Page 38 of The Beach Shack Summer
“You picked them.”
“Still. Thanks.” She grabbed her earbuds. “I’m gonna... be in my room. Let me know when dinner happens, I guess.”
“Will do.”
Stella paused at the hallway. “Thanks. For the shopping and stuff. And for not making it weird with your friend.”
“Natalie? She’s harmless.”
“Still. You could have made it into a thing. Tyler probably would have.”
“Tyler has his own approach,” Meg said diplomatically.
“Yeah.” Stella disappeared down the hall, music already playing.
Meg looked at the basil on the counter, already planning dinner. Nothing fancy, nothing that screamed “trying too hard.” Just pasta and pesto and maybe some good bread. Food that might make a teenager feel like she belonged somewhere, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
Her phone buzzed. Tyler.
How did it go? Everyone survive?
We’re alive. She got her Pop-Tarts. Making pesto for dinner.
You’re cooking?
Don’t sound so shocked.
I’m not shocked. Just... impressed. Thanks, Meg.
Meg set the phone aside and began organizing her ingredients. She lifted the basil, inhalingits sharp green scent, then frowned. This wasn’t nearly enough, especially if she wanted to make extra for Tyler’s lunch tomorrow. He’d live on hot sauce and determination if left to his own devices.
“Stella?” she called down the hall.
“Yeah?” The response was muffled by closed door and music.
“Could you do me a favor?”
The door opened slightly. “What kind of favor?”
“Run to Margo’s and grab more basil? This isn’t enough for dinner plus leftovers.” Meg found a basket on top of the fridge. “Remember that cottage we passed on the way here? The one with all the gardens?”
Stella appeared fully in the hallway, looking suspicious. “The jungle-looking one?”
“That’s Margo’s. Just five houses down on the right. She’s probably still at the Shack, but her garden gate’s always open—it’s around the side of the house. Behind a bright blue gate.” Meg held out the basket, then had a thought. “Here, smell this.” She held up a basil leaf.
Stella leaned in, sniffing. “Okay?”
“That’s what you’re looking for. Big bushy plants with leaves like this. Should be in one of the raised beds—she’s got them organized by type.”
“You want me to just... take stuff from her garden?”
“She won’t mind. That’s what it’s for.” Meg pressed the basket into Stella’s hands. “Just a big handful. I’ll start prepping everything else.”
“Fine.” Stella took the basket like it might bite. “Fivehouses down on the right, blue gate, smell for the green stuff.”
“Exactly. You’ve got it.”
After Stella left, Meg returned to her prep work, smiling slightly. Cooking wasn’t painting or photography or any of the other artistic pursuits her family favored. But it was something.
