31. Britta

Chapter thirty-one

Britta

O ver the next week, while Dex surfs in the early morning, I head to Annie's to 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 with Annie's and to encourage me. The sale of Britta's hasn'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 let Britta's go 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 my Britta's comes down. I'm also relieved that Annie's is 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 for Annie's , they keep to themselves. Just like I keep to myself questions about just how much money 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 at Annie's to 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business in a resort town, I've noticed how some wealthy people act like their money makes them better than people with outdated clothes and beat-up trucks.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, the fact that he—and billionaire- 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—is a 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 at Annie's and 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 hear him .

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.

"A rookie or a newbie," Dex answers.

"She had a good teacher," Archie says.

"Sure. But did you see Britta out there?" Dex—always the competitor—shoots back.

Archie scoffs. "If she comes out every day, she'll be ready for a bigger wave once we're back."

I pop my head out of the hoodie, not sure I've heard Archie right. "Back from where? Are you going somewhere?"

Archie glances at Dex, who drops his head, letting Archie take the question. "The Azores."

"Where's that?" I assume somewhere close—like Lower Trestles or Huntington—until Dex shoots Archie a glare before turning to me.

"Middle of the Atlantic—a thousand miles off the coast of Portugal," he says in a tone heavy with apology.

"Oh." I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned it, and maybe a little hurt. Which quickly changes to annoyance with me for feeling anything at all and with Dex for acting like he needs to apologize for not telling me. What we have is a business arrangement, not a relationship.

"When do you leave?" I ask in as neutral a tone as I can manage.

"Tomorrow night," Archie answers.

"That soon?" Dex asks, digging his toes into the sand.

"Look at your calendar, mate. Everything's right there." Archie isn't just reminding Dex of his schedule. It sounds like he's reminding Dex what he should be focused on… and that's not me.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, too. I told you both that." Stella says to Archie and Dex, the protectiveness in her voice making things even worse. She's probably thinking Dex shouldn't be leaving me alone.

But I'm a big girl. Just because this will be my first time alone in LA, doesn't mean I can't handle it.

"Sounds fun," I say too cheerfully. "Good waves there, I'm guessing."

Stella tosses her towel on her board, then peels her arms out of her wetsuit. "I'd stay if I could, Britt. But Georgia needs me back in Paradise. They start filming Monday."

She looks at me, but her voice is barbed with blame directed at Dex and Archie, and they know it.

"We don't have to go," Dex says to Archie.

"Whatever you want, mate," Archie holds up his hands. "But you gotta get in more than these little waves here before Pipe."

"Nobody has to stay for me." I don't tiptoe around what everyone knows we're talking about. I push myself up and brush the sand from my butt. "I've got plenty to do with Annie's, but it's stuff I can do alone . "

That's a lie and they all know it. I've got remodeling plans to make, materials to find, supplies to order, account books to look over. I could use help just running errands. But I don't appreciate being handled like a crystal vase packaged in bubble wrap and labeled FRAGILE. I'll be fine by myself. In fact, it will be nice to finally have some time alone. I haven't had that in years.

"You could come with us," Dex says to me with a nervous anticipation.

My brain lights up with a rush of dopamine, tempting me to say yes, but Archie answers before I have a chance.

"No, she can't. You need to stay focused. Your training is already off this week." His voice rises. Not with anger. More with frustration. "You married Britta to get to the Olympics. Remember that."

"I haven't forgotten I have a wife," Dex says in a low, gravelly voice I've never heard. "That's why I want her to come with us. I don't want to leave her here alone."

Heat simmers between Archie and Dex, then prickles my skin as it travels to my chest and settles there, heavy and claustrophobic. It's the same feeling I had when my family told me what they'd decided about Britta's . Once again, I'm being left out of decisions that are about me. Dex and Stella don't think I can be alone, and Archie doesn't want me around.

So I do the one thing I can do: pretend I'm fine until I am.

With my back to all of them, I rummage through my bag and take out my wallet. "Are you surfing, Dex? I'm going to grab a snack to tide me over until we leave. I'm starved."

Without waiting for his answer, I walk toward the weathered snack stand, hoping it's actually open. I can't tell with my eyes watering, which fills me with a frustration that only makes them water more.

I shouldn't be upset. I can't even pinpoint why I am. Partly because Stella is leaving. That was always the plan—for her to leave before I did. But that was when this trip to LA was a long vacation, not a complete change in my life's trajectory.

And maybe I'm upset at Archie's reminder that my job as Dex's wife is to give Dex a legal path to the Olympics, then stay out of his way so he can focus on surfing. That was the deal I not only agreed to but also worked into my list of conditions.

Maybe I'm also a little afraid I've made a mistake buying Annie's and staying in LA instead of going back to Paradise and everything—and everyone—that I know. I am fine to be here alone, but I'm also nervous about it. I hate driving in this traffic and have been able to avoid it. I don't want to go to restaurants by myself or be alone in that big beach house. I'm used to being surrounded by people and now I won't be. I've traded all that comfort in for a fake marriage and a very expensive investment that could both go completely wrong.

