Page 12 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Stella nodded, filing this underThings She’d Never Understand.
The front door opened again, and Margo walked in carrying what smelled like fresh bread.
“Evening, everyone,” Margo said, taking in the scene with one comprehensive glance. “I see we’re in full swing already.”
“Margo!” Anna rushed over. “Perfect timing. We’re just discussing the artistic philosophy of pasta preparation.”
“Of course you are,” Margo said mildly, then looked at Stella.
“How are you holding up, honey?”
“Still processing,” Stella admitted.
“Give it time. You’ll either adapt or develop a very high tolerance for creative chaos.”
“Is there a third option?”
“Running away screaming, but that’s generally frowned upon at family dinners.”
From the kitchen came the sound of something clattering to the floor, followed by Bea’s voice. “It’s fine! It’s fine! The pasta is just... expressing itself!”
“Be right back,” Meg said, already heading toward the kitchen.
Stella found herself standing in the living room with Margo when Tyler headed outside to grab his camera bag.
“This is normal?” Stella asked.
“For Anna? Absolutely.” Margo settled into a chair with the air of someone settling in for a show. “She once turned a simple grilled cheese into a forty-five-minute exploration of the symbolism of melted dairy.”
“And Bea?”
“Anna’s daughter through and through. Maybe even more so.”
From the kitchen—“No, no, the herbs should be scattered like stars across the surface! Like Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ but with basil!”
“That’s... not how recipes work,” Meg’s said, her eyes wide.
“Recipes are just suggestions!” Anna said. “Guidelines for the uninspired!”
Twenty minutes later, they were all seated around Meg’s dining table, which had been set with what Bea declared was “perfect lighting for dinner.” The pasta—which had survived its artistic interpretation—actually looked and smelled amazing.
“So, Stella,” Anna said, serving herself a generous portion, “Meg tells us you’ve been working at the Beach Shack. How wonderful! There’s something so authentic about working with your hands, connecting with the community.”
“It’s just a summer job,” Stella said. “But I like it.”
“Just a summer job?” Bea looked scandalized. “Mom and I have worked there in the summers, too! It’s what makes Laguna Beach special! Every interaction, every order—it’s all part of connecting with people.”
Stella blinked. “It’s... grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Exactly! Simple food, but made with care. There’s something beautiful about that.”
“Bea’s been reading a lot of philosophy,” Anna explained proudly. “The professors in Florence were so impressed with her insights.”
“That’s nice,” Stella managed, though she was starting to feel like she was having three different conversations at the same time.
“What about you?” Tyler asked Bea, clearly trying to redirect. “Any plans for when you get back to regular school?”
“School,” Bea said dramatically, “is just designed to limit creative thinking. But yes, I’ll go back. Though I’m thinking of taking a gap year after graduation. Maybe studying art somewhere in Europe. There’s so much to see.”
