Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stella
While Rhys hides out in the backyard, I convince the neighbors to leave by telling them Rhys is performing at the Garden tonight, and as long as they don’t post anything about it on their socials—both before and after the show—they’re invited to come.
I’m taking an enormous risk, I know, but I want this show to be a turning point for him.
If people like the new songs—and I’m sure they will—that could be the confidence boost that gets him to realize he doesn’t need Danny or VibeHouse.
Rhys comes back around the house to the front yard, balancing two bins of inflatables in his arms, stacked so tall that he has to peek around to see where he’s going.
When he sets them down, then straightens and stretches, he’s actually smiling.
Not only with his mouth, but with his whole body.
His usual caged-animal energy is more of a big-lab-on-a-leash vibe.
He should be all nerves and annoyance after the tree incident, but he’s more at ease than I’ve ever seen him…
except when he sang at the Garden after Thanksgiving dinner.
Is the fresh Paradise air the source of his transformation? Or maybe getting into the Christmas spirit? Or could it be he is excited about singing his own songs in front of an audience tonight?
My guess is the last one. At least, I hope it is.
We spend the rest of the morning putting up all the inflatables while the snow continues to fall. By the time we’re finished, Mom’s yard is not only covered in blow-up snowmen, Santas, penguins in scarves, and the Holy Family—but also more than half a foot of snow.
“Let’s make a snowman,” Rhys says, still in his yellow lab era.
I’ve spent every winter of my life living in freezing conditions, but after two days in the cold, I’m ready to be warm again. One thing I’ve learned living in sunny LA is that weather isn’t for enduring; it’s for enjoying. And I’m not enjoying this cold anymore.
“There’s not enough snow yet, and I’m freezing. Come on. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” I start up the snow-covered walkway to the front door but only make it a few steps before something hits me in the back.
I turn. Rhys is packing snow between his hands, a tight, mischievous grin stretched across his face.
“Did you just throw a snowball at me?” I plant my hands on my hips and glare at him, but the way his eyes shine with every shade of blue works its magic on me.
“Pretty good for my first time, yeah?” He tosses another snowball at me that hits me square in the chest.
“You know I’m very experienced in snowball fights, right? You sure you want to go there?” I look at him while also mentally scanning the potential battlefield in front of me.
Rhys answers by letting his grin grow wider before crouching down to scoop up more snow.
I dive behind the closest inflatable to me—a six-foot snowman—and quickly pack three snowballs. I poke my head around Frosty’s bottom half long enough to catch Rhys doing the same. I fire and hit him in the face.
He pauses long enough to wipe snow from his eyes, then darts after me. I toss my other two snowballs at him, missing both times before zig-zagging around inflatables, trying to lose him. I stop long enough behind Joseph to pack some fresh ammunition.
I stand and peek around Joseph, but Rhys is nowhere to be seen. Then I hear his footsteps and whip around to find him jogging toward me. I fire two rounds, hitting him both times, before he ducks down low enough to grab me around the waist and throw me over his shoulder.
He walks toward the house while I pound my gloved fists against his parka-padded back with little effect.
“You’re carrying me inside? Does this mean you give up?”
“That’s right. You’ve got me beat, Stella,” he says dryly. “Don’t…Stop…Don’t.”
I pause. “Are you telling me to stop or not to stop?”
Rhys kicks open the front door and sets me down inside, hovering over me. Lab gone, caged animal back, except this one is inviting me to free him. “You decide.”
I shiver again, but this one is heat-induced. Rhys’s eyes flash with a challenge. I answer by pushing the door shut before winding my arms around his neck and finding his lips with mine.
He returns my kiss, then deepens it while walking me out of the entryway toward the living room sofa. Between our kisses, we fumble out of our coats, hats, and gloves, leaving a trail of discarded winter wear behind us.
I lower to the couch, bringing Rhys with me.
“Is this how your snowball fights always end?” he asks, hovering over me.
I laugh and shake my head. “Considering most of them were with my brother and my cousins? No. They never ended like this.”
“Well, then, it’s a first for both of us,” he says before kissing me again, softer but with the carefulness of an explorer sure he’s about to find what he’s been searching for.
My pulse picks up speed, both nervous and excited. Gently, I place my hand on his chest. His heart races against my palm as I press him away. “Rhys, if we keep going…” My breath staggers. “It’d be a first for me in a lot of ways.”
He nods, then his eyes fly open. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
I nod.
He blinks a few times. “I don’t remember seeing ‘losing your virginity’ on your 30 Before 30 List.”
I shake my head. “I sort of lumped it in with number one: Don’t fall in love. I figure once I’m ready to fall in love, the other will go with it.”
Rhys pushes himself up and scoots to the opposite end of the couch.
“And not falling in love’s still top of your list?
No compromising there?” He glances at me, then hurriedly adds, “And that’s the only thing I’m talking about.
