Anna looked up from where she was wiping chocolate off the counter. “Tomorrow? Finally?”
“Finally.”
The doorbell didn’t ring—Tyler just knocked twice and walked in, Stella trailing behind him. They both had that slightly shell-shocked look of people who’d made a big decision and were now living in the weird quiet before the storm.
“Brownies,” Stella said, spotting the pan.
“Help yourself.” Meg pulled out plates. “There’s milk in the fridge. Or wine, for those of us who need it.”
“Wine,” Tyler said.
“Milk,” Stella said at the same time.
Luke was already pouring. He handed Tyler a glass of red and slid the milk carton toward Stella, who poured herself a glass and took a brownie in one efficient motion.
“These are good,” she said, mouth full.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Anna said.
“I’ve had your experiments.”
“That was one time, and the milk was off.”
Stella turned the milk carton around and nodded when she found the expiration date, secure that history wasn’t repeating itself.
They settled into the living room—Meg and Luke on the couch, Anna in the armchair, Tyler leaning against the wall like he couldn’t quite commit to sitting, Stella and Bea cross-legged on the floor with the brownie pan between them.
“So,” Bea said. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” Stella picked at her brownie. “SevenAM our time. Midnight her time. She’s a night owl, so she’ll be awake.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Terrified.”
“She’ll come around,” Anna said. “Eventually. Mothers always do.”
Tyler made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been skepticism. Meg couldn’t tell.
“How was the Shack today?” Luke asked, clearly trying to change the subject. “I drove past around two, looked quiet.”
“It was quiet.” Meg frowned. “Third day in a row. I don’t know if it’s the weather or what.”
“It’s not the weather,” Tyler said. “It’s August. Peak tourist season.”
“Maybe people are just busy,” Bea offered.
“Maybe.” But Meg wasn’t convinced. She’d noticed it too—the lunch rush that wasn’t quite a rush, the regulars who came but didn’t linger, the general feeling that something was slightly off. “Oh—did you hear about Joey’s muffins?”
“What muffins?” Stella asked.
“He’s been experimenting. Lemon blueberry. Made a batch yesterday, brought them in today.” Meg grinned. “Gave one to Bernie to try.”
“Just one?” Tyler raised an eyebrow.
“Just one. Said he wanted feedback.” Meg shook her head. “Bernie ate the whole thing in about three bites and asked where the rest were.”
“So they’re good?”
