Page 92 of Britta & the Beach Boy
Now, how do I tell her never mind?
I could sleep on the couch in the sitting area, except it’s small and covered with Britta’s folded clothes. Her brothers must have brought more than themselves and their tools when they showed up because boxes labeledBrittaare stacked around the couch. They must have brought some things from home for her, which are now serving as a subtle reminder to me she hadn’t planned on staying more than six weeks before I proposed the marriage that I promised would be strictly business.
The easiest thing to do tonight would be to fall asleep before she gets into bed and avoid any temptation to act on our feelings for each other. But as tired as I am, that’s not what happens. I’m still wide awake, lying on top of the bed, wearing more clothes than I’ve slept in since my mum quit putting me in pyjamas, when Britta tiptoes in.
She goes straight for the bathroom, and for the next twenty minutes I listen to the buzzing of her electric toothbrush, then running water. Light peeks from under the door, and when the toothbrush, then the water stops, I hear her bare feet pad over the tile floor. Hard as I try, I can’t stop myself picturing Britta changing for bed and wondering what she’ll put on.
I hope it’s something easy for me to say no to. Thick, flannel pyjamas under a floor-length robe. A retainer or otherorthodontia. One of those green face mask things women put on in the movies might do the trick.
The door opens and muffled footsteps follow as Britta makes her way across the plush carpet to the bed. Steam from the bathroom follows her, making the room more humid than the air outside.
“You still awake, Dex?” Britta whispers as she climbs under the duvet.
I should fake sleep.
I don’t.
“Yeah.”
“Can we talk for a minute?” Her voice ripples through the surrounding air, and I couldn’t say no even if I’d really wanted to.
“Reckon we can talk as long as I can keep my eyes open.” I turn to face her, propping my head in my hand. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m wondering what’s on yours. We didn’t really finish talking before you left, and we didn’t talk at all while you were gone.” Britta flips on her side, peering at me through the dark.
I can’t see what she’s got on below her waist but she’s wearing a jumper on top, and I should be relieved, not disappointed, about that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize reception would be so shoddy.”
She nods slowly, like she wants to believe me, but doesn’t quite. “I guess I’m wondering if you still want to make this… our relationship… more than a business deal.” Britta’s words are careful. “I’m asking…” she continues. “Because—and maybe you’re just tired and I’m jumping to conclusions—it seems like something’s changed. But I need to know where I stand and what to expect, because when you came home today… I was really happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
I’m surprised by her directness. Britta is good at saying what’s on her mind, but not with feelings. Those she keeps tucked away like a Christmas present bought in July.
If she’d been less direct, maybe I could think of something to say besides the truth, but I can’t. She deserves my honesty.
I roll to my back, then scoot close enough to slip my arm around her and pull her to my chest. “My feelings for you haven’t changed Britta. The first few days in the Azores, all I wanted was to be back here with you. I couldn’t think about anything but you.”
Britta snuggles closer, resting her duvet-covered leg on mine. “I missed you, too.” Her arm comes from under the covers to cross my chest, and I can hardly breathe I want her so much.
But I can’t risk ruining our arrangement. I’m even more sure of that now than I was after Archie pointed out all the sacrifices Britta has made for me, and all that she could lose because of me. As if the fact I didn’t see it for myself would be enough evidence that I’m not ready to be a real husband to Britta, but then I come home to find her brothers here to help her with what I’d left her alone to do.
“But…” Britta says.
“But what?”
“You’re not saying everything. You couldn’t think about anything other than me,but…” Britta tips her head to peer at me, and her hair brushes my jaw. It’s damp and silky, and she smells fresh and clean. There’s a scent of lemon and vanilla, and I’m not sure if it’s from her lotion or shampoo.
I hug her closer and kiss the top of her head. “Britta, there’s nothing I want more than to be with you, which is exactly why I can’t be.”
Britta pulls away and sits up to stare at me. In the dim light, I feel more than see her eyes drill into me, and I try not to squirm.There’s more to say, but the way she’s studying me makes me keep my mouth shut.
“Because I’m a distraction?” she says finally.
I shake my head. “You’re not the problem. I am. If I can’t stay focused, I won’t make the Olympic team, and then you will have married me for nothing.”
Her lip tugs. “I got my coffee shop out of the deal, and I can help you stay focused. You said I’m the reason you won the Finals.”
She drops back to my chest with her chin resting on her hands.
I can’t stop my hand from resting on her lower back or my thumb from dragging along the top of her pyjama pants. “No. You got a loan from me to buy it. A loan you insist on paying back.”
