“Or maybe it’s time to accept that Sam’s not coming back and someone should actually use it.” She shook her head. “God, listen to me. An hour ago I was presenting to million-dollar clients and now I’m contemplating breaking into my mother’s house.”
“Character growth,” Luke said solemnly.
“Or a nervous breakdown.”
“That too.”
Tyler’s door opened. Stella stood there, earbuds around her neck. “Oh good, you’re back. Tyler’s been reorganizing your papers. I tried to stop him but he said something about reclaiming the dining table. It’s not going well.”
“Define ‘not going well,’” Meg said, already moving toward the door.
“He mixed up your color system. Reds are with blues. It’s chaos.” Stella noticed their position. “Were you guys just standing on the sidewalk?”
“Discussing real estate,” Luke said.
“Weird but okay.” She disappeared back inside.
Meg looked at Luke. “I should?—”
“Go. Save your filing system. But Meg?” He caught her hand briefly. “Think about it. The house, San Francisco, all of it. You can’t live in limbo forever.”
“I know.”
“And maybe ask Margo about the mysterious flower delivery. She might know something.”
“You think?”
“She knows everything else about this neighborhood.”
Meg squeezed his hand before letting go. “Thanks. For today. For listening. For not laughing when I admitted to bathroom conferences.”
“I would never laugh at bathroom conferences. Bathroom board meetings, maybe.”
“Don’t give me ideas.”
He pulled her closer, one hand settling at her waist. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re thinking about making this permanent. San Francisco’s too far away.”
“Is it?” she asked softly.
“Way too far.” He leaned down, kissing her gently. “I like having you here. In Laguna. Where you belong.”
She was just sinking into the kiss when?—
“OH MY GOD, FINALLY!”
They jumped apart to find Stella in the doorway, phone in hand.
“Were you—are you filming us?” Meg asked, mortified.
“No! Maybe. Okay, yes, but just the last part.” Stella grinned wickedly. “My rom-com radar is literally never wrong. Joey owes me twenty bucks.”
“You bet on us?” Luke asked.
“Everyone bet on you. Bernie’s got a whole pool going. I had ‘passionate goodbye kiss by end of July.’ Nailed it!”
“It’s not a passionate goodbye kiss,” Meg protested.
“Speak for yourself,” Luke said, then pulled her back. “Here, is this better?”
