37. Britta

Chapter thirty-seven

Britta

M y watch buzzes with a text but Frothed is slammed with a line out the door, my new trainee, Josh, needs a lot of guidance— heaps , as Dex would say—and someone laid a plastic spoon on one of my ebelskiver pans while it was hot, so I'm short one pan until I can clean that mess up. I don't have time to look at my watch, let alone respond to a text if I did.

It's hours later before I do. I smile when I read Dex's name, then reach for my phone when I see he's attached a picture. I pull up the message and laugh.

Hey darl, I've done my husbandly duty and filled in the calendar.

Only takes me a second to suss out darl is short for darling. Aussies are pros at clipping words.

I tap the picture and pull it big enough to see it's a closeup of November thirtieth—the day my family is scheduled to leave—and the words DATE NIGHT.

My first thought is Dex has made the most romantic gesture I can think of. My mom and dad did the same thing for each other. If they didn't schedule time together, it wouldn't happen. Mom swore it's what kept their marriage strong through really difficult times. Dad kept their date nights going even after Mom didn't understand what he was doing.

My second thought—the one that opens a hole in my chest—is that Dex is teasing. He wouldn't realize that the words date night sent a triple surge of excitement, hope, and nostalgia through me. With the memory of my parents and the longing to someday have what they had, heat surges through my veins.

Because maybe I already have what they had at the beginning of their marriage, but I'm too focused on ending up hurt if I act on my feelings. Maybe, despite what Mom always taught me, I'm letting fear about my future get in the way of enjoying my now.

I go back to work and spend a few minutes considering how to answer in a neutral way so that if he's not teasing, he'll understand I'm looking forward to an official date with him. But if he is teasing, I don't want him to know how much I wanted him to not be.

I can't think of anything. It's already been a few hours since he texted, and I don't want him to think I'm avoiding answering, so I just go with what I know how to do best. I'm direct.

I hope you're being serious.

I hold my breath as I push send.

My face is only slightly blue when his text comes in soon after.

Deadset.

There's no holding back my grin now. Or my relief.

Except Dex is leaving tomorrow, and I haven't spent much time with him since Frothed opened. As busy and crazy as my life has been, I miss him. I thought, when we decided not to have a real relationship, that staying busy would be enough to fill every empty place in my heart. I'm a little afraid of what it means that being busy isn't enough.

But also, a little excited.

Does that mean I'm ready for love? Maybe. But I'm still not sure I'm ready for the pain and heartache that so often goes hand-in-hand with loving someone. A hand in mine through life's difficulties, though, would be nice. A shared calendar with regular date nights; waking up next to someone, or—better yet—in his arms; having a person to laugh and cry with; necessary hugs. I think I might be ready for all that, even if with Dex's schedule, it would mean a lot of days and nights alone, too.

Will I see you before you leave?

I've got an event tonight but will try to cut out early.

I debate whether to give his reply a heart or a thumbs up, but what I mostly feel is disappointment we won't have more time together, even if he leaves his event early. A thumbs down feels too dramatic, so I go with the thumbs up. It's really my only option.

Then I go back to work, less stressed and a lot lighter than I've felt in days. The question that keeps rolling through my head, when I'm not making coffee or doing one of the thousand other things I have to do, is why I thought it would be easier to keep distance between Dex and me instead of staying close enough we can buoy each other up.

I don't have an answer until I get home after seven pm, exhausted, hungry, and ready for human interaction that doesn't involve any kind of work. But the house is dark, and Dex isn't home. I'm alone again.

I make myself some spaghetti, including extra for Dex, in case he gets home soon. Around eight o'clock, I put it in a Tupperware and stick it in the fridge. When the clock hits nine, I can barely keep my eyes open.

I take a quick shower, then climb into bed. I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow. So dead asleep that when someone says my name, I gasp awake, not sure where I am or who's standing over me.

"It's just me, Britt," Dex whispers.

"What time is it?" I'm still disconcerted.

"Around eleven. Sorry I'm so late."

I roll onto my back to see him better. "That's okay. I crashed early. What time's your flight tomorrow?"

He put it on the calendar, but my head's still fuzzy.

"Seven am. We're leaving at five."

So, we won't get time together before he goes. I don't say that aloud, but he must sense it because he brushes a lock of hair from my forehead, a gesture that sends pinpricks of fire down my spine every time he does it.

"Mind if we cuddle tonight?" he asks.

I don't have to think about it. I've already made space for him before I answer. "I'd like that."

Dex climbs in, and I find the space that's become so familiar to me in the pocket between his shoulder and chest.

"I like the calendar," he says, pulling me close.

"I like to know where you are. You don't feel so far away when I know you'll be home again." If I were more awake, I could be less vulnerable. I could just say I like schedules. It would be the truth, just not the whole of it.

