Page 47 of The Beach Shack
“Thank you,” she said simply, unsure how to respond to this unexpected shift.
The rest of their visit proceeded pleasantly, with the couple eventually ordering second sandwiches and lingering over iced tea refills while watching the waves. When they left, they added a generous tip and a note that read simply: “Worth the special trip.”
As Meg cleared their table, Natalie appeared on the deck, waving cheerfully as she approached.
“I caught the tail end of your speech,” she said with a grin. “Very impressive. The mighty corporate executive defending the humble grilled cheese stand.”
Meg felt heat rise to her cheeks. “You heard that?”
“Pretty sure half the beach heard it.” Natalie’s amusement was gentle rather than mocking. “It was nice to see, actually. The old Meg defending something she cares about.”
“I was just addressing their concerns,” Meg said automatically.
“About the Beach Shack? Or about what matters in general?” Natalie’s question held no judgment, only genuine curiosity.
Before Meg could formulate a response, Joey called from the counter: “Order up for table three!”
“Saved by the sandwich,” Natalie teased. “I actually came back to see if you’d like to join us for First Thursday Art Walk next week? We thought we could do that, then have dinner. Paige found photos from senior beach week that you absolutely need to see—preferably while drinking mimosas.”
“I’ll be there,” Meg promised, meaning it sincerely.
Watching Margo chat with regulars while preparing their usual orders—no ticket needed, just decades of remembering preferences—Meg felt a strange pride that took her by surprise.
As closing time approached and she helped Joey wipe down the outdoor tables, Meg found herself looking at the weathered building with different eyes.
“You were awesome today,” Joey said as they stacked the last chairs. “The way you stood up for the shack to those fancy people. Margo was really proud.”
“How could you tell?” Meg asked, genuinely curious. Her grandmother wasn’t exactly effusive with praise.
“She did the thing,” Joey explained, mimicking a subtle nod. “That little head tilt she does when she’s impressed but doesn’t want to make a big deal about it. Tyler calls it the ‘silent approval.’”
Meg laughed, recognizing the gesture immediately now that Joey had pointed it out. “I can’t believe I never noticed that before.”
“She did it a lot when you weren’t looking,” Joey said casually, heading inside with the cleaning supplies.
Later, as she locked the back door and headed to her car, Meg paused to look back at the Beach Shack silhouetted against the darkening sky. The sign—hand-painted and refreshed every few years but never redesigned—glowed softly in the evening light. The same sign her grandfather had commissioned, that hadweathered countless storms, that had become a landmark for locals and a curiosity for visitors.
Back at Tyler’s house, Meg found herself skipping her usual evening ritual of checking emails and reviewing documents. Instead, she walked out onto the small deck and sat watching the ocean, letting the rhythmic sound of waves wash over her.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Brad—another urgent client issue requiring her attention—but for once, Meg set it aside without immediate response. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Tonight, she wanted to sit with this new understanding: that she cared about the Beach Shack not just as a family obligation or a business problem to solve, but as a place that mattered.
The revelation was both uncomfortable and strangely liberating. Meg didn’t have answers yet, but she found herself curious to discover them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Afew hours after coffee with Natalie and Paige, Meg hummed her way through the produce section of Laguna Village Market—a place, and a mood, she’d nearly forgotten.
The late afternoon sun streamed through the storefront windows, and she had nowhere urgent to be—a novelty that still felt strange but increasingly welcome.
She’d left the Beach Shack in a surprisingly good mood after defending it to the Hales, and Natalie’s comment about “the old Meg defending something she cares about” had stuck with her. When was the last time she’d felt genuinely passionate about something beyond quarterly targets and client retention?
But it wasn’t just the Beach Shack that had her feeling lighter. It was this morning’s coffee with Natalie and Paige—three hours that had flown by like minutes, filled with the kind of easy laughter she’d forgotten existed. They’d picked up their friendshipexactly where they’d left it, as if the years of distance had been nothing more than a long pause.
Meg selected a bunch of fresh basil, remembering Anna’s recent complaints about the wilted herbs in Florence grocery stores. The memory sparked an impulse she didn’t question—she wanted to share her good news with someone who would understand what it meant.
She paid for her groceries and found a quiet bench outside the market, pulling out her phone before she could overthink it.
