Page 127 of The Beach Shack Summer
Each one a piece of the story—the girl from Bondi who walked into a beachside cafe and found her history waiting.
When she climbed down, they were all suspiciously bright-eyed.
“Right then,” Margo said briskly, but her voice wavered. “Prep won’t finish itself.”
They returned to their stations, but something had shifted. The morning light grew stronger, painting the shells above in gold and shadow. Stella kept glancing up, catching her additions in the growing light.
“Part of the story now,” Meg said quietly, following her gaze.
“Always was,” Margo corrected. “Just needed to make it official.”
Bernie arrived as they were finishing prep, newspaper under his arm and gossip at the ready. He stopped short in the doorway, taking in the scene—four Walshes working in easy synchronization, bandages and all.
“Well,” he said finally. “This is new.”
“Family prep day,” Stella told him, not looking up from her perfect tomato slices. “Want coffee?”
“Do I want—of course I want coffee.” But Bernie was studying the ceiling, and Meg could swear he knew exactly what had changed. “Nice morning for it.”
“Perfect morning,” Margo agreed.
By the time they opened, everything was ready. Joey arrived to find his station prepped, Lisa appeared with apologies and enthusiasm, and the Sunday regulars filtered in for their post-church brunches.
Normal. Ordinary. Except for the way Stella movedthrough the space now—no hesitation, no holding back. She belonged here, and everyone could see it.
“Hey,” Tyler said during a brief lull, catching her by the prep station. “Thank you. For this morning. For yesterday. For?—”
“It’s what family does,” Stella interrupted, echoing his words from yesterday.
“Yeah,” he agreed, watching her work with hands that knew their purpose. “It is.”
The lunch rush came and went. Margo managed one-handed excellence at the register. Joey created his million-and-first perfect grilled cheese. Even Dante’s napkins achieved something approaching respectability.
But Stella kept glancing up at the ceiling, at her shells nestled among decades of stories. Part of the history now. Part of the family.
“No regrets?” Meg asked quietly, catching her looking.
“About what?”
“Staying. Choosing this.”
Stella considered, then shook her head. “I didn’t choose it. I just finally recognized what was already true.”
Which was, Meg thought, perhaps the most Walsh answer possible.
The afternoon wound down gently. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—working around Margo’s injury long-term, preparing for the festival, navigating whatever came next. But today had been aboutclaiming space, accepting belonging, making the unofficial official at last.
As they cleaned up, Stella paused beneath her shells one more time. Such small things to carry such weight. But then, the most important things often were.
“Worth the wait?” Tyler asked, joining her.
“Sixteen years is a long time,” Stella said.
“But you’re here now.”
“Yeah,” she said softly, finally looking away from the ceiling and meeting his eyes. “I’m here now.”
Tyler pulled her into a quick, fierce hug.
