“I prefer specific action items.”
“I know that too.”
Joey sighed. “Fine. Vague it is. But if we’re doing vague, I’m making more coffee. Vague requires caffeine.”
He disappeared behind the counter. Tyler stood in the middle of the Shack, Bernie’s words echoing in his head.
Maybe that’s not what people were tasting.
Somewhere, they had to find a way to serve something people could feel.
He just had no idea what.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The morning had been going so well.
Stella drove down Pacific Coast Highway with the windows cracked, salt air rushing in, music turned up loud enough to feel the bass. She was meeting Bea at the coffee place on Third—their regular ritual now, when neither of them had Shack shifts.
Driving had become automatic now—she didn’t have to think about every movement, didn’t grip the steering wheel like it might escape. Tyler had been a good teacher. Patient. Panicked only when necessary.
She parked on the side street—not perfectly, but close enough—and spotted Bea already at their usual bench outside, two cups waiting.
“You’re late,” Bea said, handing her a cup.
“I’m three minutes early.”
“Which is late for me. I’ve been here since the dawnof time.” Bea gestured at the pastry bag between them. “I got croissants. The almond ones. You’re welcome.”
“You’re a saint.”
“I know.” Bea stretched her legs out, face tilted toward the sun. “Okay. Game plan. Coffee, pastries, then we hit the vintage store on Third. I need a dress for the gallery opening and everything in my closet is wrong.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything. I’ve entered a new aesthetic phase. The old clothes don’t align with my creative vision.”
“What’s the new phase?”
“I’m calling it ‘messy elegance.’ Think structured silhouettes with unexpected textures.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Neither do I, but I’ll know it when I see it.”
Stella settled onto the bench, coffee warming her hands. The morning stretched ahead, full of nothing in particular and everything that mattered.
“This is nice,” she said. “Just... this.”
“Being normal teenagers?”
“Is this what normal teenagers do?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never been normal.” Bea bit into her croissant, flakes scattering. “But if it is, I approve.”
Stella’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it.
From her mum.