But the work of keeping my heart locked is exhausting. I've always been able to bury myself in work. Work kept me from breaking down in tears every day Mom got a little worse. I can't do it now. Not when I have a chance at more happiness than pain.

"I like being able to schedule time with you," Dex says in a tone that is both teasing and serious. "I've missed you. I'm going to miss you even more these next two weeks."

I scoot in closer, breathing in his scent, locking it into my memory for the next two weeks or more. The fact I'm holding Dex as close as I can is the only way I can communicate how much I'm going to miss him. I don't have any words left. I let his warmth and the sound of his breathing lull me back to sleep.

The next morning, we oversleep fifteen minutes and have to both rush out the door with only a quick see you soon . Maybe if we'd had time, there would have been a kiss. Last night feels like a bit of a turning point. We didn't say it explicitly, but I think we both want to go back on our decision to keep things professional. I think we agree that a business marriage sucks.

At least I hope we do, because by the time I get to Frothed, my chest is cinched so tight I can hardly breathe, and I think I understand what Bear meant when he said being in love means aching when you're not with your person.

I've just unlocked the door when my phone pings. Once I'm inside, and I've flipped on the lights, I pull up my messages.

Wanted to kiss you goodbye. I'm a sook. Can I kiss you hello when I'm back?

Always.

It turns out that Hawaii has much better reception than the Azores, and there's only a three-hour time difference instead of seven. That means some late nights for me, but we call every day. Our conversations are usually short, because three hours is still a big difference, but we text throughout the day as well.

Being able to talk to Dex makes the first week go faster than it should have. I still miss him, but I'm not as lonely as I was during his Azores trip. And the second week he's gone, my family and Stella's family arrive on Monday to prep for the Thanksgiving holiday. The chaos and commotion that arrive with them don't leave any space for loneliness and barely any to miss Dex.

I don't hear from him on Monday, but the date circled on our calendar gets one day closer as I make an X through the Monday square at the end of the night. Dad nods when he sees it, but his approval quickly disappears after asking when Dex will be home for the holiday, and I have to tell him he won't.

"Australians don't celebrate Thanksgiving. He didn't realize he was training over the holiday." I shrug off Dad's question and the eyes of everyone else waiting for my answer. "He's in Hawaii prepping for his big competition in January."

When more questions come, I use some of Dex's explanations he's given me. "Surfing isn't the same as football where you have a field or a stadium in every town—he has to go where the waves are."

Georgia and Evie both try to dig into the relationship part, but I give quick, shallow answers. Then Stella comes to my rescue and redirects the conversation like a boss. I suspect Georgia picks up on what we're doing, but by Tuesday she stops pushing, and I stop feeling so anxious about my family discovering the real reason I married Dex.

That worry is replaced with a different one when Dex hasn't returned any of my texts or calls for the second day in a row. I try to push my concern aside by telling myself he's just busy surfing, but something feels wrong.

The day before Thanksgiving, I close Frothed a few hours early so I can cook with my family. This is how we celebrate: cooking and eating together. This is the first big holiday we'll be celebrating without Mom, but we've felt her loss for years. She used to be at the center of all the holiday cooking, but the last few years we couldn't even let her in the kitchen for fear she'd hurt herself.

In a way, it helps that we're not at home celebrating. Her absence is less noticeable in this house where we've never had a family celebration before. But that only lasts until we start baking and cooking. When the smells of her recipes for cider-brined turkey, stuffing with apples and sausage, and candied sweet potatoes waft through the air, we feel Mom there with us. But there's something different about it. Sorrow, of course, but maybe we've all worked through enough that the joyful memories—that I think were harder to focus on when she was here, but not herself—rise to the surface.

Pretty soon we're swapping stories about the mom she'd been, along with bites of whatever dish we're working on. We talk over each other, laughing at our different versions of events from our childhood. An occasional leak springs from our eyes as we talk about Mom, but it hurts less. As much as we all miss her, we're eventually able to talk about what she went through with Alzheimer's and how grateful we are she's not suffering anymore.

We're able to remember her how she'd want to be remembered instead of watching her slip away right before our eyes. In a way, it feels like we have her back, and I'm grateful to have my family around me for Thanksgiving. It wasn't easy for them to arrange this trip, but they did it and I can feel so much healing from this time together.

It's amid all the chaos in the kitchen that I feel my phone buzz in my apron pocket. I pull it out, relieved to see Dex's name.

"Hey," I answer, then walk outside to the back patio for some privacy.

"Britta?" Instead of Dex, Archie's on the line, the worry in his voice loud and clear from the other side of the ocean I'm looking at.

"Archie?" My heart is already in my throat. "What's wrong?"

"Dex is hurt."