The closer I get to the snack stand, the more my lungs burn and the shorter my breaths get. By the time I get to the sidewalk, I'm gasping for air. I bend over to stop the world from spinning, my hands on my knees, head below my heart.

"Britta?" Dex's voice is close, and his hand is on my back before I see him. "You alright?"

I nod, my breath already slowing at the sound of his voice and his touch, but I stay bent over and I'm humiliated that he's seeing me lose it like this.

"You sure about that?" He rubs his hand down my back, then up again.

I take a deep breath, stand upright, and give Dex a smile that's mostly real. "Yeah. I'm good."

He tips his head and studies me, letting seconds pass before he says, "I'm sorry about the trip. It's been scheduled for months. But why don't you come with me?"

I make a sound that's both a huff and a snort and could only be created with a lump in my throat. "I'll be okay here by myself. I'm just… tired. And I'll miss… uh, Stella."

Surprise crosses Dex's face. "Of course, you're okay here by yourself…" He lifts a shoulder. "I just like being with you. That's why I invited you. The Azores are gorgeous. You'd like it there and once you take over ownership of the shop, you won't be able to travel much, if at all."

The warmth in his honey brown eyes tempts me to say yes. California is the furthest I've ever been from Paradise, and I probably should take some time for myself while I still can. Traveling to another country sounds magical, especially with Dex. And I do love watching him surf, but…

"Would I have to fly?"

"Um, yes," Dex says. "It's in the middle of the ocean."

"Yeah, well, that's a deal breaker for me. I've sworn off air travel. And there's this little coffee shop idea I've been bouncing around." I shrug to emphasize how casual my little coffee shop is. "But I hope you have a great time."

Dex laughs. "Come on, Britt. If you can marry a fella you hardly know—one whose only skill is totally useless outside of the ocean—why are you so afraid to fly?"

"You have lots of skills beyond surfing, but you make a good point about the flying." I'm about to say maybe, but then something else comes out. "I can't."

He lowers his head and frowns, then looks back at me. "Even if I promise I'll follow all the rules?"

Now I let out a genuine laugh. "No, Dex. I'm not worried about that. I'd love to go, but I've never been out of the country. I don't have a passport."

A slow smile spreads across his face, and his relief is palpable. "We've gotta fix that, then. You've gotta be able to travel the world at a moment's notice if we're going to be married."

"I don't remember that being one of your conditions." My heart pounds. I'm wading into dangerous waters, but I follow the pull of the tide anyway. "But it's not too late to amend our contract."

"That's possible?" Dex moves closer, and his smile is replaced by a look I haven't seen before. Both serious and tentative. "Maybe we could make some changes to the kissing parts, too?"

Dex jokes a lot. He's not doing that now. He wasn't joking when he called me his wife or got in a tiff with his best friend over it. He wasn't joking when he said he wanted me to go to the Azores with him.

And I want to go. So. Much. Not just because I've always wanted to travel, but also because I'm really going to miss him.

I've loved almost every moment I've spent with Dex, even before we got married. The only moments I haven't loved are the ones where I've forced myself to keep my distance from him. The times when I could have touched him but didn't and every time I've said goodnight before going to bed alone, then waking in the morning wishing Dex were there.

"Maybe." I can barely speak.

Cautiously, Dex slips a hand around mine, then looks at me with a question. Is this okay? I don't pull away, which is all the answer he needs to step closer while brushing his thumb across the top of my wrist.

"Maybe more than kiss, Britta?" He leans his forehead against mine and my pulse takes off faster than if I were mainlining triple espresso shots. "You're so much more than a way to the Olympics for me. You stopped being that the second you became my wife."

"Your wife?" I haven't forgotten we're married, but hearing him say I'm his wife adds so much more weight to our agreement.

He's called me "my wife" twice today . Both times, the words have taken my breath away. I suspect they have the potential to always do that to me. Like when I crest the last mountain before dropping into Paradise Valley. Suddenly there's the lake shining turquoise blue in the center of it all, a sapphire set in gold. I've driven into that breathtaking view a million times, and I could do it a million more without ever tiring of its beauty.

Hearing Dex say my wife feels like going home.

And I'm terrified.

That's not what this relationship is supposed to be.

"What are you asking, Dex?" I whisper the question, both afraid and excited for the answer.

Dex puts a few inches between us, then lifts my chin to meet his eyes. "That we quit acting like what we feel—what we've both felt since the day we met—is a short-term business deal and see if it could be the real thing; a long-term deal."

There's an intensity in his gaze that I've only seen on the day of the Championship when he was determined to beat the odds and win. It's a look that dares me to rush in without thinking, without measuring the costs of getting in over my head and being pummeled by waves I'm not ready for.

When Dex lets go of my hand to tuck a wet strand of hair behind my ear, I catch his hand and clutch it by my side. In another day he'll be gone, and I don't want to let him go until then. "How long are you in Portugal?"

"A week. Maybe two. Depends on the waves."

I nod. Everything always depends on the waves.

And then, because waves are unpredictable, and I don't know when I'll have the chance again, I step into Dex's arms, slide my hands over his shoulders to the nape of his neck and kiss him hard enough to silence the ocean lapping the sand, the people squealing with delight in the water, and my own doubts.