Stella looked away, uncomfortable with the sincerity. “Whatever.”
Meg’s phone buzzed. Anna’s name on the screen. Then again. And again.
“I should...” She gestured with her phone.
“Go,” Luke said. “I’ll keep an eye on these two.”
Meg slid out of the booth, typingas she walked.
Can’t talk now. At the Shack.
WHAT IS HAPPENING
Tyler’s home.
WITH?????
Meg stepped outside, the afternoon sun warm on her face. Through the window, she could see their table—Luke saying something that made Stella actually crack a small smile, Tyler watching his daughter like she might disappear.
With his daughter.
The three dots appeared and disappeared several times. Then:
HIS WHAT
Sixteen years old. Named Stella. Has his eyes.
MEG
I know.
HOW
I don’t know. Nobody knew.
I’M CALLING YOU
No! I’ll call you later. Still in it.
This is insane
I know.
A daughter???
I know.
SIXTEEN YEARS???
I KNOW.
Meg leaned against the warm brick wall, watching through the window as Margo approached their table again. Watched her grandmother’s hand hover over Tyler’s shoulder before settling there, a benediction and forgiveness all at once.
Inside, Stella was finishing her grilled cheese, occasionally glancing around the café like she was cataloging exits. She sighed and stepped back inside for the next phase of shocking developments.
After they’d finished eating, Stella shifted restlessly in the booth. “Can I—” She gestured toward the beach. “Just need to stretch my legs. Long flight.”
Tyler tensed. “I don’t think?—”
