Meg glanced at him. "It felt good tonight. Being part of that, even temporarily."
"It doesn't have to be temporary," Luke said gently.
The moon had risen fully now, throwing silvery light across the beach. In this illumination, Luke's expression was thoughtful, hopeful.
"How did you end up so involved at the Beach Shack anyway?" Meg asked. "Tyler I understand—it's family. But you?"
Luke looked out at the ocean for a moment before answering. "After college, when I moved back to start the marine conservation program, I was pretty lost. Great degree, nebulous career path, living on grant funding." He smiled slightly. "Margo hired me part-time. Said she needed help during summer rushes, but I think she just knew I needed structure."
"That sounds like Margo," Meg said, thinking of her grandmother's knack for practical kindness.
"The Beach Shack became a kind of home base," Luke continued. "Somewhere I could always count on when research funding got tight or projects fell through. Margo and Tyler..." He paused. "They became family when I didn't have much of that left."
The simple admission touched Meg in a way shehadn't expected. She remembered that Luke's father had died when they were in high school, and his mother had moved to Arizona years ago.
"I didn't know," she said softly.
"Why would you?" There was no accusation in his voice, just quiet acknowledgment of the distance she'd placed between herself and her hometown. "You built your own life, Meg. That's not a criticism."
They resumed walking, reaching the small parking area where only a few cars remained. Meg's phone buzzed in her pocket—again, then again. She pulled it out to find a flurry of texts from Brad, each marked urgent.
"Duty calls?" Luke asked, nodding toward the phone.
"Always." Meg sighed, then looked up at him. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. It was... nice. Unexpected, but nice."
"Anytime." He hesitated, then added, "I mean that. While you're here, if you want to see the real Laguna—not just the Beach Shack and Tyler's place—I'd be happy to show you around."
"Tour guide services now?" Meg tried for lightness, though something about his offer touched her.
"Marine biologist, surf instructor, grilled cheese flipper, and tour guide," Luke confirmed with a grin. "I contain multitudes."
Meg smiled back, momentarily forgetting the insistent buzzing of her phone. "I'll keep that in mind."
They had reached her car. Meg unlocked it, thenturned back to Luke, suddenly unsure how to say goodbye. In San Francisco, she would have offered a professional handshake. Here, on a moonlit beach with someone who had once known her better than anyone... the usual rules seemed inadequate.
Luke solved the problem by taking a step back, giving her space. "Drive safe. And Meg?" His expression turned warm. "I'm really glad you came tonight. It felt right, having you there."
The simple honesty lingered in Meg's mind as she drove back to Tyler's house. There was clearly more to discover about her connection to this community—not secrets or mysteries, but relationships and belonging she'd never taken time to explore.
Her phone had accumulated three more messages from Brad by the time she pulled into the driveway.
Apparently, the San Clemente client was having second thoughts about their approach based on competitor research. According to Brad, only Meg could salvage the situation.
She sighed and shook it off as she stepped into the house. Five minutes later she was on her laptop, replying to emails and prepping for tomorrow's crisis call. The bonfire, the beach, the way Luke had shared his story about finding family at the Shack—they all faded into background noise as work took over.
But later, crawling into bed after midnight, it wasn't strategy decks running through her head. It was the way those faces had looked in the firelight when they talked about the Beach Shack.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The morning after the bonfire, Meg lingered in bed longer than usual. She kept replaying the sound of laughter, the warmth of candlelight, the easy rhythm of a circle she’d never expected to belong to again. Something had shifted.
Then her phone buzzed.
A voice memo from Anna lit up the screen.
“Hi. You had one job. One bonfire. One assignment: tell me what happened. And don’t try to weasel out of it by saying ‘not much.’ If Luke brought you to some moonlit beach of secrets, I expect details. Spill it, Walsh.”
Meg smiled despite herself and hit play again.
