Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stella
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a campout inside when the power’s gone out.
But I predict it will be the best time I’ve ever had camping in.
The other times have been with Mom and Seb, not Rhys James, the man I’m officially, undeniably in love with, who’s currently building a roaring fire that would impress even Grandpa.
I’m wrapped in blankets on the sofa, trying to stay calm about the videos showing up online.
I want to keep Rhys from panicking, but I’m worried, too.
Personally, I don’t know how anyone could hate his songs, but “Fa-La La-La Land” is a favorite.
The thing with popular Christmas songs is people like the originals for their familiarity and nostalgia, even if newer versions are better.
Comments on the posts were good, but who knows what people are saying now. My gut tells me this could be the push Rhys needs to break away from VibeHouse and come into his own. That will be easier to do if viewers keep showing love for his music.
My job now is to keep Rhys distracted until the power is back on and he can finish his conversation with Danny while I do damage control on his socials.
So we roast marshmallows in the fire, build s’mores, get chocolate and marshmallow all over our hands and faces, then help each other get it off, which sometimes requires kissing, and does an excellent job of distracting both of us from the things outside we can’t do anything about.
The storm still rages outside, wind howling at the windows, while logs crackle in the fireplace and we stay curled up under the blankets.
We’re wearing as many clothes as possible because the temperature in the house has already dropped, and it’ll keep getting colder.
Seb is never going to let me live down not having the generator ready to go, but it’s worth the cost when I get to spend the night in Rhys’s arms.
The next day, a knock on the front door wakes us.
Rhys sits up, blinking in the hazy light coming through the curtains, his black hair sticking out in every direction. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know.” Our phones are powered down, the digital clocks blink 11:08—the time when the power went out—and the gray sky outside gives zero clues.
Whoever is at the door pounds again and yells, “Sparky! You in there?”
“It’s Zach.” I stand and wrap a quilt around myself. The cold air inside mixes with the smell of smoke and melted marshmallows.
“Do we have to answer?” Rhys asks with a teasing grin, tugging at the quilt. “Feels criminal to get up when it’s this warm.”
I almost join him back on the floor in our nest of blankets, safe and warm, away from all the pressures outside. But Zach pounds again.
“Spark—Stella! Are you okay?” he yells.
I roll my head toward the door, and Rhys lets go of the quilt. His grin stays, though, making my stomach flip. This is my life now. I’ve been in love with some version of Rhys James for years, but now the best version of him is in love with me. I still can’t process that fact.
“I’m coming, Zach!” I yell, then smooth Rhys’s hair before hugging the quilt around my shoulders and going to the door.
I open it to find Zach, wearing a helmet and dressed head to toe in snow gear.
Snow covers the front porch, and he brings a mess of it with him, along with a biting, stiff wind, when he steps inside, closing the door behind him.
He takes off his helmet, then pulls off the face mask he’s wearing under it.
“What are you doing here?” I motion toward the entryway rug, and he steps back to let it soak up the snow melting off him.
“Helping the fire department do a safety check. I saw smoke coming from your chimney but no lights and worried you don’t have any heat.”
“I didn’t get the generator out before the storm started.” That’s all I need to say for Zach to give me a disapproving look, but at least that’s all I get from him.
Until Rhys comes up behind me. Then Zach screws his face into an accusation. “Just the two of you here?”
“Just us,” I answer cheerfully. He knows Mom and Seb are stuck in Florence. Anything beyond that is none of his business. “You need some help? Seb’s snowmobile is in the garage.”
Zach looks from Rhys back to me, doubt replacing accusation. “You remember how to drive it?”
I roll my eyes. “Do I remember? Give me some credit, Zach.”
“What’s happening now?” Rhys asks, clearly nervous.
I shrug off my quilt and hand it to him. “We’re checking on neighbors.”
“So, I’ll wait here for you and Zach?” He nods toward Zach and folds my blanket over his arm.
I let out a laugh. “No. You’re coming with us. I’ll dig out Seb’s snow gear for you.”
“We need all the help we can get.” Zach slaps him on the back. “You can put it on your socials.”
“That’s a ripper idea,” Rhys says dryly. “Nothing says privacy like broadcasting a rescue mission.”
“That’s a great idea!” I ignore Rhys’s head shake and run for my phone.
“I’m not keen on doing a good deed just for views and likes,” Rhys says when I come back.
I nod. I agree with him, but we also have to be prepared. “Think of it as damage control if we need it—which we won’t,” I quickly assure him. “But better to be prepared.”
Rhys lets out a reluctant sigh. “Righto. Lead the way then.”
He follows me to the mudroom where I pull out Seb’s old snow gear and hand it to him. He stares at it like he’s never seen anything like it, which, to be fair, he probably hasn’t. So, I help him get dressed while Zach makes coffee and packs water and snacks for us to deliver.
After downing some coffee to steel ourselves against the cold, we go outside. The snow’s stopped for now, but the sky is still gray. The storm system isn’t done yet, and the wind has blown snow across the roads in deep drifts that make it impossible for anything but snowmobiles to get through.
Rhys climbs on the back of mine, and we follow Zach to the fire department, where we meet up with the rest of the volunteer rescue team.
Adam’s got the generator at the Garden of Eatin’ going, plus a big pot of soup and hot coffee for anyone who doesn’t have heat at their place.
That’s who we’re looking for—starting with the oldest and most vulnerable people in town—when we’re sent out with toboggans and addresses.
Rhys and I are assigned to go to Lynette’s—a local woman with some mental illness who collects squirrels and believes in aliens.
But I believe in Santa, so I’ve got no room to talk.
When we get to her house, all the lights are out, and there’s no smoke coming from her chimney or any sounds of a generator.
I knock, hoping she’s staying somewhere else, but she cracks open the door and peeks around it, wearing a thin bathrobe and the tinfoil hat she believes keeps her safe from aliens. Her breath is visible inside the house.
“What do you want?” she demands.
“Hi, Lynette, it’s Stella Sparks.” I peel off my balaclava so she can see my face, and Rhys does the same, but she’s still wary. “Everyone’s meeting up at the Garden. Can I take you there?”
She looks at the sky and shakes her head. “It’s not safe right now. But I’ll come over when it is.”
“Looks like you need a new hat. Adam is at the Garden. He could help you,” I say gently.
Lynette and my cousin have a special relationship. He’s the one person she trusts to make her new hats when the others tear or wear out. I cross my fingers that will be enough to get her out of her freezing house.
“That’s why I can’t leave. My hat’s not working. Adam will have to come to me.” She tries to close the door on us, but Rhys gently presses against it, forcing it wider open.
“We’d really like you to come with us now, ma’am. We’ve got a helmet for you we can wrap in tinfoil—top-notch protection, promise,” he says with a soft grin.
“Who are you?” Lynette’s gaze shifts from me to Rhys. Her slippers give me a glimpse of her toes, mottled blue from the cold.
“This is Rhys James, Lynette. You probably know some of his songs.” My panicky cheerfulness doesn’t soothe her, so I step aside to give her a better look at Rhys and hopefully recognize him.
“I don’t know him.” Shivering, she pulls her robe closer. The open door lets in the colder air from outside.
Rhys glances at me, only hesitating a moment before he clears his throat and says, “You might know this one,” before launching into the first line 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.