“That’s... efficient?”
“That’s terrifying,” Tyler said.
“I’m right here,” Meg protested.
“I should get dressed,” Stella announced. “Can’t buy Pop-Tarts in pajamas. Well, I could, but I won’t.”
She disappeared back into her new room. Tyler turned to Meg with his best pleading expression.
“You owe me,” Meg said.
“I know.”
“So much.”
“I know.”
“She’s probably going to judge my grocery methods.”
“Definitely.”
“Tyler—”
“She needs this,” he said quietly. “Choice. Control over something. Even if it’s just Pop-Tarts.”
Meg’s expression softened. “Okay. But if she mocks my cart organization?—”
“She will.”
“You’re not helping.”
Tyler grabbed his keys. “I should go.”
“Where? The Shack?” Meg asked, already reaching for her purse.
Tyler paused at the door, suddenly overwhelmed by everything. A week ago his life had made sense—predictable, controlled, solitary. Now his secret daughter was living in his former office, his sister had colonized every flat surface with work papers, his best friend was kissing said sister in his kitchen, and he’d just confessed a fourteen-year secret to his grandmother who’d immediately started planning to “great-grandmother thoroughly.”
His carefully compartmentalized life had exploded into some kind of family sitcom he didn’t know how to navigate.
He pulled out his phone. “Actually, give me a second.”
He stepped onto the porch, texting quickly.
Hey, you still at the marina? Need to talk. About... everything. My life is unrecognizable.
Luke’s response was immediate.
Office. Coffee’s on. Rum’s in the bottom drawer if needed.
Might take you up on that.
Tyler stuck his head back inside. “Change of plans. I need to talk to Luke about... the alternate universe I’m apparently living in now. Meg, you good with taking Stella shopping?”
“Define ‘good,’” Meg said, but she was already organizing the list by store layout.
“I’ll owe you forever?”
“You already do.” But her voice was fond. “Go. Talk to Luke. Process your existential crisis.”
