“Yesterday you arranged the tea bags by color gradient.”
“That was different.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too.”
She hung up to find Luke watching her with that soft expression that made her feel exposed.
“Joey thinks she’s a model?” he asked.
“Or a professional surfer. Possibly both.” She tucked her phone away, mind now spinning with Margo’s words. Tyler nervous. Tyler wanting everything perfect. “We should really go now.”
“After you organize your purse?”
She looked down. She’d arranged everything perfectly without realizing. “It’s already organized.”
“Of course it is.” He kissed her temple. “Come on. Let’s go meet this model slash professional surfer.”
Minutes. They had minutes, and then everything would change. Tyler was bringing someone home. Tyler was settling down. Tyler was?—
“Oh God,” she said suddenly. “What if they want to move in together? Where will I go?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Luke said, and the ‘we’ in that sentence did something warm and complicated to her chest. “One step at a time. First, we pick them up. Then we see what the important news is. Then we panic accordingly.”
“I don’t panic,” she protested. “I prepare. There’s a difference.”
His laugh followed her out of the room. She grabbed her purse—the good one, not the everyday one—and her keys. The list of “just in case” restaurants was folded in her pocket, along with tissues in case anyone cried—happy tears, she hoped—and mints in case of post-flight breath situations.
“Ready?” Luke asked.
“No.” She locked Tyler’s door behind them, checking twice that it was secure. “Let’s go.”
The drive to LAX loomed ahead like a countdown to change. Shortly, she’d meet the woman who’d finally captured her brother’s wandering heart. Stella, with her sophisticated name and her important news and her ability to make Tyler commit to something more than a surf session.
Meg had practiced conversations in her head all morning. Casual topics. Welcoming phrases. Nothing too intense or sisterly or overwhelming. Just... perfect.
God, she really was trying to be perfect, wasn’t she?
Luke reached over and took her hand, threading their fingers together. “It’s going to be fine,” he said.
She squeezed back, holding on to his certainty like a lifeline. Soon. Only minutes until Tyler’s girlfriend walked into their lives and changed everything.
Stella. Even the name sounded like change.
CHAPTER TWO
LAX arrivals was its usual chaos of emotions and exhaust fumes. The automatic doors whooshed open and closed in endless rhythm, letting in waves of jet fuel scent mixed with the particular staleness of terminal air conditioning. Meg had positioned them strategically near the sliding doors, close enough to spot Tyler immediately but not so close that they’d block traffic. She’d already checked the arrival board three times. Landed. On time. Any minute now.
“You’re doing that thing with your hands,” Luke observed.
She looked down. Her fingers were tapping against her thigh in rhythm—pointer, middle, ring, pinkie, reverse. An old anxiety habit she thought she’d broken.
“Sorry.” She shoved both hands in her pockets.
“Don’t apologize. Just pointing out you might want to dial it back before—there he is.”
Meg’s heart jumped. Tyler emerged from the sliding doors, looking travel-worn in his usual style—rumpled t-shirt, board shorts despite it being winter in Australia, that easy Walsh smile that had gotten him out of trouble their whole lives. He had that particular smell of long-haul flights—recycled air and exhaustion mixed with something distinctly eucalyptus-Australian.
