interact with them will go a long way.”
Rhys answers with a sharp nod. “Where do you want me to stand?”
I consider the options as I walk to the table to retrieve my wrap and tie it around my waist. “The sun’s right above us. There’s really no good light.”
I notice a giant, blow-up alligator in the storage bench and point to it as I face him again.
“Would you mind getting back in the pool? Let me get a shot of you lying on the floaty with your smoothie. Something playful…” I do not use the word silly.
“But also…” I don’t want to say the word after what almost happened between us in the pool, but I can’t find another way to say what I want. “Sexy.”
Rhys gives me a look that’s somewhere between You think I’m sexy? and You missed your chance. Or maybe I’m interpreting my own feelings.
Finally, he shrugs and takes off his towel, running a hand across his abs, which seems really unnecessary when I already regret not kissing him.
“You’ll have to hand me the smoothie.”
I nod and pick it up while he grabs the long green alligator float, tosses it in the pool, then dives in behind it.
After climbing onto the floaty with the agility of a cat, he paddles to the side of the pool, where I’m waiting with his smoothie, trying not to drool.
And it’s not the smoothie that’s made my mouth water.
It’s nowhere near as delicious as watching Rhys’s muscles at work when he relaxes into his body.
He grabs the edge of the pool near my feet, then reaches for the smoothie with his other hand.
I lean down to hand it to him, but when he can’t quite reach, I lean further.
As he grabs the smoothie, one—or maybe both—of us loses our balance.
He tips off his alligator, and I fall into the pool on top of him.
We both go under. I try to pop up, but the floaty is over my head, and I panic. I can’t get my head all the way above water or reach the side of the pool.
Suddenly, I feel an arm around my waist, pulling me out. Part of my brain knows it’s Rhys, but the panicked part flails, afraid we’ll both sink. Time stops until I hear his voice. “Stella, stop fighting!”
My fingers graze concrete, and I realize Rhys has pulled me to the side. He helps place my hand on the ledge and lifts me high enough that my head is above water.
He pops up next to me, worry filling his face. “Are you okay?”
I take a staggered, grateful breath and nod, trying not to cry. “It was a silly accident. I don’t know why I panicked.”
With one hand, he rubs my lower back while holding the ledge. “No. It’s not your fault. I should have been more careful. I’m sorry.”
I clutch the side as tightly as possible before letting go with one hand to slowly turn and face Rhys. He’s tall enough to reach the bottom on tiptoe and keep his head above water. His eyes are wide with concern and care.
There’s only one way I can think of to thank him.
I wrap my arm around his neck—possibly a little too tight—and do what I should have already done. I kiss him.
Softly at first. But then he wraps his arm around my waist, and I kiss him harder. Like my life depended on it. Like I actually was drowning and need his mouth on mine to revive me.
Without breaking apart, he takes a few steps backward. When we reach shallower water, we both let go of the side. His hands go around my back, mine around his neck, my legs around his waist.
Still kissing, Rhys carries me to the shallow end.
“What are we doing?” I ask between kisses.
Not because I don’t understand what kissing is, but because I don’t understand how I got from tiny Paradise, Idaho, to Rhys James’s backyard pool, let alone how I ended up kissing him there.
“Underwater kiss,” he answers with a tiny tug of my lip. “You ready?”
I pull away long enough to look at him, take a deep breath, and nod. He smiles, and I unwind my legs from his waist in time to barely plant my feet on the bottom of the pool before he’s swept me off them again.
We go under with our lips pressed together. My hair has come loose and surrounds our faces in dark waves as Rhys holds me, my feet floating, every worry about sinking gone.