Page 45 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“They’d tear it down.”
Hearing the words out loud immediately brings me clarity. “You told them no, right?”
“I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Why? Did you think I’d say anything but no?” I sit up straighter on the stool and brace myself for whatever arguments Zach may be prepared to throw my way.
He’s a realtor, so it makes sense the city would approach him. But he’s also the most likable of us Thomsen kids. Zach has sweet-talked himself out of a lot of tight spots. Whoever approached him probably thought he’d be able to sweet talk all of us into taking the deal.
Wrong.
I’m immune to my brother’s charm.
“I knew you’d say no, but I thought you might change your mind after I told you what we could do, soBritta’sis yours.” Zach has slipped into his deep, smooth-as-butter salesman’s tone, which also means he’ll be doing all the talking. “The city is offering a good price. Enough that, if Cassie were on board, we could renovate the apartment portion of her bookstore into a newBritta’s.”
I don’t hate the idea. Cassie’s bookstore is in an old building that once belonged to Mom’s family, too. MovingBritta’sthere would make sense historically, but Cassie owns the building now.
“How would movingBritta’sto the bookstore that Cassie owns make it mine?” I want something that’s my own. Something I can pass down to my kids, if I ever have them, and if they wanted it. “And what would happen toBritta’sif the bookstore closes or Cassie has to sell the building?”
“Those are all details we can work out later, but before we sell the plotBritta’sis on now, I’ll convince everyone to deed you their portion. You’ll own the business itself and have the capital to re-open in a new location,” Zach says with a confidence I envy, despite knowing it was hard-earned.
“Why not convince them to give meBritta’snow?”
“If we don’t move from the current location, do you want to be entirely responsible for all the repairsBritta’sneeds?” He has a good point, which is annoying.
Even though I’ve primarily runBritta’sfor the past five years, everyone has pitched in, working a few shifts a week, at least. When Adam took over Mom’s other restaurant, theGarden of Eatin’, he bought her out.Britta’sis the only thing Mom had to give us when she passed. It wouldn’t really be fair to ask everyone to share the cost of repairs beyond what insurance covers, then ask them to give me the refurbished coffee shop.
“I’ll think about,” I tell Zach. “But I’m not sure if having the name to myself is worth giving up the shop itself. That’s where the memories of Mom are.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean.” Though he’s sympathetic, I hear thebutin his voice. “We’d be saying goodbye to a piece of her history, but the memories of her are withus.”
“I spent a lot of time there with her, Zach.” I try not to sound defensive, but it’s different for him. He doesn’t have the same emotional attachment toBritta’s.
“I know, but think about it.”
We end our conversation, and even though I’ve promised him I’ll consider the offer, all I want to do is go back to watching90 Day Fiancéand not think about anything. Because all I’m thinking about now is that I have to decide about whether I’m leaving with Stella on Monday or staying in LA by myself. To be honest, I was leaning toward staying. Annie needs me here. I still can’t shake the idea of buyingAnnie’sfrom her, but now I’m wondering ifBritta’sneeds me more. I’m being pulled between doing what I want to do and what I should do.
It’s the same feeling I had when Mom got sick, and I had to decide between taking an internship in LA or going home to Paradise.
I slide off the kitchen stool, but I barely make it to the couch before there’s a knock at the door.
Somehow, I know it’s Dex. Probably because I don’t know anyone else in LA, but also, the knock sounds like him, patient and persistent at the same time. I’ve both expected he’d stop by once he got back and also felt anxious about it.
I’d be lying if I said Dex wasn’t one reason I was thinking of staying longer. Over the past week, I couldn’t stop myself from texting—and occasionally talking to—Dex, even knowing if I choose to leave, it’ll be easier if I don’t have to stamp out any sparks I’ve stoked to life.
At the same time, our first goodbye was the best goodbye I’ve ever had. Great kissing; very little talking; no use of the actual wordgoodbye.
Now that he’s actually here, though, I’m frozen. I want to see him, but I also want to leave LA with no emotional attachments, and I need a second to think about which I want more.
“Will you get that?” I ask Stella.
She looks at me with her enormous eyes and a smirk that tells me she knows who’s knocking, and she’s not interested in throwing me a life preserver. “I’m not wearing a bra.”
I don’t think she’s worn a bra since we got here. She’s never really needed one to begin with, but she runs to her room and shuts the door before I can point out either of those things.
So I go to the door, making one quick stop in front of the mirror hanging in the breakfast nook. I’ve been atAnnie’smost of the day, and I look—and smell—like it. There’s not a lot I can do beyond tightening my ponytail and smoothing away some smudged mascara under my eyes.
I open the door to see exactly who I thought—and, okay,hoped—it would be.
