Page 28 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“That’s grim. We’re not pillaging anything.” I turn my scolding on him.
“Speak for yourself.” Stella takes a last sip of water, fortifying herself for the journey ahead.
Then we file out of the restaurant where a waiting customer seems to recognize Dex and then wishes him luck. He seems relieved it’s only one.
The rest of the afternoon is spent at Rip Tide headquarters where everyone we meet trips all over themselves to help us. But not in a fawning way, as though they want to impress Dex. More like, they respect him, so they want to help.
A woman—Emily—who has the perfect nose for her piercing leads us to the sample floor. And by floor, I mean an entire warehouse floor of an office building.
There are racks of clothes, and stacks of boxes that Emily tells us will have the sizes we need if we don’t find them on the rack.
“That area there is the summer season that just ended.” She points to a spot on our left where I already see a bright blue something I want to check out.
Emily indicates the areas for the other seasons, including the winter season that hasn’t been released yet. And by “winter” season, she definitely means a California winter. Even fromacross the room, I can tell there won’t be anything in that section that will cover enough of me to survive a Paradise winter. Too many straps and not enough sleeves and fleece.
“I’ll leave you to it. Take what you want. Just be sure to get pictures with Dex tomorrow while you’re wearing our clothes, then tag us,” Emily explains, which sparks Stella to strike up a conversation about social media marketing.
Talking about the work she does for Georgia is the only thing that could keep Stella from stuffing bags full of clothes like she’s on that grocery game show, where the people have to buy as much as possible in ten minutes, or something equally ridiculous.
I wander toward the summer section, smiling as I hear Emily compliment Stella on the Georgia Rose Instagram page and TikTok, both of which Stella manages. She doesn’t get any recognition for it, because it’s supposed to look as though it’s all Georgia. But I guess anyone who is in social media marketing would understand that’s not how things work.
So, I leave the two of them to talk and, to save time, start pulling things Stella might like. Dex stays close to me while Archie makes his way to the men’s area. When I take a dress off the rack, Dex makes a “hmm” sound.
“What?” I hold up the bright pink dress to examine it more closely.
“That’s not something I thought you’d pick out.”
“It’s Stella’s style. She may want it.” I try not to notice that Dex seems to know my taste pretty well.
He takes the clothes from my arms. “What’s in this pile that’s for you?”
I pretend not to hear the question.
“Brit-ta,” he prods.
“Nothing yet. I haven’t really found anything.” The hangers scrape across the metal rod as I rifle through the clothes.
Dex’s gaze drops to the growing pile of clothes in his arms. “Are you trying to find something for yourself? Or are you only looking for Stella?”
Stella, still talking to Emily, laughs and the sound echoes through the concrete and metal warehouse.
“I’ll look for myself in a minute.”
Dex does an about face and walks to Stella. They exchange some words I can’t hear. Then she holds out her arms and he lays the clothes across them.
“Oh! Good choices, Brit!” Stella’s excitement reverberates off the walls, giving her words a high, tinny sound. “Now look for yourself!”
Dex comes back, grabs me by the hand, and drags me to a rounder of t-shirts and shorts. He pulls things from them, and in a matter of minutes my arms are as full of stuff for me as they were with what I’d picked out for Stella.
“That’s enough! I’m only in San Clemente for one day, not the entire month.” The clothes are as high as my chin, and Dex still searches the racks. “It’s going to take me hours to try this stuff on.”
“There aren’t dressing rooms.” Dex is still pulling stuff for me. “If it doesn’t fit, I’ll bring it back or give it to someone else.”
I’m about to argue more, but Dex stops me. “Most gir—womenwould be stoked at a free shopping spree.”
As much as I’d like to debunk the stereotype, he’s not wrong. Now that she’s done talking to Emily, Stella’s arms are so full, she looks like a walking laundry pile.
He stretches out his arms. “Your turn to look. Give me those.”
