Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Stella
What’s it like to be kissed by Rhys James?
I spent years pondering that question and other mysteries of the universe while staring at the Rhys James posters hanging on my wall or watching him perform on stage.
I imagined he’d be pretty good at it—his lips are just the right proportion, not too big, not too small, and never chapped.
I thought he might even be so great that he’d make everything go quiet.
The constant chatter in my head, the noise of the outside world, the worries in my heart.
He’d be tender and focused only on me, wanting, but never pushing for more.
Those fantasies didn’t come close to the reality of how the real Rhys James kisses. Like, not even in the same world close. Not even the same atmosphere close. The same solar system? Possibly, but probably not.
The world stopped the first time he kissed me and every time after that. Even the peck at the beach.
That is reason number two why we have to move slow. Slow-er, anyway. I’m not ready to have the kind of love Mom and Dad had, and the chemistry between Rhys and me feels dangerously close to the zing Mom experienced the first time she saw Dad.
Reason number one, though, is that Rhys needs to find what he wants before rushing into any kind of relationship.
As much as my parents loved each other, Mom married Dad and moved to America before she really knew what she wanted.
When he died, it was too late for her to discover who she was outside of being a wife and mother.
She opened an in-home preschool out of necessity rather than passion.
I mean, owning her own preschool and teaching kids with special needs led to her decision to become an occupational therapist once Seb and I were out of school, but I’ve always wondered what her life would have looked like if she’d taken a little more time to get to know herself along with Dad.
One thing that’s become clear as I’ve gotten to know Rhys in the past year—especially over the past few days—is that a lot of who he is was created by VibeHouse.
Specifically Danny. Rhys didn’t get to use his teens and early twenties to figure that out for himself, and he’s wrestling to do it now.
So, I want to move slow as much for him as for myself. Maybe even more.
But it won’t be easy.
First thing the next morning, Rhys shows up at my door. He’s already texted me that the waves are mush so surfing’s out, and I’m surprised to find him standing there with a café mocha from Frothed in one hand and a potted plant in the other.
“What’s this?” I ask as I take the spiky plant strung with tiny lights from him.
“Succulent. It will live at least three weeks, even if you don’t water it. Another thing to cross off your list.”
I smile my thanks and set it on my kitchen table, then spin it so the best side faces me. “And the lights?”
Rhys hands me the Frothed cup as his gaze sweeps across the room. “To go with your Christmas décor. Did you add more stuff in here?”
I nod. “Not much. A few Santa things. That’s it. This is perfect.” I lift the cup. “Did you get one for yourself?”
“Already drank it.”
“You’ve been busy this morning.” I glance at my watch to confirm it’s barely past eight. “Where’d you find a succulent and lights this early without getting hounded by fans?”
He sends me a wry grin. “Confession. I asked Mum to find them yesterday while we were surfing, and she picked up the coffee this morning…” I cock my head in mock disappointment. “But only because I was working on a song.”
“And you didn’t want to get hounded by fans,” I add.
“That too.” He chuckles, then looks pointedly at my sofa and the five decorative pillows there, all Santa-themed. “Not a lot of room left to sit.”
“Just toss them to one side.” I wave my hand toward the pillows. “I might have gone overboard. I couldn’t decide which one I liked best, so I bought them all.”
“They’re different?” Rhys picks up two of the pillows, examines them like one of those Find the Difference puzzles, then tosses them to the opposite side of the couch and sits.
He pats the cushion next to him and gives me a look that makes me want to skip the seat beside him in favor of his lap.
I pretend I don’t see him motioning for me to join him and opt for a coffee-fueled adrenaline rush over a kiss-fueled one, keeping plenty of distance between us as I sip my coffee.
Rhys curls his finger for me to come closer, but I shake my head.
“Come on, La-La. We’re not in public.” He uses the smile on me that my poster captured so perfectly, thirteen-year-old me was powerless not to kiss it.
But I’ve got a decade’s worth of practicing self-control behind me. “You can wag your finger all you want, but I’ve got an agenda to stick to, and you—”
“—I’ve got an agenda, too. Come over here, and I’ll lay it out for ya.”
“Rhys! Seriously! We have stuff to do. You’ve got songs to write or meetings to go to…or whatever it is you do when you’re not touring. I’m meeting with your mom today to plan the pool party. What kind of food do you want? We need to get that figured out…”
“Stella!” Rhys waves his hands, and I stop talking.
