“To be fair, his systems are pretty good.”
“They are. That’s the problem. Now he thinks we’re helpless.”
Stella laughed, and it felt almost normal. Almost easy.
But as they reached the truck, her phone buzzed one more time. She didn’t look.
She knew what she wanted. Tyler was going to help her figure out how to make it happen. The conversation with her mother would come eventually—and it would be awful.
But not today. Today was plans and research and logistics.
The hard part could wait.
CHAPTER TWO
Margo had called the meeting for seven-thirty, early enough that no one could claim a prior commitment. The Beach Shack felt different with the CLOSED sign flipped and the family clustered around the corner booth that usually belonged to Bernie.
She wiped down the counter one more time, buying herself a moment to organize her thoughts. Fifty years of running this place, and she’d never officially handed over the keys. Today felt like the beginning of that transition.
Tyler sat across from Meg, both of them studying printed schedules like they contained state secrets. Anna had claimed the spot by the window, sketching absently on a napkin while keeping one eye on the discussion. Bea perched next to her mother, fidgeting with a course catalog she’d brought along. Stella sat onthe edge of a chair she’d pulled over from another table, looking like she wasn’t sure she belonged in a family business meeting.
“Right,” Margo said, settling into the booth with her own coffee. “Let’s figure out how to make this work.”
“Define ‘this,’” Anna said, not looking up from her napkin art.
“Me stepping back. You three stepping up. The Shack continuing to exist without complete disaster.” Margo pulled out a folder she’d been preparing for weeks. “I want to paint more. Real painting, not just sketching between orders. I’m thinking of taking a month off. Completely. See if you three can run this place without me hovering.”
Tyler leaned back in his seat. “A whole month?”
“I’ve earned it.” She opened the folder, revealing schedules and duty lists written in her careful handwriting. “But that means coverage for kitchen prep, weekend rushes, inventory, all of it. Without me as backup.”
Meg picked up one of the schedules. “Anna’s going back to full-time teaching in two weeks.”
“Definitely an issue.” Margo spread out more papers. “Plus, Joey’s starting his tech program. Different schedule, fewer hours available.”
“How many fewer?” Meg asked.
“He’s not sure yet. Depends on his class load.” Margo found the right sheet. “Could be anywhere from ten to twenty hours a week instead of thirty.”
Bea stopped flipping through her catalog. “That’s a significant gap.”
“Which brings us to autumn staffing,” Tyler said, already seeing the problem. “Tourist season’s winding down, but we still have locals, weekend visitors, the art walk crowds.”
“And,” Meg said, consulting her own notes, “we’re losing Stella in three weeks.”
The table went quiet. Margo watched Stella’s face change — not surprise, exactly, but something like recognition. Like she’d been waiting for this moment.
“Actually,” Stella said, setting down her coffee cup carefully, “about that.”
Four pairs of eyes turned toward her. Anna’s pencil stopped moving entirely.
“I don’t want to go back,” Stella said, her voice steady but quiet. “I want to stay. Here. For senior year.”
The silence lasted exactly two seconds before Bea shot up from her chair.
“Yes!” She launched herself around the table, arms outstretched toward Stella. “I knew it! I knew you’d want to stay!”
“Bea, no—” Stella held up her hands, laughing as she tried to fend off the incoming hug assault. “Personal space!”
