“Don’t mock. Counter space is sacred.”
The sun was sinking toward the horizon now. Meg let herself relax into it all—the salt air, the murmur of conversations around them, Luke’s steady presence across the table. This was the part of Laguna she’d forgotten during her years in San Francisco. The way the town softened at sunset. The way everyone seemed to slow down, just a little, to watch the light.
Luke paid the check over her protests, and they wandered out onto Forest Avenue. The galleries were starting to light up for the evening, warm glows spilling through windows onto the sidewalk. A couple walked past with a golden retriever. Someone was playing guitar outside the coffee shop on the corner.
Meg and Luke walked on, past the galleries, past theboutiques with their window displays of driftwood art and overpriced candles. They turned onto Cliff Drive without discussing it, following the familiar path toward Heisler Park.
“Tyler went to the school today,” Meg said after a while.
Luke glanced at her. “Really?”
“Did the research. Got the requirements.”
“And?”
Meg shook her head. “No Fiona. Not yet.”
Luke exhaled. “So, he’s doing everything except the hard part.”
“That’s Tyler.”
They reached the overlook at Heisler Park—the one with the benches facing west, the stone steps leading down to the rocks below. The sunset was in full force now, the sky streaked with orange and pink, the water catching fire beneath it.
Luke sat on the nearest bench. Meg sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
“He’s going to have to actually fight this time,” Luke said. “I don’t imagine Fiona’s going to just agree.”
“I know.” Meg watched a wave break against the rocks below. “I’m not sure he knows how.”
“He’s never had to. Not really. She’s had the upper hand for sixteen years, and he just... accepted it.”
“Because fighting meant risking losing Stella entirely.”
“Right. But now the stakes are different.” Lukestretched his arm along the back of the bench, not quite around her shoulders. “Now Stella’s asking him to fight. Whether she’s said it out loud or not.”
A family of tourists stood at the cliff’s edge, taking pictures. What looked like the father turned around after taking a few shots.
“He probably wants a picture with all of them in it,” Meg said, standing to go over and help. It was a fairly constant request at the beach, and they all obliged whenever they could.
Luke put a hand on her knee. “I got this,” he said, and headed over to the young family with a big smile.
His kindness always made her feel warm and safe, and she thought about how much she’d come to rely on his steady hand—in all things. Even her family.
Meg thought about all that had happened recently. About Stella at the family meeting, announcing she wanted to stay. About the phone calls from Fiona that Stella kept silencing. About what it must feel like to be sixteen and wanting something this much and knowing it all depended on adults figuring their stuff out.
“What if he folds?” Meg asked Luke as he sat back down beside her, his arm back around her shoulder after he’d waved at the retreating family with a great Christmas card picture now on their phone. “What if Fiona pushes back and he just... doesn’t push back?”
“Then Stella will know.” Luke’s voice was quiet. “And that’ll be worse than losing the fight.”
A jogger passed behind them. Somewhere down the beach, a dog barked. The sun touched the horizon, flattening into a brilliant orange line before beginning to disappear.
“I want to fix it,” Meg said. “Call Fiona myself. Find a lawyer. Do something useful.”
“I know you do.”
“But it’s not my fight.”
“No. It’s his.”
