Except he wasn’t smiling. And he wasn’t alone.
The girl beside him was maybe sixteen, seventeen at most. Rumpled Sydney FC jersey, earbuds dangling around her neck, shoulders hunched in that universal teenage posture of ‘I don’t want to be here.’ She clutched her phone like a lifeline, the lock screen still showing Sydney time. Sun-kissed skin with the kind of natural highlights that came from years of beach living, not bottles.
And those eyes. Tyler’s eyes. Walsh eyes.
Meg’s brain stuttered to a complete stop.
“Tyler!” Luke called out, waving them over.
Tyler’s face did something complicated when he spotted them. Relief? Dread? Both? He guided the teenager through the crowd with one hand hovering near but not quite touching her shoulder, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.
“Hey,” Tyler said when they reached them. His voice sounded strange. Careful. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” Luke’s confusion was evident but he rolled with it, offering his hand to the girl. “I’m Luke. You must be Stella.”
“Yeah, nah,” she said, not taking the offered hand. Her accent was pure Sydney, sharp and defensive. “I must be.”
“This is cooked,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
Meg’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Tyler?”
“We should... car?” Tyler’s words came out jumbled. “The car. We should go to the car.”
“Right,” Luke said slowly, clearly reading the situation even if he didn’t understand it. “I’m parked in the garage. This way.”
They walked in the world’s most awkward formation—Tyler and Stella in front, not quite together, Meg and Luke behind, exchanging glances that said ‘what the hell is happening?’
The parking garage was cooler but stuffier, concrete trapping the day’s heat. They reached Luke’s truck, and another awkward dance began—who sits where? Stella solved it by climbing in the back before anyone could suggest otherwise, immediately putting her earbuds in.
Tyler threw her a look that might have been hurt, might have been resignation, then climbed in after her.
Meg ended up in the passenger seat by default, her mind still spinning. The leather seats were sticky from the heat despite Luke’s attempt at air conditioning. As Luke pulled out of the garage, she grabbed her phone, thumbs flying over the screen.
Margo, you’d better be sitting down.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Why? Tyler’s flight landed safely?
Meg glanced back at Tyler, who was staring out the window, then at Stella, who was aggressively typing on her own phone, still on Sydney time.
We’re on our way. Tyler’s bringing someone. Just... brace yourself.
Meg, you’re being mysterious.
Trust me. And maybe give Joey something to do in the back.
Luke merged onto the 405, attempting conversation. “So, Stella, do you surf? Being from Australia and all.”
“Sometimes,” Stella muttered without looking up.
“The waves here are different from Bondi, right?” Luke continued, maintaining his easy tone. “More mellow in some spots, but?—”
“Cool,” Stella said, clearly not interested.
“Right.” Luke caught Meg’s eye in a quick glance.
Silence filled the truck. Meg found herself turning slightly, stealing glances at Stella in the side mirror. Those eyes. The shape of her nose. The way she chewed her bottom lip while texting—exactly like Tyler did when he was concentrating.
