Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Rhys
Saturday morning, Seb picks up Gia to take her to Florence, which means Stella and I, for the first time in over a week, have time alone. If it were up to me, we’d sit by a fire under a warm blanket, watching a movie, reading some books. Maybe some other things.
Definitely some other things.
But after we wave goodbye to Gia from the relative warmth of the front porch, Stella looks up at the sky. “They’ll be lucky to make it to Florence before it snows. We’d better get those decorations up before we get dumped on.”
I hold back a groan. Gia has taken care of me as well as my mum does while I’ve been here—and while we were in Italy. Plus, she’s Stella’s mum, so if she needs help, I’m going to help.
Stella and I put on our full winter gear—parkas, gloves, hats—which seems like overkill for a quick jaunt to the storage shed in the backyard.
But as soon as we walk out the back door, we’re hit with a gust of wind and a few snowflakes.
We hustle to the shed, where she swings open the doors to a twelve-by-twelve space, full of stuff and smelling a bit musty.
“Here are the inflatables.” Stella points to an entire shelving unit with at least a dozen boxes.
I squeeze past her and quickly scan the plastic bins, each one labeled with a description and picture of the inflatable inside. They all say “six feet,” except for the ones that are even bigger. “We putting up the lot?”
Stella cocks her head. “What else would we do with them?”
“They all go up? Every year? She doesn’t rotate them in and out?” I’m trying to picture Gia’s front lawn with all the blow-ups. There’s not enough space.
“Nope. She likes them all out. Let’s get the Santa on the roof before the snow really starts coming down.” Stella grabs a box—a twelve-footer of Santa and all eight tiny reindeer—and hands it to me.
I look from it to her. “We’ve got to lug this up on the roof? Do we blow it up first? That safe?”
Stella smiles patiently through all my questions before grabbing another box. “We’ll blow it up after it’s on the roof. Seb’s only fallen off once, and he didn’t get that hurt. We’ll be fine.”
“That hurt? How hurt exactly?”
“A broken arm. No big deal.”
We carry the boxes outside. They’re surprisingly light, but my breath hangs in the air, then burns when the cold meets my lungs.
“Broken arm? Stella, I can’t break an arm. I’ve got a concert in a few weeks.” My eyes dart to the roof of Gia’s two-story brick house. It’s very high, and there’s not enough snow to provide a soft landing for anyone—me, for example—who might fall off.
“You’re not going to break your arm, Rhys. Seb was twelve and trying to show off for the girl he liked.” Stella sets down her box.
“Seb was twelve? Your mom let him go on the roof when he was a kid?” I keep hold of my box, hoping to put it away once Stella sees the insanity of what her mum expects us to do.
“No,” she answers, and my faith in Gia’s parenting is restored.
“Grandpa let him. He thought it was time for Seb to be the man of the house.” She brushes her hands together, then turns back toward the shed.
“Might as well bring them all out while we wait for Grandpa to show up with the ladder and pulley system.”
“Pulley system?” I look back at the roof, then jog after Stella.
“Yeah, Grandpa rigged up a system years ago after he almost fell off the roof carrying a big plastic Santa. The whole thing broke into pieces when it hit the cement patio. Grandpa would have, too, if he hadn’t grabbed the gutter at the last second,” Stella says calmly, as though she’s not predicting my own death in the next few hours.
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Christmas decorations shouldn’t need a pulley.”
Stella laughs and hands me another box. “I can do it if you’re scared,” she says, her tone genuinely helpful.
“I’m not scared.” I deepen my voice to prove I’m manly enough to climb on a roof that’s already tried to take out two members of her family.
I’m no chook. I’ve flown ten feet over crowds, strapped to a wire and harness, but only after safety checks and a hundred run-throughs.
“You sure?” She stacks another box on top of the one already in my arms.
“Nah, yeah…unless you’re set on doing it yourself.”
“I don’t mind. Honestly, Rhys, Seb, me, and all of our cousins have climbed on that roof so many times, retrieving frisbees and balls, sometimes just because we were bored.
It’s probably safer for me to climb up there than for you.
” She grabs a couple boxes of her own, and I follow her outside again.
“Your mom was okay with that?” I ask.
Stella cackles. “No way. You should have heard her yell at Grandpa in Italian when she found out he’d told Seb to go up there. She had no idea we’d both been scaling that roof for years.”
“So, you’ve always been fearless?” I spot Grandpa Sparks carrying a ladder around the side of the house, and disappointment washes over me. I want to hear more about Stella as a spunky little girl determined to keep up with her brother and the Thomsen boys.
