Tyler looked out the window, jaw tight. “I’m aware.”
He turned back to her, and Margo saw something in his eyes she recognized. Fear. Not of Fiona, exactly. Fear of the conversation. Fear of fighting for something and losing anyway.
She’d seen that look before. On her daughter’s face, years ago, when Sam was standing on the edge of something and neither of them knew what would happen next.
“She wants to stay,” Margo said quietly. “Stella. She told you that.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what that cost her? To say it out loud?”
Tyler was silent.
“She chose you.” Margo held his gaze. “She chose this family, this place, this life. Now you have to choose her back. Not by researching requirements. By fighting for her.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon. We’re going to call Fiona this week. Together.”
“Together is good.” Margo softened her voice.
He nodded slowly. Whether he understood, whether he was ready—she couldn’t tell. She’d done what she could. Planted the seed. The rest was up to him.
“The muffin’s good,” she said, changing the subject. “Tell Joey he’s getting much better at this.”
Tyler smiled, relieved at the shift. “I’ll pass it along.”
He stayed a few more minutes, chatting about the morning rush, a difficult customer Bernie had charmed into submission, Anna’s new system for tracking inventory. Normal things. Family things.
After he left, Margo returned to her easel and lifted the cloth.
The light had shifted while Tyler was here—softer now, the harsh brightness easing into something warmer. Better for painting. Better for seeing what was really there.
She picked up her brush and kept working.
CHAPTER SIX
Anna’s car smelled like turpentine and optimism.
“Sorry about the smell,” Bea said from the back seat, leaning forward between the front seats. “Mom left her painting supplies in here yesterday. We opened the windows but it’s kind of... lingering.”
“It’s fine.” Stella glanced at Anna, who was navigating out of the Beach Shack parking lot with the distracted air of someone whose mind was on seventeen other things. “Thanks for driving us.”
“Happy to help. I need to pick up some canvases anyway—there’s an art supply place near the school.” Anna took a corner slightly too fast, and Stella grabbed the door handle. “Besides, Bea’s been talking about this tour all week. I want to see what all the fuss is about.”
“You’re not coming in with us,” Bea said quickly.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll start talking to the art teachers and we’ll never leave.”
“I would not?—”
“You absolutely would. Remember the ceramics studio incident?”
“That just took a minute.”
