“The commute’s only twenty minutes.”
“That’s what he keeps saying. Like that makes it normal.”
The door opened. Tyler walked in, camera bag over his shoulder, looking windswept and slightly sandy.
“Beach shoot?” Stella asked as he passed their booth.
“Sunset engagement session. Very romantic. I got sand in places sand shouldn’t be.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head—casual, normal. “How’s homework?”
“Theoretically happening.”
“That’s the spirit.” He headed for the counter, greeting Anna, stealing a piece of focaccia from the bread basket, dodging her half-hearted swat.
Stella watched him go. Her father. Still strange to think it. Still true.
The door opened again. Meg swept in, phone pressed to her ear, free hand gesturing at something the person on the other end couldn’t see.
“No, the timeline’s fine, we just need to adjust the deliverables for phase two—right, exactly—I’ll send the revised deck tonight?—”
She waved at the room generally, accepted the coffee Anna held out without breaking stride, and settled at the small table she’d claimed as her mobile office. The ring on her finger caught the light—simple, elegant, exactly what Luke had chosen after weeks of what he called “extensive field research” and what Meg called “adorable overthinking.”
“The deliverables deck can wait,” Luke said, appearing from somewhere—the kitchen? The back room? He had a way of materializing when Meg needed reminding that she was allowed to stop working.
“It’ll take five minutes.”
“It’ll take an hour and you know it.” He sat down across from her. “The Shack has food. Eat first. Deliverables later.”
Meg opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Smiled. Put down her phone.
“Fine. But I’m eating fast.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Stella watched them lean toward each other, talking quietly, existing in their own small world within the louder noise of the Shack.
“Incoming,” Bea murmured.
Stella looked toward the door. Margo was making her way in, sketch pad under her arm.
“Margo!” Joey appeared instantly. “Your booth’s ready. Can I get you anything?”
“Tea. And one of those biscuits, if there are any left.”
“Stella’s Anzacs? I saved you two.”
“You’re a treasure, Joey.”
“I know. It’s a burden I bear gracefully.”
Margo settled into her usual booth—not to work, not to supervise, just to be present. She opened her sketch pad and began drawing, quick light strokes that might become anything or nothing.
Bernie was already in his corner, tablet out,muttering about statistics. He’d started a new betting pool—wedding-related, probably, or maybe about when Anna would finally admit she’d adopted the Shack’s stray cat. The cat in question was currently asleep in a patch of sunlight near the kitchen door, officially no one’s responsibility and everyone’s favorite.
“This is nice,” Bea said.
“What is?”
“This.” Bea gestured at the room—the family scattered across booths and tables, the afternoon light, the ordinary Tuesday that held all of them. “It’s nice. That’s all.”