Not gonna pressure you to do anything you’re not ready for, especially when it comes to sex. ”
I sit up and tuck my feet under me, facing him. “I don’t know, Rhys. I haven’t decided yet. I know this thing we have—whatever it is—has made me reconsider falling in love. Obviously, I like you a lot.”
“Righto.” He scrapes a hand through his hair and scowls at the floor. “Best to put the brakes on until you know what you want. I don’t have any rules about not falling in love. Dunno if I can wait for you to decide without getting my heart broken.”
“That’s not my intent, Rhys. I just…” He hazards a glance at me. “I don’t know what to say.”
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to tell him how stupid my self-imposed rules seem now. Battling those words, though, makes it impossible to say anything else. A tense silence falls over us.
He stands, keeping his eyes down. “Reckon I’d better get ready for the show tonight. Mind if I hit the shower?”
I paste on a smile like he hasn’t said he’s afraid I’ll break his heart. “No, go ahead. You want me to make some hot chocolate?”
He puts on his own smile, and I wonder if mine looks as sad. “Sure. That’d be great.”
Rhys goes upstairs while I tread into the kitchen, replaying everything that’s passed between us in the last twenty minutes. The thing I fantasized about as a kid is happening. Rhys James is falling in love with me. I should be overjoyed. This is fantasy colliding with reality in the very best way.
But all I feel is afraid.
Mom’s words ring in my ears. I want to believe that accepting bad things will happen is the quickest way to let go of fear. I want to hold on to these minutes I’ve been given to love Rhys. But what I’m afraid of isn’t whether bad things will happen—it’s not knowing when they will.
Dad never got to turn thirty. I guess part of me believes if I can make it to that age, I will have cheated death long enough to feel like my life won’t be cut short if I die.
While I get the cocoa and sugar from the cabinets, Seb calls.
“Hey, what’s up?” I take the call over speaker so I can mix up the hot chocolate while we talk.
I scoop a cup of cocoa while simultaneously dreading and hoping Seb and Mom are almost home. I need more time alone with Rhys, but I also don’t want to face the awkwardness that’s settled between us.
“Weather’s pretty bad down here, and it’s headed your way.” Seb’s voice crackles over the line, dropping in and out. “We’re going to stay the night. But if it’s as bad as the weather report’s saying, we may all be snowed in for a few days. Canyon road’s already closed.”
“Closed?” I dump the cocoa, then snatch up my phone in a panic. “Rhys is supposed to fly out tomorrow. He’s got rehearsal for Winter Lights tomorrow night.”
“Not anymore, he doesn’t,” Seb answers matter-of-factly before ticking off facts about the storm being the worst in a century. In the middle of a sentence, he goes quiet.
“Seb?”
No answer. We’ve been cut off.
With a sigh, I look out the kitchen window. In the time since I’ve come inside, the snow has fallen harder. There’s at least another six inches.
When Rhys comes down from his shower, his hair black and glistening, I hand him his hot chocolate, then take a deep breath. “There’s a big storm coming in. The canyon road is already closed.”
A deep line forms between his eyebrows. “So, is the concert canceled?”
He sounds disappointed. He looks disappointed. Slowly, I shake my head. “No, people nearby will make it to the show, but unless the Department of Transportation opens the road, you’re not getting to the airport tomorrow night.”
The line across his brow grows deeper, but not with worry. More with confusion. “What do you mean I can’t get through it? There’s not an airplane or helicopter or something that could pick me up?”
“Not in this weather. Visibility is too low to navigate through the mountains.”
“We’re just…trapped here?”
I nod.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Could be a few days. Right now, predictions are this storm could be one of the worst in a century. I know you’ve got your rehearsal, but better to miss it than to risk your life trying to get there.”
Rhys’s eyes open wide. He’d forgotten about the rehearsal. I see it on his face.
He drops his head and lets out a frustrated sigh. “What do I do now, Stella? I’ve got to be at that rehearsal. There’s choreography to learn; I’ve got to connect with the band Danny’s bringing in and practice the song he gave me. I can’t be stuck here for days on end.”
His voice rises, and he paces across Mom’s small kitchen.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Rhys. I can’t change the weather.” My voice cracks, and his eyes dart to my face.
Whatever he sees there smooths away his anger. He sets his mug on the kitchen table, then sits down. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was the one who wanted to come here. I’ll call Danny and tell him I’m not gonna make it. We’ll figure it out.”
“We will.” I’m so relieved he’s not angry—that he wants me to help him solve this problem.
We can put our last conversation behind us and focus on getting him and his fans ready for Winter Lights.
I circle my arms around his shoulders and nuzzle the back of his neck.
“The good news is there probably won’t be many people at the Garden with this weather, which makes it easier to keep your location secret.
Maybe you could practice the Winter Lights song with Adam and Bear. ”
He runs his hands along my arms, then loosens them from his neck. “Maybe. It’s not a bad idea, Stella.”
I unwrap myself from him and give him the space he clearly wants. He’s not angry. But he didn’t call me La-La. And I wonder if he ever will again.