They started with the grill.
“This is where the magic happens,” Stella said, then immediately felt stupid. “I mean, it’s just a grill. But Margo’s been cooking on it for fifty years. The grilled cheese is kind of famous.”
“Famous how?”
“People drive from all over for it. There was a TikTok video last month—some influencer called it ‘the best sandwich on the California coast.’”
“TikTok,” Fiona repeated, like the word was from another language.
“It’s a whole thing. We were slammed for a week.”
Stella showed her the walk-in cooler, (organized by Joey’s color-coded system), the ancient cash register (you had to hit the 7 key twice or it stuck), the back office where Margo did the books (still by hand, in a ledger, because she didn’t trust computers).
But when they got to the corner booth — Bernie’s booth, though he’d tactfully relocated to the counter to give them space — Fiona paused.
“This is where you sit? When you’re not working?”
“Sometimes. It’s got the best view of the door.” Stella slid into the booth, patting the seat across from her. “You can see everyone coming and going.”
Fiona sat. The vinyl creaked beneath her.
“It’s strange,” she said, looking around. “I’ve heard so much about this place. In your texts. Your calls. ‘The Shack this, the Shack that.’ I pictured something...”
“Fancier?”
“Different.” Fiona ran her hand along the edge ofthe table. “But I can see why you like it. It’s got character.”
“That’s a polite way of saying it’s falling apart.”
“No, I mean it. Character.” Fiona met her eyes.
Stella didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like a compliment and an accusation at the same time. In this place I’ve never been. With these people I don’t know. And it’s got “character”.
“Mum—”
“Don’t.” Fiona held up a hand. “I’m not... I didn’t mean it as a criticism. I’m just observing.”
“Okay.”
“You seem happy. That’s all.” Fiona’s voice was careful, controlled. “Happier than you’ve seemed in a long time.”
Stella thought about the last year in Sydney. The dinners of dinosaur nuggets. The feeling of being invisible in her own house. The way Fiona’s attention had narrowed to the twins, to David, to everything except her.
“I am happy,” she said. “I’m sorry if that hurts.”
“It doesn’t hurt.” A pause. “It stings a little. But it doesn’t hurt.”
Joey appeared with two glasses of lemonade, setting them down with more ceremony than necessary. “House specialty. Fresh squeezed. Well, fresh-ish. I squeezed them this morning.”
“Thank you, Joey,” Stella said.
“Yell if you need anything. I’ll be in the back, definitely not eavesdropping.”
He disappeared. Fiona watched him go with an expression Stella couldn’t quite read.
“He seems... enthusiastic,” Fiona said.
“He’s the best. Annoying, but the best.” Stella sipped her lemonade. “He taught me everything when I first started. How to work the register, how to deal with difficult customers, how to tell when the grill’s at the right temperature by sound.”
