Page 2 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“You want your order to stay or go?” I know which one I want, and I hope he hears my invitation.
“Reckon I’ll stay for a bit.”
Invitation heard, accepted, and, if I’m not mistaken, he’s given an invitation of his own. I’m not sure to what yet, but I’d like to find out.
“Find a seat. I’ll bring out your order when it’s ready.” I let my smile grow wider after he has turned away.
The next hour is crazy busy with people in and out, the bell above my door continually ringing in the official start of the summer season. The weekends before Memorial Day bring in a few visitors, but May thirty-first marks the beginning of the busiest three months of the year. And while I don’t get any orders as challenging as Dex’s, the day seems brighter with him sitting in a corner, trying to hide the fact his gaze keeps drifting back to me. But I don’t miss that his eyes are on me as often as they’re on his phone.
Maybe I should be creeped out by that, but his smile is too boyish to give off stalker vibes. Plus, he’s in Paradise to seeGeorgia and Cassie, which gives him instant credibility. Georgia might be taken in by a charmer (she got taken by Zach, after all), but Cassie is ex-LAPD. She’d handcuff a player for hitting on me.
Just as things slow down, Dex stands. He ambles to the counter and lays down a ten-dollar bill.
“The e-bell-skiveh was excellent. The flat white coulda been a bit stronger but was almost as good as in Aus.”
I assume when he saysoz,he means Australia. I push his money back to him. “A deal’s a deal. You can pay me when my flat white is better than what you’ve had in Aus.”
Golden rays of laughter flicker in his eyes. “Cracker idea, Britta. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
Dex ambles out the door in the same easy gait he used to approach the counter. Like he’s got all the time in the world, and no cares weighing him down. No business to run. No family to help whenever they need an extra hand—which is always. No mom he’s watched slowly slip away too soon.
Having things you care about is a good thing—I’m aware of that. But Dex’s worry-free air is infectious. I want some of that.
Dex keeps his word and comes back the next day, and the next.
Whatever makes everything shiny when Dex is around, I’m into it. Over the next five days, he spends every morning atBritta’s,his gentle teasing pushing me to make coffee as good as what he’s had at home. And when he lets slip he’s a professional surfer, I tease him about getting an actual job. If pro-surfing is anything like the pro-rodeoing some cowboys around here do, Dex makes a little money but mostly spends his time chasing both cash prizes and girls.
His laugh lightensthe atmosphere like a blue sky after a hailstorm, so I don’t mind him flirting with me. He can chase all he wants. He’s not going to catch me. We both understand he’s here for a week, maybe two, and then he’ll go back to his life a long way away from here. Even further in lifestyle than miles.There are no professional surfer positions in Paradise, and I’m not going anywhere.
He tries to pay for his coffee each day, but I’m determined to get him to say my coffee is as good as—if not better—than an Aussie brew. I barely know Dex, but this is important, and I’m up for the challenge.
Except, he’s only in Paradise for a week, and by the end of his stay, I still haven’t beaten all of Australia at coffee. The morning he’s headed to the airport to fly back to LA, I don’t expect to see him. But when he saunters in during a lull between customers, I’m thrilled to have one more chance to prove my mettle as a barista, and to look into his copper-toned eyes one last time.
By some miracle, Dex is the only customer in the café, and my employees are in back doing dishes and prepping ebelskiver batter. For the first time, we’re alone.
I don’t bother asking him what he’d like before I make it. He leans against the condiment counter instead of taking a seat, so I pour his flat white in a to-go cup before carrying it to him. Dex takes the cup from me, his fingers brushing mine.
“You should try it before you go.” I want to see his reaction when he tastes the last cup of coffee I’ll ever make for him.
I know what I’ve accomplished with this flat white. I’ve spent the little free-time I’ve had researching how the best baristas make them in Australia and then done my best to copy the method: finely ground beans and perfect water to bean ratio. If this cup doesn’t convince him that at least one American can brew coffee as good as any Australian, he’s lying to himself. Which is fine, but he won’t get away with lying to me.
Dex takes a slow sip, and his eyebrows go up. His lip follows, curving with satisfaction behind his to-go cup.
“You can say it. You won’t lose your Australian citizenship.” I step closer, just in case he tries to escape before admitting thetruth. Also, he smells really great. Like coconut sunscreen and a fresh, salty, summer breeze.
“I might.” He lowers his cup and my stomach dips at the sight of his dimples. “But I’ll take my chances.”
He sets the coffee on the counter, then hooks two fingers around the apron strings I’ve wrapped around my back and tied in front, just below my belly button. Despite the layer of apron and shirt, his fingertips scrape the top of my jeans as he pulls me closer.
I’m surprised by this, but I don’t resist when Dex draws his hand across my stomach to my lower back then slides his other hand to my jaw. I need no more prompting than this to tip my chin to him. I expected enthusiasm for my flat white, but until right now, I never expected he’d show his enthusiasm by pressing his lips to mine, kissing me with an eagerness that turns my legs to jelly.
Apparently, Dexreallylikes my coffee.
His lips are Chapstick smooth, and he tastes rich and spicy with the exact right amount of sweet. Like a good brew should.
“Best flat white I’ve had…in the States,” is the last thing he says to me before leaving.
And it’s the perfect goodbye.
