Her grandmother looked up from the cutting board. "Of course. How long will you be gone?"
"Just the day. I'll be back by evening." Meg paused, then added, "It's a big account. Could determine whether I can keep working remotely."
Margo's hands stilled for a moment, then resumed their steady chopping. "I see. So this could help you stay longer?"
"Maybe. If it goes well."
Margo set down her knife and turned to face Meg fully. "You know, I haven't properly thanked you."
"For what?"
"For coming back. For dropping everything in San Francisco to help me." Margo's voice was quiet but sincere. "I know what you're giving up. What you've already given up. That means more than you know."
Meg felt her throat tighten. "I wanted to be here."
"I know you did. And I hope tomorrow goes exactlythe way you need it to." Margo's smile was warm, genuine. "Joey and Lisa can handle things here. You go take care of your future."
"Our future," Meg corrected softly, surprising herself.
Margo smiled at Meg and her face softened.
She kept working, but the air between them had shifted. Meg found herself watching Margo differently now—the way she moved through each task without hesitation, the pride that flickered across her face when she talked about the Shack, the calm of someone who’d known her place in the world for a long time.
“The shell ceiling,” Meg said as they finished setting up for the day, following the intricate patterns with her eyes. “It’s like a work of art.”
“It is a work of art,” Margo replied, pausing in her morning routine. “Fifty years next month I’ve been adding to it. Same amount of time I’ve been running this place.”
Meg saw it with new understanding—not just decoration.
“Some projects take that long to fulfill properly,” Margo added quietly.
Before Meg could ask more, Joey arrived for his shift, full of energy and ready to start the day. The moment for deeper conversation passed, but Meg found herself thinking about Margo’s words as the morning rush began.
Some promises take fifty years to fulfill properly.
What promises had her grandmother made? And what role, if any, might Meg play in keeping them?
As the lunch crowd started arriving and the Beach Shack settled into its familiar rhythm, Meg felt a strange mixture of anticipation and reluctance about tomorrow’s presentation. The opportunity to prove herself in the corporate world she’d worked so hard to conquer felt smaller somehow, less urgent than it had even a week ago.
But it was still important. Still a chance to secure the kind of remote work arrangement that might let her keep one foot in both worlds—the professional success she’d built and the community connections she was rediscovering.
Tomorrow, she would put on her corporate armor and fight for a future that might allow her to belong in both places. Today, she would continue learning how to belong here, in this weathered building where her grandfather’s legacy lived on in small acts of hospitality and community care.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Meg had always thought of client meetings as theater. Not deceitful, but choreographed—every word intentional, every pause calculated. But this morning, as she adjusted her blazer in Tyler’s driveway, she realized something had changed. She didn’t feel like she was stepping into character. She just felt... ready.
“You sure you want me here?” Luke asked, leaning against her car. He wore chinos, a button-down that looked like it had met an iron at some point, and shoes—actual shoes. Closed-toe. Clean. Meg had raised an eyebrow when he showed up looking almost alarmingly professional. He might have even shaved.
“You clean up well,” she said, fighting a smile.
“I aim to impress.” He tilted his head toward his feet. “Though I had to retire my ‘Surf Happens’ shirt for the occasion.”
“Tragic.”
“Moment of silence,” he said solemnly, then slid into the passenger seat.
The drive down Pacific Coast Highway felt different with Luke beside her. Meg had made this stretch of road hundreds of times as a teenager—windows down, music loud, the ocean a constant blue companion on the right. But this morning, it felt like traveling between two versions of herself.
