Page 11 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“It’s just... you haven’t met Anna and Bea yet. In person, anyway. And they’re... they’re really...”
“Weird?”
“That’s one word for it.” He drummed his fingers on the bathroom counter. “Look, Anna’s great. She’s family. She’s just... a lot sometimes. And Bea’s sixteen, like you, but she’s been living in Florence all summer, so she might be a little...”
“Stuck up?”
“I was going to say worldly, but yeah. Maybe a little stuck up.”
Stella had been living with her dad for about six weeks now, long enough to figure out his moods. Right now, he looked like someone about to bring his kid to meet a bunch of people he wasn’t sure she’d like.
“Are you worried about me meeting them, or them meeting me?”
Tyler stopped messing with his hair. “Both? I just want everyone to get along.”
“Dad, I survived living with Mum and David’s twins in Sydney. I think I can handle dinner with some artists.”
“Right. Yes. You’re tough.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just that Anna and Bea are... they talk a lot. About art stuff. And Meg likes everything neat. And Margo’s probably going to sit there watching all of us like we’re on some reality show.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Nothing about our family is normal, kiddo.”
They walked down the street toward Meg’s house, where light was coming through the windows and Stella could see people moving around inside. Someone was waving their hands around a lot in the kitchen.
“That would be Anna,” Tyler said, following her gaze.
As they walked up to the front door, they could hear voices from inside—multiple conversations happening simultaneously.
Tyler knocked, and the door swung open to reveal Meg, who looked slightly frazzled but determinedly cheerful.
“Tyler! Stella! Perfect timing. Come in, come in. Anna’s just... helping with dinner preparation.”
They stepped inside, and Stella immediately understood why her father had been nervous. The house she’d visited before—Meg’s perfectly organized, quietly elegant space—had been transformed.
There were canvases propped against walls, art supplies scattered across surfaces, and what appeared to be an entire color wheel spread across the coffee table.
“TYLER!” Anna came out of the kitchen, paintbrush stuck behind her ear, arms wide open. She was smaller than Meg but somehow took up the whole room.
“And Stella! We finally get to meet in person.” Anna grabbed Stella’s hands before she could back away. “Oh my God, look at you! You’re gorgeous. Has anyone ever painted you? Because you have the most amazing?—“
“Anna,” Tyler interrupted gently, “maybe let her get inside first?”
“Of course! Yes! Come in, come in. Bea!” Anna called toward the kitchen. “Come meet your cousin!”
A girl appeared in the doorway, and Stella had to blink twice. Bea was wearing what looked like a vintage Italian dress over paint-splattered leggings, her dark hair twisted up with what might have been chopsticks, and she was holding a wooden spoon like it was a painter’s brush.
“Hey, Stella!” Bea came over, somehow looking like she was floating. “This is so cool! Nice to meet you finally in the same room.”
Stella looked at her cousin—this girl who was exactly her age but lived in a completely different world—and managed, “Nice to meet you too. Same room and all. Yeah.”
“Bea’s been helping me cook,” Meg said, though her smile looked slightly strained. “She has some very... creative ideas about pasta preparation.”
“The way the steam rises,” Bea said seriously, “it’s like the dish is waking up.”
“And every dish tells a story,” Anna added, smiling at her daughter.
“Reunion,” Bea said immediately. “Family coming together, different people mixing. See how the tomatoes are like passion, and the basil—little green hopes scattered around?”
