“Water temp’s been good,” Luke tried again. “About sixty-eight degrees.”
“Thrilling,” Stella said flatly.
Tyler finally stirred. “Stella, Luke’s just?—”
“Making conversation. I know. I’m not stupid, I reckon.” She shoved her headphones over her ears, universal sign for ‘leave me alone.’
Meg’s phone buzzed.
What kind of someone? Should I clear the café?
No! Just... you’ll see. Two minutes.
You’re being very strange, dear.
I know. I’m sorry. Just... trust me.
She tucked her phone away, stomach churning. Her hands had gone clammy despite the struggling air conditioning. In five minutes, everyone would know Tyler’s secret. In five minutes, Joey’s fantasy about the sophisticated girlfriend would shatter. In five minutes, the entire Beach Shack community would discover that Tyler—their Tyler, everyone’s favorite wandering soul—had been a father for sixteen years and never said a word.
“Almost there,” Luke said unnecessarily as they exited toward Laguna Beach.
Meg caught Tyler’s eye in the mirror. He looked terrified.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said quietly.
“Is it?” He glanced at Stella, who was staring out the window despite her headphones, watching the unfamiliar streets roll by. “I’m about to introduce my daughter to people who don’t even know she exists. How is that okay?”
Stella pulled off one headphone. “We don’t have to do this now. I can wait in the car.”
“No,” Tyler said firmly. “No more hiding. We’re doing this.”
“Fine. Whatever.” The headphone went back on, but Meg caught the way Stella’s hands trembled slightly as she adjusted them.
Luke pulled into the Beach Shack’s small parking lot. Through the windows, Meg could see the usual afternoon crowd—Bernie at his regular table, shifting in his seat and rubbing his knee like his weather knee was acting up. Storm coming, but not the weather kind. Joey was behind the counter, Margo moving between customers with practiced ease.
“Ready?” Luke asked.
No one answered.
The salt air hit them as they opened the truck doors, mixing with the familiar scent of grilled cheese and coffee that always clung to the Beach Shack’s entrance. Stella stayed slightly behind Tyler, her bag clutched tight, arms crossing defensively over her Sydney jersey.
Tyler was a father. Had been a father for sixteen years.
And in about thirty seconds, everyone was going to know.
CHAPTER THREE
Nobody moved.
Luke’s truck ticked as the engine cooled. Through the Beach Shack windows, life continued normally—Joey wiping down the counter, Margo carrying plates, Bernie gesturing wildly at whatever story he was telling. A parallel universe where Tyler wasn’t a father and Stella didn’t exist.
“Last chance,” Stella said, her hand already on the door handle. “I can stay here. Listen to music. Contemplate my life choices.”
“No.” Tyler’s voice was firm despite the way his hands shook slightly. “We’re going in.”
“Your funeral,” Stella muttered, but she climbed out.
Meg followed, her legs unsteady. The afternoon sun was bright after the airport’s fluorescent lighting, making everything feel surreal. This couldn’t be happening. Tyler couldn’t have a teenage daughter. She couldn’t be about to watch him introduce saiddaughter to their grandmother who had no idea she existed.
