Page 83 of Britta & the Beach Boy
With each wave, Britta relaxes a little more, letting the ocean carry her instead of fighting it. Trusting me to keep us steady as we move to deeper water. Not so far that I can’t touch, but deep enough that we have to duck under a few stronger waves. The more comfortable she gets, the more she loosens her hold on me, slowly trusting her own ability to read the wave and flow with it.
Until, finally, she floats to my side, keeping her fingers twined through mine but otherwise standing on her own, and we move up and down, dancing together. Letting the waves carry us where they will without losing our hold on each other.
And I know, as well as I know the ocean, that I never want this moment to end. I want Britta by my side through every up and down. Through every rogue wave that may pummel us. Through the next three years and beyond.
I want Britta forever, but I promised her I wouldn’t fall in love.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter thirty-one
Britta
Over the next week, while Dex surfs in the early morning, I head toAnnie’sto not only help but also to get to know the crew and the business that will be mine in ten days. Maybe I should be worried about how fast things are moving with the business, but it feels right.
Annie made continuing the Employment Training Program for Unhoused Residents of South Bay a condition of the sale, and I’m excited—if not a little intimidated by that. I would have wanted to continue it anyway, but making the sale conditional on keeping the program showed both my commitment to it and made things a million times easier to keep the funding Annie used for it.
I think Mom would be proud of me. Everyone in my family has been calling to see how things are going withAnnie’sand to encourage me. The sale ofBritta’shasn’t gone through yet, but once it does, I’ll use my portion to pay back some of the loan Dex gave me. Dad’s portion too, because he won’t take no for an answer. I still won’t take my brothers’ though. The only way I could letBritta’sgo is by knowing there will be a new one with the proceeds from the sale.
As it is, I’m glad I won’t be there when myBritta’scomes down. I’m also relieved thatAnnie’sis keeping me too busy—and excited—to mourn the end of an era.
To my family’s credit, any suspicions about whether my impromptu marriage to a famous surfer has anything to do with where I got a down payment forAnnie’s, they keep to themselves. Just like I keep to myself questions about just howmuchmoney Dex has made surfing.
I mean, obviously I do some googling, so I have a rough idea. Between earnings from winnings, sponsorships, and product placements, the answer is… a lot. The size of the estimated number actually makes me like Dex even more. Not because he has money, but because it doesn’t matter to him that he does.
He doesn’t drive a fancy car, have a lot of things, or wear expensive clothes. He doesn’t even wear shirts most days—and I’m not complaining about that. Best of all, he doesn’t have the attitude that he’s better than anybody else, just because he has money. He treats everyone the same, from the baristas atAnnie’sto the celebrities who occasionally stop him to say hi. He’s best friends with Rhys James and never even mentions it.
Running a business in a resort town, I’ve noticed how some wealthy people act like their money makes them better than people with outdated clothes and beat-up trucks. Not all of them, of course, but enough that I sort of expect it. So, thefact that he—andbillionaire-adjacent Archie, for that matter—choose to live a middle-class lifestyle is admirable.
Basically, Dex is a pretty great guy.
Which—to quote him when something potentially catastrophic happens—isa bit of a problem.
The last thing I need right now is to fall in love with my husband.
But the more time I spend with Dex, the more that risk increases.
It doesn’t help that after our first surf lesson, every afternoon, once I’m done atAnnie’sand he’s done surfing, Dex takes me back to the same beach to continue our lessons. Stella and Archie usually come too, so it’s not like we’re alone.
But it feels like we are.
Every time he touches me, I lose all sense of anything else. All I can feel is his skin on mine. All I smell is coconut oil and sunshine. I only see him. I only hearhim.
And I really want to taste his kisses again.
“I honestly had no idea it would take this long to learn how to surf,” I say to him at the end of our first week of lessons, after I’ve finally stayed upright long enough to ride a wave all the way to the beach.
We peel out of our wetsuits, then lie face-up on the beach, eyes closed, warm sand under our towels, the sun lingering on the horizon. I’m exhausted, but Dex is resting up before he catches some last waves. He’ll have to paddle out a ways to get past the “fluffy” ones I’ve finally conquered. That’s when I’ll sit up and watch.
This is the routine we’ve established, and I can’t tell what gives me a bigger adrenaline rush: surfing myself or watching him.
When I hear Stella’s laugh and Archie’s heavy footsteps, I open my eyes and sit up.
“Well done, Stella.” Dex says to her. “You’re almost not a grom anymore.”
“What’s a grom?” She reaches past me to grab a towel from her bag, dripping cold water on my bare stomach.
“Stella!” I wipe the water away and grab Dex’s Rip Tide hoodie, which is technically mine now by virtue of possession being nine-tenths of the law.
