Luke solved the problem by taking a small step back, hands in his pockets. “Let me know if you want to see more secret Laguna spots. I’ve got a whole tour planned.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Meg smiled, then added impulsively, “Or maybe I could show you something for a change.”
“Like what?” Luke looked intrigued.
“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But there must be something I remember that you don’t.”
“Challenge accepted.” His smile made something flip in her chest, a sensation both familiar and new. “Good night, Meg.”
“Good night, Luke.”
As she drove back to Tyler’s house, Meg found her thoughts divided between her concerns about Margo and her conversation with Luke. His suggestion echoed in her mind—maybe the best help was just being there, showing Margo she didn’t have to handle everything alone.
Back at Tyler’s, she dutifully opened her laptop, responding to emails and reviewing documents for tomorrow’s client call. But periodically, her gaze drifted to the window, where the moon hung over theocean, pulling the tides just as it had when she was eighteen.
Some things remained constant, regardless of how far you traveled or how completely you reinvented yourself. And maybe some people were worth slowing down for, worth understanding rather than trying to fix.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The afternoon lull had just settled over the Beach Shack when the screen door creaked open and two people stepped inside like they owned the sunshine.
Meg glanced up from the register and froze for a second, her brain catching up with the visual.
The woman wore a sundress in citrus shades of orange and green, her hair pulled up in a loose knot that was half beach, half chaos. Sunglasses were propped on her head like she’d forgotten they were there—and might knock them off with a hand gesture at any moment.
“I love it here,” the woman said, grinning. "It smells like grilled cheese and sunscreen. Perfect.”
"Can I help you?" Meg asked.
"You're Tyler's sister, right?" Dirk said, offering a warm handshake. "Dirk Crabtree. I'm friends with your brother."
"Oh!" the woman beside him said, her face lighting up. "So you're family. I'm Carrie." She gestured between herself and Dirk. “We’re from Newport. But we always make time for the Shack.”
Dirk nodded toward the menu board. "We were in the neighborhood, and the Beach Shack is non-negotiable when we're in Laguna."
Carrie leaned on the counter. "Two of the classics, please. Extra pickles. And root beer if you've got it."
Meg smiled despite herself. "Coming right up."
They wandered to the back patio while Meg passed the order to Joey, who was quietly prepping for the final stretch of the day.
"They're nice," Joey said. "They come in every few months. Always order the same thing."
"Do they always show up looking like they're shooting a travel magazine cover?" Meg asked, watching as Dirk held the door for Carrie with theatrical courtesy.
Joey shrugged. "Pretty much."
A few minutes later, Meg brought their tray to the patio. Carrie was already settled into a turquoise Adirondack chair, sunglasses back on, feet tucked under her.
"You have no idea how happy this makes me," she said, accepting the sandwich like it was sacred.
Dirk took his with a grin. "You can keep your Michelin stars. This place is all-time."
Meg hesitated before retreating inside, and Dirkcaught her eye. "Hey, just so you know—if this place ever went on the market, I'd be the first in line."
Carrie smacked his arm. "You said you weren't going to bring it up."
"I'm not bringing it up," Dirk said mildly. "I'm just saying—legacy or not, the Beach Shack would make one hell of a second act."
