35. Britta

Chapter thirty-five

Britta

T wice now, Dex and I have proven we can share a bed like an old married couple who've been together for fifty years and don't have sex. After our talk, we keep the cuddling to a minimum, and we definitely don't kiss. Even though we're in the same bed, newly married, and we're really good at kissing. But we've set boundaries, and we're going to stick to them.

After my brothers leave early the next morning, I assume Dex will move his stuff back to his room, but he decides to wait until after he's surfed and helped me at the coffee shop. Thank goodness, because while we're cleaning up the renovation aftermath, Dex gets a call from an INS agent.

I can tell that's who it is when his face loses color, and he says, "yes that's correct. I'm married to an American."

We both knew we'd get a call at some point, but we're both surprised it's happened so soon.

The call doesn't last over two minutes, but Dex's face is still ashen. "She says she'll set up interviews with both of us after she does a home visit."

"A home visit?" I feel the color drain from my face. "When? Why?"

Dex shakes his head. "She didn't say. She'll just show up one day to make sure we're living in the same place as a married couple."

We both know what will happen if she doesn't believe us. Dex will be deported, and I could be arrested.

"Move into my room. At least until we don't have to worry about any surprise inspections. And we've got to tell each other everything about ourselves." Panic claws its way from my stomach to my chest. "I can't remember your parents' names. Do you even remember mine? I do not look good in orange, Dex." I don't even know if orange is standard prison color, but I'm not taking any chances.

"You're right," Dex nods. "But we'll be fine, yeah? We've slept in the same bed with no problems."

"Exactly. I'm not worried." I go back to scrubbing down the espresso machines to prove just how unworried I am.

"Me neither." Dex picks up two half-full cans of paint, stopping just before he steps outside. "Pete and Heidi, right? That's your parents' names?"

I nod and he smiles before lugging the cans to the small storage unit out back. We spend the rest of the day not being worried about the fact we'll be sharing a bed tonight and for the foreseeable future.

It's not until after we're home and Dex has moved all of his stuff to my room that we face the reality of our situation. We'd be safer from each other if we slept in separate beds, but we have no idea how closely the INS will look at our living arrangements. Will it be enough to look like we share a room without actually sleeping in the same bed? Or will they show up one day when Dex doesn't make his bed and starts asking questions we can't answer about how often we sleep together?

So we go with an abundance of caution approach and climb into bed together.

I've just erected a dividing line of pillows between us when Dex scrambles off the bed and goes to the thermostat on the wall.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Turning the A/C down really low. If I have to wear pyjamas, it's got to be too cold for me to take them off."

"Good plan. Take it down to sixty—Fahrenheit, not Celsius." I have no idea what cold is in Celsius, but I do know two things. This room can not get any hotter if Dex is going to be sleeping in my bed.

When he climbs back under the covers, he rolls over on his back and crosses his hands over his chest.

"Let's talk baby names," he says.

"Baby names?" There's obviously been a miscommunication. Maybe Celsius has a second sexual meaning in Australia.

"For your shop. That baby." His voice is so dry, there's no way to miss the teasing in it.

"Ha." I flip onto my back, accidentally brushing his elbow with mine. Just that smallest touch makes me want to be closer to him.

"We can still cuddle, right?" I ask him. "Especially with it being an icebox in here?

He answers by pulling me into his arms, and I rest my head against the boniest part of his shoulder so I can't get too comfortable. Just to be safe.

"How about Britta's Brew? Or Britta's Beans?" Dex asks.

"I don't want my name on it. I want people to understand it's a coffeeshop just from the name, but I don't want it to be about me. The shop is really about people like Diva and Mitzi." I keep my eyes on the ceiling, because I'm focusing. I will not get distracted by Dex.

"So, you want something that will draw attention to the work you're doing with the homeless?" He asks, also speaking to the ceiling.

"No. That feels performative, like I'm doing it so we can all feel like we're doing something complicated to solve an easy problem, when really it's the other way around." I reach up to still Dex's fingers tapping my shoulder, and somehow our hands end up linked. "That, and I don't want anyone who works for me to be defined by their circumstances."

Dex huffs a laugh.

"What?"

"You're really good at putting other people first. I reckon that's what I like most about you." He squeezes my hand. "But also, the reason we have to keep this between us at a business level."

"I've never shared a bed with a business partner. Probably because my brothers have been my only business partners."

"Yeah?" His chin scrapes the top of my head when he looks down at me. "Archie and I have shared lots of beds—'specially in the early days. This is standard business operations for me."

I laugh.

"Never kissed him, though." Dex goes on. "Or anyone else I've been in business with. You hold that rare honor."

"Maybe we should change the subject."

Dex doesn't miss a beat. "How about Deja Brew?"

I roll the words over my tongue. "I like it, but I think I want something a little more sophisticated than whimsical."

We go back and forth with a few more ideas until Dex suggests West Coast Brew.

"It's good, but not quite there." Then it hits me. "West Coast Roast! What do you think?"

"Perfect," he says with a yawn. Within minutes, he's asleep in my bed.

The next morning when Dex comes downstairs, I assume he's getting ready to surf. Then I notice that he's not only wearing a shirt but also real shoes, not flip-flops. The only other time I've seen him in both shoes and shirt was on our wedding day.

"What's the occasion?" I hand him the flat white I've just made with the gourmet espresso machine in the fancy kitchen.

"We've still got work to do at West Coast Roast, right?" He sips from his mug, then raises his eyebrows in approval.

"Don't you have your own work to do? You've been out of the country for two weeks."

"Out of the country working. I told you I'd help, and I'm going to help… but we should probably leave before Archie shows up. I've done my yoga and meditation, but surf will have to come later."

One thing I've learned about Dex since we've been married is that he's very dedicated to his training routine. His mornings always start with yoga or strength training—either with a video or his personal instructor—then surfing. His meals are more balanced than Simone Biles on a beam and he has a strict bedtime. At least, he does when he sleeps in his own bed.

Dex's discipline is impressive. But also, a little disappointing, because I doubt he'll deviate from our decision to keep our relationship strictly business. Or at least, mostly business with a healthy slice of friendship. Business platonic?

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 new Britta's in 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.