Page 97 of The Beach Shack Summer
“You didn’t abandon them,” he said softly. “You gave them room to figure each other out.”
“I stole their stapler.”
“They’ll survive.” He pulled back enough to look at her. “And you’ll be happier when you can actually work without bathroom acoustics.”
“The acoustics were excellent,” she protested weakly.
“Meg.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “You did the right thing.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m failing them?”
“Because you care. Because change is hard. Because you’ve spent your whole life trying to hold everything together.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But sometimes the best thing you can do is step back.”
She studied his face—the laugh lines, the sun-lightened hair, the steady certainty in his eyes. “When did you get so wise?”
“Ocean time. Very philosophical.” His hand settled at her waist. “Plus, I’ve been watching you try to fix everyone since you came back. Hell, since you were a teenager taking surf lessons.”
“I don’t try to fix?—“
“Meg. You literally reorganized the surf shop while waiting for your lesson once.”
“It was chaos!”
“You were seventeen.”
“A very organized seventeen.”
He laughed, and she felt it rumble through his chest. “I’ve missed you. This version of you.”
“What version?”
“The one who steals staplers and names succulentsand creates filing systems for napkins.” His voice went softer. “The one who chose to stay.”
The air shifted between them. Meg was suddenly very aware of how close they were standing, how his hand felt warm through her shirt, how the kitchen light caught gold flecks in his eyes.
“Luke...”
“I know we’ve been taking things slow,” he said. “And I know everything’s complicated with the move and Stella and the whole family dynamic. But Meg...” He cupped her face gently. “I’m so damn glad you’re here. Not just in Laguna. Here, figuring out what you actually want instead of what you think you should want.”
“What if I don’t know what I want?”
“Then we figure it out together. No rush. No pressure.” He smiled. “Though I do have some suggestions.”
“Oh?”
“Starting with this.”
He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, like they had all the time in the world. Like they weren’t standing in a quiet kitchen with nothing to unpack and Herbert watching from the windowsill. Like three doors was exactly the right distance and everything was falling into place even if it felt like falling apart.
When they finally broke apart, Meg was breathless.
“Good suggestion,” she managed.
“I have others. Want to hear them?”
“Maybe. Yes. After pizza.”
“Cold pizza and warm wine in an empty house.” Luke grinned. “Very romantic.”
