Meg tried to laugh, but it caught a little in her throat. "We're not selling."
"Didn't think so," Carrie said. "Just had to hear it from the source."
From inside, Margo's voice floated through the open window. "Not for sale. Never has been."
Dirk looked up and grinned. "Hi, Margo! You look great today!"
"Flattery won't get you a deed," Margo called back, but her voice held fondness.
Dirk laughed and raised his root beer in salute. "Worth a try."
They finished their meal in silence, watching the surf and the lazy flight of gulls. Before they left, Dirk ducked back inside and left a generous tip in the jar by the register.
"You sure you don't want to sell just a little piece of it?" he teased Meg. "Maybe a commemorative napkin holder?"
Meg shook her head, smiling. "Nice try."
Dirk winked. "Had to shoot my shot."
As they walked back to their convertible, Joey walked up beside Meg at the counter.
"He says that every time. About buying the place."
Meg folded a receipt, thoughtful. "Does he?"
"Like clockwork."
Outside, the car engine purred to life, and Dirk pulled away from the curb, giving a quick wave through the open window. Meg silently watched them go.
She turned back toward the counter, the bell jingling behind her. The lunch rush was over, but there was a long list of things still to be accomplished before they'd be finished for the day.
The kitchen door swung open, and Margo stepped out, her apron slightly dusty with flour from the afternoon's bread prep.
“Trying to buy my restaurant again, I see,” she said, but there was amusement in her voice.
"Something like that," Meg said.
"Mmm." Margo began wiping down the counter with practiced efficiency. "That Dirk's been making offers since the first time he walked in here. I think it's become a game at this point."
"Would you ever consider it?" Meg asked, the question surprising them both. "Selling, I mean."
Margo's hand stilled on the counter. She looked up at Meg with an expression that was hard to read.
"That's a loaded question coming from you," she said quietly.
"I didn't mean—" Meg began, but Margo held up a hand.
"No, it's fair to ask. You're here helping me figure out what comes next, aren't you?"
Joey, apparently sensing the shift in conversation, made himself busy reorganizing the condiment station.
"I suppose I should ask you the same thing," Margo continued. "Have you thought about what happens after Tyler comes back? After your work situation stabilizes?"
Meg realized this was the conversation they'd been dancing around since she arrived. "I honestly don't know."
"That's honest, at least."
Margo moved to the window, looking out at the handful of customers still lingering on the patio. The late afternoon light caught the silver in her hair, and for a moment she looked every one of her eighty years.
