Page 96 of Britta & the Beach Boy
I’m not as certain about my ability to stick to our decision, but at least I can trust Dex not to swerve from our plan.
And I wonder what would have happened between us if Dex didn’t need citizenship and we’d let our relationship grow organically. Would we be where we are now? I think our chemistry would be the same—amazing—but maybe we’d also be considering marriage for all the best reasons. Like love and connection.
Or maybe nothing would have happened without the motivating factors of citizenship and money. We wouldn’t have gotten married, and our relationship would have fizzled. I’d be back in Paradise opening a newBritta’sin Cassie’s bookstore and Dex would be here focused only on surfing.
It’s hard to say. But I sort of like the idea that our marriage-of-convenience is the leavening agent that’s set everything in motion. With a little kneading and baking, Dex and I might just create something delicious.
Chapter thirty-six
Dex
When we get toWest Coast Roast—it’s going to take a minute to get used to calling it that—Britta seems anxious but settles down when Diva, Mitzi, and a few other baristas show up to help us put the store back together. Most of what we have to do is cleaning, arranging tables, and putting up pictures and other decorations.
Most of us are in the dining room scrubbing build-up from tables and chairs while Diva and Sergio are at the prep stations getting all the ingredients stocked and in place.
“I finally settled on a name,” Britta says to her crew over Teddy Simms singingFuneralover the speaker. “West Coast Roast. What do you think?”
The silence that follows is worse than when you ask a girl “what’s wrong?” and she says “nothing.”
“It’s nice,” Mitzi answers, finally.
“Nice?” Britta stops in the middle of wiping down a table and peers at Mitzi who’s on her knees cleaning the chair on the other side.
“Yeah. Nice,” Mitzi says nervously. “A little formal, but I like it.” She scrubs double time, like she’s making up for Britta slacking.
“Formal?” Britta’s eyes stay glued to Mitzi.
“She means it sucks,” Diva yells from across the counter.
Britta’s mouth drops open, and I’m searching for some way to change the conversation when I spy the old, framedSurf City Highphoto Annie had hanging up leaning against the wall. I’ve always loved that picture.
I run—not walk—to pick it up. “Hey Britt, you’re not putting this back up, are you? Can I have it?”
My ploy works, and Britta turns from Diva to me. “Why wouldn’t I put that back up? It belongs here.”
“It’s old and embarrassing.” I shift the large frame to rest on my hips and scrutinize it. I hated being on the show, but I loved the time I spent with my friends.
“Aren’t you two married? It’d be weird not to put it back up.” Diva has no problem expressing her opinion, which I respect, but I don’t want to look at my face every time I come in here. I didn’t have a say when this shop wasAnnie’s,but I ought to now that my wife owns it.
But Diva’s not done. “You gotta play that up, girl. Fill this whole place with pictures of your famous man. That’ll bring in the surfers and the tourists. Wife of Liam Dexter making their coffee.”
Britta looks from me to Diva, then back again, like she’s actually considering what Diva’s said.
“Don’t make it about me, Britt,” I say, but her lip is already curling into a smile.
“I won’t make it about you, but I could make it about surfing,” she says.
Mitzi stands, shifting side to side until Britta looks at her. “You could call it Frothed.”
“Frothed?” Britta’s brow wrinkles, and I realize she doesn’t get why it’s actually the perfect name.
“Frothing is a surf term,” I tell her. “It means excited or stoked, but froth is also the foam left after a wave breaks.”
“I like the idea of a word that’s used for coffee and surfing.” Britta’s eyes scan the room, bouncing over everyone here but not seeing us. “We could fill the walls with surfing pictures, make it a whole theme.” Then she really gets stoked. “Dex, do you have an old board you could sign, and I could hang up?”
Spoiler Alert. I don’t say no. I couldn’t say no to Britta if I tried.
Over the next five days, after getting a logo made and ordering signage and product, I help Britta hang one million pictures, not just of me, but of every local surfer I can get a signed picture from. Both of us know it’s a bad idea to make this place about me when we’re not planning on staying married.
