When was the last time she’d looked that relaxed? That genuinely happy?
She wondered if she had any family photos in her Russian Hill apartment. A few, maybe, tucked away in drawers. But nothing like this—nothing that declared family as the central organizing principle of her life.
Anna’s bedroom was organized chaos—art supplies everywhere, canvases stacked against the walls, clothes draped over chairs. But the closet was surprisingly neat, and Meg found the middle shelf Anna had mentioned.
She paused. There it was. Gray with faded red lettering, soft from years of wear.
The Stanford sweatshirt.
The one she’d brought Anna after that long-forgotten college tour, telling her she could do anything, be anything. Anna had kept it all this time.
Meg slipped it on over her t-shirt. It was oversized and comfortable, perfect for a beach bonfire. But more than that, it felt like wearing a hug from her sister.
As she was leaving, she paused outside what must be Bea’s room. The door was partially open, revealing colorful artwork taped to the walls, a bed covered in stuffed animals, bookshelves packed with novels and art supplies. It felt private, personal—a teenager’ssanctuary. Meg resisted the urge to peek inside and quietly closed the door instead.
She took a quick selfie in the bathroom mirror—the Stanford sweatshirt visible, her hair loose around her shoulders, a small smile on her face.
She sent it to Anna with no caption.
The response came immediately:
Meg grabbed her keys and headed for the door. For the first time all day, the weight of family worries and financial uncertainty felt manageable. She was still Meg Walsh, successful marketing executive with a corner office and a carefully planned life.
But tonight, she was also Anna’s sister, wearing a good-luck sweatshirt to a beach bonfire where someone she’d once drawn hearts around was waiting.
Both things could be true at the same time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Meg wasn't entirely sure why she was going to this bonfire. The sensible thing would be to stay at Tyler's, catch up on client work.
She should stay. Work. Be responsible.
Instead, she grabbed her keys and headed out, telling herself she wouldn't stay at the bonfire long. Just enough time to reconnect with people she'd lost touch with over the years.
Crystal Cove was a fifteen-minute drive north, a more secluded stretch of beach between Laguna and Newport. As Meg navigated the winding coast road, she noticed details she would have overlooked days ago—the quality of the evening light on the water, the way the coastline curved, the riot of summer wildflowers clinging to the cliffs.
She spotted the bonfire before she saw the people gathered around it—a warm orange glow on the beach,visible from the small parking area. As she made her way down the sandy path, Meg felt a familiar flutter of social anxiety. She hadn't attended anything like this in years, preferring the structured networking events of her professional world to casual gatherings.
The group came into view as she descended the last stretch of path—perhaps fifteen to twenty people spread around a well-built fire, some seated on driftwood logs, others in low beach chairs. Coolers dotted the perimeter, and someone was playing guitar softly.
Meg paused, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden sense that she didn't belong here. These were Luke's friends, Tyler's community. People who had stayed, who had built lives here while she'd been focused on climbing corporate ladders and building an impressive résumé.
Before she could reconsider her decision, Luke spotted her from across the fire. He raised a hand in greeting, then made his way around the gathering toward her. He'd changed from his work clothes too, now wearing board shorts and a faded Laguna Marine Conservation hoodie, his hair rumpled by the evening breeze.
"You came," he said, clearly pleased.
"Just for a little while," Meg qualified immediately. "I have work to finish tonight."
"Of course." Luke's smile suggested he'd expected no less. "Want something to drink? We've got beer, wine, soda..."
"Water is fine. I'm driving."
"Always responsible," he said, but there was no judgment in his tone as he guided her toward the coolers.
As they walked, Meg felt curious glances from the gathered group. A few faces looked vaguely familiar—people she might have known in high school or seen around town years ago.
"Luke!" called a woman with a long silver braid. "Are you going to introduce your friend?"
