Page 73 of The Beach Shack Summer
Get some sleep, Meg. Big day tomorrow.
You too. Night.
She tucked her phone away and stood, taking one last breath of cool air before heading back inside. Tomorrow she’d nail this presentation. Tomorrowshe’d take another step toward the success she’d worked so hard for.
Tomorrow the space problem would still exist, but that was tomorrow’s worry.
Tonight, she navigated the paperwork obstacle course to Tyler’s guest room—her room, for now—and tried not to think about how much worse it would get when her business grew.
One crisis at a time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tyler woke at 5:30 AM to the sound of Meg’s printer already running. Thursday. Presentation day. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, then padded down the hall to find Stella’s door cracked open.
“You awake?” he whispered.
“Meg’s printer is awake, so I’m awake.” Stella appeared in her doorway, hair sticking up at creative angles. “Is it always this loud?”
“Only when she’s stress-printing.” Tyler glanced toward the kitchen, where Meg’s papers had achieved critical mass. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Now? It’s basically still night.”
“Driving lesson. We promised we’d give her space today.”
Stella perked up slightly. “Can I drive to get coffee?”
“No. I’ll drive us to the parking lot, then you can practice, then we’ll get coffee.”
“Close enough.”
Twenty minutes later, they were creeping through the kitchen like cat burglars. Tyler grabbed his keys while Stella scribbled on a sticky note.
“What are you writing?”
“Good luck note. She needs it.” Stella stuck it to the coffee maker where Meg would definitely see it. Her handwriting was a mix of neat and messy: Knock ‘em dead today! We believe in you! -S & T
“Nice touch,” Tyler said.
“I have my moments.”
They escaped to the truck, Tyler starting the engine while trying to make minimal noise.
“Same rules as before,” he said as they reached the empty college parking lot. He put the truck in park and they switched seats. “Easy does it.”
“I’ve been practicing in my head,” Stella said, adjusting the mirrors. “Visualization. Athletes do it.”
“Since when are you an athlete?”
“Since I’m athletically operating a motor vehicle.” She checked her blind spots with exaggerated care. “Clear?”
“Clear.”
The streets were empty at this hour, marine layer thick enough to muffle sound. Stella drove with increasing confidence, only death-gripping the wheel during turns.
“So,” she said as they headed for the community college lot, “Meg’s kind of losing it, huh?”
“She’s managing.”
