Page 37 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“You like her though,” Archie says.
I shoot him a warning, but I don’t deny what he’s said. He’d call me a liar if I did, and he wouldn’t be wrong.
Marta taps at her phone. I should walk out right now, but I’m stuck waiting to see why Marta, who never smiles, looks like she just cracked the recipe for chicken salt.
She looks up, still smiling, and shows me her phone screen. There’s a blue header up top with an official-looking seal and atitle that says something about naturalization. “Three years to citizenship if you’re married to an American.”
I burst out laughing. “Britta may be on her way back to Idaho by the time I get back to South Bay. She will be for sure if I ask her to marry me.”
Marta doesn’t join me laughing. “If she’s gone, then, depending on what our immigration lawyer says, you might want to consider Bumble or Tinder or whatever app will put you on the fast track to finding an American to spend the rest of your life with. Or at least the next three years.”
I shift my gaze to Archie for backup that what Marta is proposing—no pun intended—is insane. But all I get is a forced laugh.
I stare at him until I finally find my words. “Yesterday Britta was a distraction, and now you’re seriously considering I marry her as a backup plan?”
“I just watched you win the Title after kissing her. She may be exactly the distraction you need.” Archie smiles, having officially—along with Marta—gone completely mad.
Chapter fourteen
Britta
Stella stays silent for a solid five minutes after we leave the Rip Tide house. This is a record, and I worry I’ve broken her. We shared the same dream of living in LA someday, but her driving reason was to rub elbows with celebrities. She’s never wanted to be one herself, but she’s fascinated by fame. The party tonight was a dream come true for her.
“I’m sorry, Stella,” I say when I can’t take the silence anymore.
“You should be.” She sits up taller. “Now, what’s going on withBritta’s?”
“I don’t know yet.” I pull onto the freeway, relieved that Stella seems to have forgiven me. “I need to call Adam when I getback to the apartment. Things were too loud at the beach, and it would have been harder to call at a party.”
“This humidity is killing my hair. I shouldn’t have bothered straightening it.” Stella tugs an elastic from her wrist and pulls her dark hair into a ponytail. “We’ve got an hour’s drive ahead of us. Why not call Adam now?”
And there’s the Stella I know and love, bouncing from one topic to another.
“It’ll be boring.” I reach for the stereo, but Stella swipes my hand away.
“Just because I don’t have any ownership inBritta’sdoesn’t mean I don’t care about it. If you’re worried enough to pull me away from a celebrity-filled party, then I get to be privy to the conversation.” Her penetrating stare leaves no room for argument.
“Fine.” I press the call button on my steering wheel. “Call Grumpy Adam.”
A loud ringing fills the car, followed by my brother’s too serious, “Hey, Britt.”
“Hey.” I smile, Adam’s familiar voice settling my nerves. “Stella’s here, too.”
“Hi, Stella. I’m at Dad’s. He wants to talk to you.”
A quick shuffling follows as Adam hands off the phone. “Hi, honey!”
Dad’s cheerful voice is so close, I can picture the smile lines around his eyes. I’ve missed those lines and that face. “How are things in the big city? Have you been relaxing like I told you to?”
“Yeah. I spent the day at the beach watching a huge surf competition. Stella and I had a great time.” I echo Dad’s cheerfulness, even as a sliver of regret needles me about not celebrating with Dex after he’d been so generous. “I’m just a little worried aboutBritta’s.”
I get right to the point to keep my mind drifting back to Dex.
With no more prompting, Adam launches into the long list of problems we face withBritta’s.He has years of construction experience, so when he says the foundation is the biggest problem, I trust him. One option—an expensive one—is to jack up the building and try to repair the water-damaged parts of the foundation.
But the age of the building makes that a risky option, plus the fact the wooden frame of the building has termite and water damage itself. It may not survive being lifted, and with a heavy winter expected, the job would have to be done soon and quickly before the snow comes.
“Will insurance pay for any of it?” I ask. “Britta’sis barely in the black now.”
