Page 91 of The Beach Shack Summer
“Maybe you all do.” Luke opened his truck door. “You know what might help? That dinner thing Stellasuggested. Regular meals together even though you’re living apart.”
“Like shared custody of family time.”
“Exactly. Shows Meg you won’t fall apart, gives Stella stability, keeps the connection without the cramped quarters.”
Tyler considered this. “Tuesday dinners at Meg’s, Thursday at mine?”
“Add Sunday breakfast at the Shack.”
“Bernie will run a betting pool on whether we can maintain it.”
“Bernie runs betting pools on everything. Might as well give him good material.”
They stood by their trucks as the sun broke the horizon, painting everything gold.
“Thanks,” Tyler said. “For the coffee. And for not letting me spiral. Again.”
“That’s what we do.” Luke’s grin was familiar, comforting. “Besides, in a few weeks I’ll probably be the one panicking about something with Meg, and you’ll have to return the favor.”
“What kind of something?”
Luke’s expression went carefully neutral. “Just... something. Don’t worry about it.”
“Luke—”
“Go make breakfast for your daughter, Tyler. Real food. With nutrients.”
“Eggs have nutrients.”
“Then make eggs. And maybe some toast that isn’t burned.”
Tyler drove home feeling lighter. Not fixed—nothing about this situation was fixed—but manageable. He had a daughter learning to trust him, a sister finding her own space, a best friend who showed up with coffee and truth at dawn.
His phone buzzed at a red light. Stella.
where r u? meg’s already texting about moving boxes
He typed back.
On my way. Want eggs or pancakes?
Three dots appeared immediately.
pancakes. but not burned ones
I don’t burn pancakes.
tyler. yes you do
He laughed despite himself. She was calling him Tyler now, not “my father” with that formal distance. Small things, like Luke said. But they mattered.
I’ll try not to burn them.
try hard. meg says she’s stealing your good pan anyway
Of course she was. By tonight, Meg would have relocated half his kitchen to their childhood home,Stella would be figuring out dinner without their buffer, and life would be completely different.
But maybe different didn’t mean worse. Maybe it just meant everyone getting the space to figure out who they were becoming.
