Britta nods her understanding. “From what Frankie’s told me about her, you were right to listen. Let me try Frankie. Maybe I can sus out where she is without giving you away.”
She takes her phone from her apron pocket, and air fills mylungs for the first time in hours. But her call goes straight to voicemail.
“Maybe she’s still at her callback.” Britta starts to tuck her phone back into her apron, but something stops her. Maybe the general air of desperation wafting off me. “Let me try Archie. He might know. I think she’s staying with him.”
“Thanks.” A sigh of relief punctuates my gratitude. “I’ve tried him. He hasn’t answered.”
“Well, he doesn’t have a good reason not to take my call.” Her friendly tone makes her dig sharper.
While I wait for Britta to dial, I jam my hands in my back pockets and survey the neighborhood. Frankie’s told me about living around here when she first came to America. It’s nice. The beach is only a block away, and a humid saltiness blends with the sharp smell of good coffee coming from Frothed. I doubt Archie will pick up, but maybe Britta will feel sorry enough for me to offer a cup of coffee.
I’ve barely taken my eyes off Britta before she says, “Hey, Archie.”
So, yeah, he’s for sure been avoiding my calls.
“How are you?” she asks gently, listens for a few seconds, then “How are the plans for the service going? Dex and I are planning to go.”
I force myself not to rock back and forth while Britta’s conversation with Archie lasts roughly a lifetime. They’re clearly talking about Frankie’s dad, which only makes me feel worse about what I’ve done. Not only did I basically send her packing instead of celebrating her callback, I did it when she was mourning her father’s passing.
Not cool, Cal. Not cool.
Finally, when I’m skirting inches from despair, Britta catches my eye. “Hey, Arch, I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.”
Pause.
“Cal Holloway.”
Longer pause while she nods, like she’s agreeing with whatever Archie is saying, which can’t be good. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”
Britta turns her back to me and whispers loudly, “He seems pretty busted up about it. Looks like he’s been crying.”
I wipe a hand over my face. I thought I’d cleaned up all the signs of tears. Then she looks over her shoulder and winks like we’re sharing a secret.
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. I can do that.” She grins and gives me a thumbs up that’s like a steroid injection. I feel alive again.
When the call ends, she tucks her phone back into her apron with an air of success that increases my hope even more.
Until she says, “Archie wants to meet you in person.”
“In person?” I repeat.
“Everyone does,” she says brightly, like that should make me feel better—meeting a vague “everyone” who probably wants to punch me as much as Archie does.
“Everyone?”
“You know, theSurf Citycrew…”
My mouth drops. Frankie’s “crew” is as famous as she is.
“Stella and Piper, too,” she adds. “They’ve all got questions for you.”
“Where is this interrogation by celebrities happening?”
Britta laughs. “Kenzo’s. Dinner will be served with your interrogation. You’ll have to get everybody’s approval before Archie grants you access to Frankie.”
I blink, then nod. “Okay. That’s fair.”
She slips off her apron and unlocks Frothed’s door. “All right, then. Do you like sushi?”
