Luke resumed walking, forcing Meg to follow if she wanted to continue the conversation. “Has it occurred to you that maybe it’s not anyone’s secret to tell? That maybe Margo has reasons for handling things the way she does?”
“That’s exactly what she said,” Meg replied. “But we’re talking about decades of substantial payments with no explanation. As someone trying to help manage the business?—“
“As someone temporarily helping,” Luke corrected gently.
The distinction stung. “So, because I’m not planning to stay forever, I don’t deserve to know?”
Luke stopped again, turning to face her fully. “That’s not what I meant. But there’s a difference between needing to know something to do your job and wanting to know something to satisfy your curiosity.”
“It’s not just curiosity,” Meg protested. “These payments are affecting the Beach Shack’s financial stability. Bills are being paid late. Suppliers are getting frustrated. Whatever this obligation is, it’s putting strain on the business.”
“And yet the Beach Shack has survived for fifty years, making these same payments month after month.” Luke’s tone remained calm, reasonable. “Maybe the issue isn’t the obligation itself, but how you’re defining success.”
Meg felt a flash of irritation. “Don’t lecture me about business definitions of success. I’ve spent my entire career analyzing business operations.”
“And that expertise is valuable,” Luke acknowledged. “But the Beach Shack isn’t just a business. It’s a legacy built on values and promises that might not show up in standard metrics.”
They had reached a rocky outcropping where the shoreline curved. Luke led the way to a flat boulder, gesturing for Meg to join him. As they sat watching the waves, Meg tried to reconcile her professional concerns with the deeper emotional confusion she felt at being excluded from this family secret.
“I just want to understand,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “Not as a business consultant or even as a temporary manager. But as Margo’s granddaughter. As someone who cares about her and the Beach Shack.”
Luke’s expression softened. “I know you do. And I think Margo knows that too. But some stories take time to tell properly.” He hesitated, then added, “Your grandfather was a complicated man, Meg. Generous to a fault, sometimes making promises his business couldn’t easily keep. Margo has spent decades honoring those promises, even when it wasn’t easy.”
“You talk like you knew him,” Meg said, studying Luke’s face. “But he died long before you were born.”
“I know him through Margo’s stories,” Luke replied. “And through the Beach Shack itself—the way it operates, the values it embodies. Those weren’t accidents ormarket forces. They were conscious choices Richard made that Margo has maintained.”
The subtle shift to present tense when speaking of her grandfather wasn’t lost on Meg. As if his influence remained active, his decisions still shaping the business fifty years after his death.
“How much do you really know about all this?” Meg asked directly. “About whatever Margo is keeping secret?”
Luke met her gaze steadily. “I know that Margo has never made a decision that wasn’t ultimately about taking care of people. And I know that some promises matter more than profit.” He reached over and briefly touched her hand. “I also know that when she’s ready to share the whole story, she’ll start with you.”
The simple gesture and the confidence in his voice eased something in Meg’s chest, though her questions remained unanswered. Luke clearly knew more than he was saying, yet his loyalty to Margo was evident in his careful responses.
“So, your advice is—what? Just keep helping while being kept in the dark?”
“My advice,” Luke said with a small smile, “is to trust that Margo loves you and will share what you need to know when the time is right. And in the meantime, maybe focus on all the ways the Beach Shack succeeds that don’t show up in those ledgers.”
They sat in silence as the sun set. Meg found herself thinking about Luke’s words—about definitions of success, about promises that transcended businessconsiderations, about the possibility that the Beach Shack’s true purpose might be something her expertise couldn’t fully measure.
“I should head back,” she said finally. “I told Margo I’d help with the closing inventory.”
Luke nodded, standing and offering her a hand up. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great with the Beach Shack. Margo notices, even if she doesn’t say it directly.”
“How can you tell?” Meg asked, thinking of Joey’s description of her grandmother’s ‘silent approval.’
“Because she talks about you differently now. Less ‘Meg in San Francisco’ and more ‘Meg who’s helping me.’” Luke smiled. “It might not seem like much, but from Margo, that’s high praise.”
“Luke?” she said as they reached the steps leading back to the parking lot. “How do you know when to push for answers and when to just... trust the process?”
He considered the question seriously. “I ask myself what matters more—getting the answer right now or preserving the relationship that will eventually provide it.” His expression was thoughtful in the fading light. “Sometimes waiting is its own kind of wisdom.”
Meg wasn’t sure she agreed—her entire approach was built around identifying problems and addressing them directly—but she appreciated his perspective nonetheless.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Meg didn’t sleep much that night.
