Page 56 of The Beach Shack
“Creative?”
“She writes notes on napkins and sticks them to the freezer. Sometimes they fall off.”
Meg laughed despite herself. “Okay, that’s actually terrifying from a business perspective.”
“See? You’re already helping.” Luke’s smile was warm, encouraging rather than condescending. “Just maybe with less... theatrical presentation next time.”
As they finished clearing the table, Meg reassessed not just her approach to the Beach Shack, but her understanding of what made it special in the first place. She’d been measuring its success by standards that didn’t apply here—efficiency, profitability, scalability—rather than the metrics that actually mattered to Margo and the community.
“Luke?” she called as he headed toward the kitchen. “Thanks. For... you know.”
“Being the voice of experience in failed community interventions?” he suggested with a grin.
“Something like that,” Meg replied, finding herself smiling despite the morning’s disappointment.
She tucked the diagrams into her bag. Maybe the Shack didn’t need fixing. Maybe she did.
The thought made her pause—then smile again—as she tied on her apron and stepped into the morning bustle, the familiar space feeling just a little different.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Brad:
Committee moved the timeline up. Need you back for client presentations next week. This is crunch time, Meg.
Who would’ve guessed a grilled cheese shack could feel more complicated than Mercer & Reid?
She tugged at the ties on her apron and headed into the kitchen, where Joey was already humming off-key while slicing cheese—today it sounded like “Here Comes the Sun,” and Meg found herself humming along before she realized it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Saturday morning rush hit the Beach Shack like a wave. Meg had thought she was prepared—she’d arrived early, prepped extra ingredients, reviewed the staffing schedule twice.
“Two Classics for table four, Neptune’s Special at the window, and we’re running low on sourdough!” Joey called over the din of clattering plates and sizzling grill tops.
Meg nodded, trying to project confidence while inwardly calculating how they’d manage the dwindling bread supply with the line of customers still stretching out the door. The noise level had risen steadily since they’d opened—the impatient chatter of hungry tourists mixing with enthusiastic greetings between locals, the bell over the door jingling constantly, and someone’s child wailing about wanting chocolate milk that wasn’t on the menu.
“We’re out of the herb butter,” Lisa reported,rushing past with three plates balanced on her arm. “And table seven wants to know if we can make a vegan grilled cheese.”
Meg felt a headache forming behind her eyes. In San Francisco, she managed million-dollar campaigns with dozens of moving parts and high-stakes client expectations. Why was a small beach restaurant with a limited menu overwhelming her so completely?
She knew the answer. This wasn’t just business. This was family.
Failing here would mean something entirely different than a missed deadline or an unhappy client.
“Meg.” Margo appeared at her side, somehow serene despite the chaos. “Why don’t you let me handle the grill for a bit? You can manage the register.”
The suggestion carried a hint of gentle criticism that made Meg’s shoulders tense. She’d been at the Beach Shack for weeks now, and still couldn’t maintain her grandmother’s easy flow during busy periods.
“I’ve got it,” she insisted, flipping three sandwiches with more force than necessary.
Margo raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, moving instead to help Lisa organize the next round of orders. Meg returned her attention to the grill, trying to track multiple cooking times while mentally reviewing the growing list of supplies they needed to restock before the next wave hit.
Meg glanced over at Joey. “You okay?” she asked as Joey stepped behind the counter.
He nodded. “Yeah, but we really need anotherperson for weekends,” Joey said, refilling napkin dispensers between serving tables. “But Margo keeps saying we’ll manage.”
The bell over the door jingled again, and Meg glanced up reflexively, her stomach doing an unexpected flip when she saw Luke entering. He took one look at the crowded space, caught her eye with a slight smile, and moved directly to the back room without being asked. Moments later, he emerged wearing an apron, seamlessly stepping in to help Joey clear tables and reset them for waiting customers.
“Reinforcements have arrived,” Margo said with evident relief, returning to Meg’s side. “Luke always knows when we need him most.”
