Page 59 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“About forty thousand for each of us,” Zach answers.
“I’m willing to give you my share, Britta,” Bear says.
“No way, Bear.” I don’t even have the words out before my dad and brothers follow with the same offer. “I couldn’t let any of you do that.”
While I don’t want to take the money, I can’t help thinking about how two hundred thousand dollars would be a good-sized starter fund onAnnie’s.Not enough to buy it outright—not even close with the value of both the business itself and the beach-adjacent property it’s on. But I could do it. I could have my coffee shop in LA, live by the beach, and make a new start on my own.
Then I realize something. “Will you be able to open the newBritta’sif you give me your shares?”
One at a time, my brothers and dad shake their heads.
“Then no. I won’t take it. I don’t know what I’ll do with my share yet, but I won’t take anyone else’s.”
Dad opens his mouth to say something, and I stop him. “But thank you all. Your generosity…”
I can’t finish the sentence. The sacrifice they were all willing to make is so much bigger than money, but it’s too big. I can give upBritta’sif I know it will survive. A newer version is better than no version at all.
We talk a little more—and cry. It’s possible there’s more crying than talking until we finally give up and end the call with snifflingI love you’s.
Stella waits zero seconds before she comes into my room. “I heard everything. You Thomsens are loud.” She throws her arms around me, and I cry some more.
When I finally get my emotions back under control, I say, “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”
“You’re going to buyAnnie’s!” she says confidently.
“There’s not enough money.” I haven’t given up on the idea of buyingAnnie’s; but I’ll need a lot of financing.“This is LA, beach adjacent, and not just the business, the property, too. I might be a small-town girl, but I’m not naïve enough to think I can buy Annie’s with forty thousand dollars.”
Stella takes my face in her hands and looks me straight in the eyes. “Then you have only one more question to answer…” she pauses long enough for maximum dramatic effect. “Are you going to say yes to the Dex?”
Chapter twenty-two
Dex
Approximately eighteen hours after the most humiliating moment of my life—and I don’t have a shortage of humiliating moments—the woman who witnessed it is on the landing. She peers over the railing as I carry my board up the stairs to my apartment.
My team lost the AFL match yesterday, I had to admit to Archie that I’d proposed to Britta and she’d said no, Rhys was bent out of shape about me inviting the girls over—Stella asked him a million and one questions—and I had a crap morning on the waves. So, I’m not exactly excited to see Britta and relive the humiliation of her rejection.
I told Archie all along that it was a stupid idea, then I went ahead and did it anyway, and made myself out to be a desperate idiot. I don’t blame Britta for saying no—even though I think I’d make a pretty decent fake husband. It was a lot to ask—tying herself to me long enough for me to get citizenship.
The thing I’m most upset about that I did, though, is mess up the good thing we had going. She’s probably decided to leave Monday after all.
“Hi Liam,” Britta says when I reach the landing. Her greeting isn’t cold, but it’s not warm either.
“Morning, Britta.” I angle myself and my board around her to my door.
“It’s afternoon.”
I pause long enough to really look at her, wondering if it wasn’t a coincidence running into her. Maybe she was waiting for me. “Good arvo, then.”
Her face screws into a question, but I don’t have the energy to explain arvo is just a quicker—better—way to say afternoon. That’s the beauty of Australian English. We get our point across without a bunch of extra words and syllables.
“Can we talk for a minute?” Britta follows me inside.
I set my board against the wall and sigh. “Can it wait? I’m knackered.”
She stiffens, and I notice she’s clutching folded sheets of paper. “No, it can’t. It’s important. But if you can’t spare two minutes, I’ll go.”
She turns to leave, and I feel bad for snapping. It’s not her fault I’m embarrassed. I was the idiot who asked her to marry him on our first official date. I can’t be mad at her for having brains enough to say no.
