“It’s right there,” Stella said. “Five minutes. I can literally see the beach from here.”
“Let her go,” Margo said quietly. “Fresh air helps with jet lag.”
Stella was already sliding out of the booth. “Five minutes,” she repeated, and was out the door before Tyler could add conditions.
They watched through the window as she walked straight to the tide line, stopping where the waves met the sand. She stood there, hands in her pockets, breathing.
“Tyler,” Meg started.
“I know. I know, okay? It’s just—it’s such a long story.”
“We have time?—”
“No,” Tyler said quickly. “Not here. Not now. Please.”
Stella was already walking back, something closed in her fist. She slipped into the booth, sand on her shoes.
“Better?” Margo asked.
“Yeah.” Stella opened her hand briefly—two small shells, smooth and worn. She started to pocket them, then noticed Margo watching.
“Pretty ones,” Margo said. “There’s a basket by the register if you want to leave them. Customers bring shells from their travels.”
Stella glanced at the basket, then closed her fist again. “Maybe later.”
But when they left, she quietly placed them on the counter next to the basket, not quite in it but close.
Meg shook her head and glanced back at Margo before she followed Stella out the door.
A daughter. Tyler had a daughter.
And now they all had to figure out what that meant.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tyler’s bungalow looked exactly as Meg had left it that morning—which now felt like a lifetime ago. The surfboards still lined the hallway, the shell collection still cluttered the kitchen windowsill, and the fresh flowers she’d bought for Tyler’s “girlfriend” still bloomed cheerfully in a vase on the coffee table.
“This is it,” Tyler said unnecessarily, setting down his camera bag. “Home.”
Stella stood just inside the doorway, taking it in. Her eyes tracked over the small living room, the kitchen visible beyond, the narrow hallway that led to the bedrooms. “It’s... cozy.”
“It’s tiny,” Tyler said. “But it works.”
“Where should I...” Stella gestured vaguely with her duffel bag.
Tyler froze. Meg watched the exact moment reality hit him—his exhausted brain finally catching up to thelogistics of having a teenage daughter in his two-bedroom bungalow where his sister was currently living.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, crap.”
“Language,” Stella said, clearly enjoying throwing his own words back at him.
“Right. Sorry. I just...” Tyler ran his hand through his hair. “Okay. You should take my room. It’s the biggest, has the best bed?—“
“Absolutely not,” Stella cut him off. “I’m not taking your room.”
“But—”
“No.”