With a small sigh, he smiles. “When I’m not on tour, I relax.
I slow down.” He raises an eyebrow, I assume as a nudge to try the concept myself.
“I have to give my brain and body a break, otherwise I can’t do what I do for twelve to eighteen months straight. ”
“Okay,” I laugh. “You relax, but I actually have a bunch to do. I’ve got another client!”
“Oh, yeah? Good on ya, La-La! Who is it?” He pats the spot next to him again.
“Piper Quinn,” I tell him.
“Archie’s fake sister?”
I nod and tell him how, while I was at Archie’s beach house—well, technically Piper’s now—the other night, Piper announced the huge designer she’s interning for had stolen her designs and how one thing led to another.
In my excitement, I let down my guard, and I’m pulled into Rhys’s orbit.
Before I know it, I’m sitting next to him.
“I didn’t say anything to you yesterday because we still had some details to work out, but it’s official now.
Anyway, I’ve got to research some GoFundMe-type sites before we expose Valente online and Piper launches her own label under Archie’s Bombora brand.
Also, I hope it’s okay, but I told them you’d probably be up for wearing some of the clothes to help with publicity. ”
Rhys blinks rapidly. “What just happened?”
I laugh. “Sorry. I guess I threw all that at you pretty fast. Almost as fast as it all happened! Obviously, if you don’t want to wear the clothes, you don’t have to.”
“It’s fine. I’ll wear the clothes. I’m only trying to sort out how you made all that happen…Never mind.” He shakes his head. “Of course you made it happen. You’re Stella.”
“Is that a good thing?” I lean into him. I already know the answer, but I think I’d like to hear him say more about what he means by you’re Stella.
“‘Course it’s a good thing. That’s why you’re going to cross off everything on your list long before you’re thirty.”
“You think so?”
“You’re well on your way to starting your own company, and Archie’s number one on his bucket list is starting his own surf wear brand, so you’ve got the thing about helping someone else with their bucket list locked down.
” Rhys reaches for my scrapbook, which—like an idiot—I still haven’t tucked away somewhere safe.
“Might as well cross those two off right now.”
I tug him back before he can grab it. He doesn’t need to see what I’ve crossed off on that list. It’d just go to his head. He falls into me, then he twists around, making himself comfortable, sprawled across the couch with his head in my lap.
“What should we cross off today?” Rhys asks, smiling up at me in a way that may be even more dangerous than him seeing I’ve made number one optional. Just in case. But it also meant I could cross off number twenty-seven: Say yes to something that terrifies me.
“I told you how busy I am.”
“Okay then. What about tomorrow? We either go skydiving, or we go to Italy for gelato. You could ride the Vespa thing, too. That’s two birds, one stone. I vote for Italy.”
“Rhys. You can’t be serious. I’m not flying to Italy just for gelato and to ride a Vespa.”
“Not just for gelato. For your list, La-La,” he says with mock seriousness.
“If you shorten my name anymore, there won’t be anything left of it.” I ignore his grin. “And I can’t go to Italy without my mom. She hasn’t been back since she moved to Paradise almost thirty years ago.”
Rhys’s brow creases. “Why not?”
“Never had the money or time.” I can’t resist running my hand through his hair then over the stubble on his cheek.
“Isn’t there something on your list about taking her on a trip?” He turns his face to kiss my palm.
“Rhys. You’re not taking my mom and me to Italy tomorrow.” I pull my hand away, reminding myself I want to take things slow.
“Day after then?”
I shake my head. “Mom has a job, and so do I. I can’t just drop everything. You can’t either. We’re supposed to be rehabbing your reputation. I still have work for Georgia, and I’ve got Piper’s launch to work on too.”
“So—skydiving, then?”
I laugh. “That one can wait, too.”
“Come on, Stella. I told you, crossing things off your list makes me happy. Let me help you.” Rhys reaches behind his head for a pillow, tucks it under his head, and really settles in to my lap.
I’m scared how much I like him here, snuggled into my lap like a cat who knows how to win its owner’s heart.
There’s a familiarity to it that fills me with a warmth rivaling the excitement the very thought of Rhys James used to spark.
That, more than anything, tempts me to fly away to Italy with him to create some new fantasies.
“Don’t you have a song you’re supposed to be writing for Winter Lights?” I shift my legs, and his head bobbles.