Page 16 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“The sun is the cheese,” Bea explained. “And these little clouds are tomato slices floating across?—”
“One grilled cheese with tomato,” Stella translated quickly. “Got it. Table four?”
“I think so? Or maybe six. The one by the window with the good light.”
Joey made a strangled sound. “Tables have numbers! Specific numbers!”
“I’ll figure it out,” Stella said, already heading off with the plates.
Tyler stood in the doorway, camera in hand but clearly unsure whether to enter the chaos or retreat. He did what he always did lately—hanging back, not sure whether to help or let Stella handle it
“You coming in or just decorating my doorway?” Margo called.
He entered, eyes tracking between his daughter efficiently delivering orders and his niece, who was now folding napkins into what appeared to be origami flowers.
“Bea,” Joey said desperately, “those napkins go in the dispensers. Flat. In the dispensers.”
“But look—crane!” She held up her creation. “We could put one on each table. Like a little gift.”
“We’re not a sushi restaurant!”
From his corner table, Bernie chuckled. “Twenty bucks says Joey cracks before the shift ends.”
“No betting on my staff,” Margo said automatically, though she was privately giving Joey another hour tops.
Stella returned, pausing by her cousin. “The napkin birds are pretty,” she said carefully, “but maybe we save them for special occasions? Like, make a few for the window display but keep the rest normal?”
Bea’s face lit up. “Yes! A compromise! Oh, Stella, you’re brilliant. We could do seasonal ones—seagulls for summer, maybe robins for spring...”
“Sure,” Stella said, shooting Joey a look that clearly said ‘you’re welcome.’ “But for now, let’s just get through lunch?”
“Speaking of lunch,” old Mr. Hendricks said from his usual stool, “could I get my regular? Extra pickles.”
“One masterpiece coming up!” Bea sang out, grabbing an order slip.
“Just write GC plus P,” Joey begged.
What Bea drew instead appeared to be an abstract expressionist interpretation of a sandwich. Or possibly a dragon. Margo couldn’t quite tell.
“Is that...?” Joey squinted at the slip.
“It’s dancing!” Bea said. “Because Mr. Hendricks always taps his foot while he waits. See the movement in the lines?”
Stella plucked the slip from Joey’s trembling hand. “Grilled cheese, extra pickles, for Mr. Hendricks,” she announced calmly. “I’ll keep track of Bea’s drawings and the actual orders.”
“You’d do that?” Joey looked ready to cry with relief.
“We’re a team,” Stella said simply.
Margo nodded. This was what she loved most—watching family find their rhythm. Even if that rhythm involved translating butterfly drawings into sandwich orders.
“Hey, Bea,” Tyler said, finally fully entering, “remember when you used to organize my camera lenses by how ‘energetic’ they felt?”
“The wide-angle was definitely the most enthusiastic,” Bea agreed, now arranging tomato slices on a plate in a flower pattern. “It wanted to see everything!”
“Tomatoes don’t go on the plate like that,” Joey said weakly.
“But it’s so pretty,” Bea said. “Look, it’s like a little rose!”