“Fearless or stupid. You decide.”
“Definitely not stupid.”
She smiles over her shoulder at me, her brown eyes shining, and if I didn’t think Grandpa Sparks might pull a gun on me, I’d drop everything and kiss her right now.
“Hi, Grandpa. Thanks for bringing the ladder,” she calls before meeting him on the patio and setting her boxes down to kiss his cheek.
Mr. Sparks—Stella told me to call him Jim, but I’m not doing that—sets up the ladder against the house, then unzips his jacket and pulls ropes and a metal thing from the front of his overalls.
Not out of a pocket—literally he pulls them out of his overalls like a magician pulling scarves from his sleeves.
“Gia said you were putting up the Santa. You sure this young man knows how to work my pulley?”
“We’ll be fine, Grandpa,” Stella says.
He turns his steely gray eyes on me, and I want to agree with her. I want to show this man’s man I’m not afraid to get on a steep roof and use a pulley system. I want to assure him that I know what a pulley system is.
But the look on his face stops me. He’s giving off human lie detector vibes, and I’m afraid he’ll grab me by my collar and throw me out of town, like a sheriff in an old Western tossing a drunk out of a saloon.
“Never used a pulley in my life, sir,” I say.
“Have you opened a blind or a garage door?” he grumbles.
I nod.
“Then you’ve used a pulley.”
“Yes, sir. Didn’t realize that’s what a pulley is, but I reckon I do now.”
I reckon a pulley’s what my techs use to get me off the ground and fly me over the audience—and that I’ve made an arse of myself.
Judging by his glare, I reckon if he knew what a man like me, who just learned what a pulley is, was thinking about his granddaughter a few minutes ago, I’d be a dead man.
Stella winds her arms protectively around mine, which is sweet but doesn’t do me any favors with General Sparks. “Be nice, Grandpa. He’s a city boy.”
The general scoffs. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Stella laughs, but I stay at attention. I’ve never been in the military, but I’ve seen enough movies to know what happens when a cadet gets out of line.
I don’t move until Stella tugs my arm, but from that point on, Grandpa takes over all assembly and positioning of the inflatables, barking out orders that I jump to follow.
I know I don’t have to, but this isn’t just Stella’s grandpa; this is the man who helped raise her. He’s the closest thing she has to a dad, and I want to make a good impression. If it’s not too late.
Stella is a lot more casual in following her grandpa’s orders, sending me conspiratorial smiles and the occasional good-natured eyeroll whenever Mr. Sparks tells us what to do next. But when he picks up the pulley ropes and walks to the ladder, she scrambles to block him.
“Grandpa, you know I’ll never hear the end of it from Granny if I let you go up on that roof.” She stands in front of the ladder, mirroring his stubborn face.
With a low, rumbling growl I can’t help but admire, he moves aside.
She reaches for the pulley, but he holds it out of her reach. “You’re not going up there. No lady is risking her life while an able-bodied man is standing here.”
He looks over his shoulder, and I look over mine, then realize he’s talking about me. I pull my shoulders back, eye the ladder—which is very tall—and glance at Stella. “He’s right. I’ll do it.”
Her eyes widen as I nudge her out of the way and say, “Move aside, Stella. This is a man’s job.”
She lets out a giggle. I send her a warning look. With my back to Grandpa, I mouth, “Just do it.”
With a smug grin, she steps back and spreads her arms wide. “Be my guest.”
I pull off my gloves to get a better grip, but when I grab the cold metal rung, I have to swallow a yelp.
“Now, listen to my instructions, and you won’t get hurt,” Mr. Sparks says, and I turn to face him. “Tread on your boots looks good, but if you’re not walking one foot on each side in a valley—that’s where the two roof angles join—or the hip—that’s the peak looking part—you walk at an angle.”
I nod as he gives me more tips on how not to die—a good chunk of which I don’t understand. I hold back a salute when he finishes, even though he deserves it. Then my eyes climb to the top of the ladder, and I pause to consider all my life’s choices and whether I’m ready to meet my Maker.
I’m not the kind of bloke who will let a lady risk her life to save his own skin, but Stella’s done this before. Her gender doesn’t make her any less capable than I am of climbing a ladder and scaling a roof in the name of Christmas cheer. In fact, her experience makes her more capable.
But I’m not saying any of that to Grandpa Sparks.
Stella steps back another foot, and I sling the rope over my shoulders, then scale my Mount Everest, one rickety rung at a time.