“Like a good grilled sandwich.”
“Exactly.”
They stayed until the marine layer burned offcompletely, Tyler shooting while Stella asked surprisingly technical questions about lens choices and light metering. She had been reading his books.
“Ice cream now?” Tyler asked as they packed up.
“It’s 9 AM.”
“You said that already.”
“It’s still true.” She considered. “Frozen yogurt?”
“Compromise. I like it.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
But she was smiling as they walked back to the truck, and Tyler thought maybe they were figuring out this father-daughter thing.
One driving lesson, one coffee date, one reassurance at a time.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The presentation had gone perfectly. Better than perfectly, if such a thing existed. The San Clemente Resort team loved her Phase Two expansion plans, and the unexpected conservation partnership possibility for Luke was the cherry on top. But as they drove north on PCH, Meg found her professional high giving way to the knot in her stomach she’d been carrying for days.
“Okay,” Luke said as they passed through Capistrano Beach. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. The meeting went great.”
“The meeting went great and you’re doing that thing with your hands.”
Meg looked down. She was tapping her fingers against her thigh—pointer, middle, ring, pinkie, reverse. “I’m just processing.”
“Meg.”
“Really, I’m?—“
“You’ve checked your phone six times since we left, you’re doing the finger thing, and you’ve got that crease between your eyebrows.”
“I don’t have a crease.”
“You absolutely have a crease.” He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Want to stop somewhere? Decompress before heading back to the chaos?”
She should say no. Should get back to Tyler’s, face the mountain of work waiting for her in whatever corner wasn’t already occupied. Instead, she said, “Yes. Please.”
Luke took the next exit into Dana Point Harbor. The late afternoon sun painted everything golden, boats bobbing gently in their slips. He parked near Baby Beach, where families were packing up after a day in the calm waters.
“Walk?” he suggested.
They found a bench at the far end of the beach, away from the families. Meg slipped off her heels, digging her toes into the still-warm sand.
“So,” Luke said after a moment. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?”
“You know how you said the remote work proves I can stay?” Meg watched a sailboat motor toward the channel. “I’ve been thinking about what ‘staying’ actually means.”
“And?”
“Last night I took a business call from Tyler’s bathroom. Again. While sitting on the edge of the tubdiscussing Instagram metrics with a multimillion-dollar client.”
