“Thank you.” Margo set down her spatula, eyes narrowing slightly. “Tyler called you.”
It wasn’t a question. Meg nodded anyway.
“That boy.” Margo shook her head. “I told him I’m perfectly fine.”
“He mentioned he needed to leave town for a while.”
“Some emergency in Australia,” Margo said, turning back to the grill. “He was very mysterious about it. Said it was something he should have handled months ago.”
“That doesn’t sound like Tyler.”
“No,” Margo agreed quietly. “It doesn’t. But he seemed... determined. Like he’d made up his mind about something important.” She paused, then added, “But that’s no reason for you to interrupt your life. I’ve been running this place for fifty years without help.”
A young server approached the counter, glancing curiously at Meg. “Orders up for tables three and seven, Margo.”
“Coming right up, Joey,” Margo replied, flipping two perfectly golden sandwiches onto plates. She moved with practiced efficiency, but Meg noticed a slight tremor in her hands.
When Margo reached up to grab a plate from the high shelf, she paused for just a moment, steadying herself against the counter. It was so brief Meg almost missed it, but there it was—the hesitation of someone who couldn't quite trust her balance.
Joey came around the counter and started to fill a glass of soda, but nothing came out of the spigot. Meg watched Joey bang the side of the ancient soda machine to get it working.
“How old is this thing?”
“Older than me, that’s for sure,” he grinned. “Margo says it has character.”
Margo shrugged when Meg glanced in her direction.
“Let me help,” Meg said, stepping behind the counter before Margo could object. She picked up the plates and looked at the server. “Three and seven?”
The teenage boy nodded, still looking at hercuriously. “You must be Meg. Tyler said you might be coming.”
“That’s me. Tyler’s sister who escaped to the big city,” she said lightly, though the words held an edge she hadn’t intended.
“Cool. I’m Joey. I work the lunch shift.” He took the plates from her. “Nice to finally meet you. Margo talks about you all the time.”
As Joey delivered the food, Meg turned back to her grandmother, who was already preparing more sandwiches for the grill.
“I don’t need help,” Margo said, not looking up. “Tyler worries too much.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Meg replied. “And since it’s your birthday, maybe you could take a break and let me handle things for a bit?”
Margo finally met her eyes. “You don’t even know the menu.”
Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s grilled cheese. I think I can manage.”
“Not just any grilled cheese,” Margo corrected, a hint of pride breaking through her resistance. “And we’re only open until three.”
“That’s it? Four hours a day?”
A half-smile touched Margo’s lips. “Eleven to three. That’s all we need. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
Before Margo could answer, the old ship’s bell near the door rang, its clear tone cutting through the chatter.The locals at the counter immediately perked up, exchanging knowing glances.
“Surf’s up,” Joey announced, grinning as he passed.
Margo sighed, but Meg could see the fondness in her expression. “And that means we might stay open a bit longer today. It’s tradition—when the waves are perfect, we keep the grill hot.”
