Page 33 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Stella found herself serving as a translator between Anna’s artistic vision and actual restaurant operations. She guided confused customers to relocated amenities, helped people navigate around displaced furniture, and tried to explain to bewildered regulars why their usual spots had been “enhanced.”
Throughout the chaos, she was aware of Margo moving quietly through the restaurant, refilling coffee, checking on customers, observing everything with the calm attention of watching something she'd planned.
The chaos reached its peak when a delivery driver arrived with supplies.
“Where do you want the coffee delivery?” he asked, looking around at the rearranged space.
“Coffee storage is...” Anna paused, suddenly realizing that her aesthetic optimization had moved the condiment station away from the coffee area, creating a logistical nightmare for restocking. “Actually, where does coffee usually get stored?”
“Next to the coffee machine,” Stella said, stepping around Mrs. Walker, who was still standing in the center of the room looking lost.
“Right, but the condiment area is now by the window for better circulation,” Anna realized, looking at her handiwork and starting to see the problems with her plan.
“Hmm,” Margo said from behind the register, and something in her tone made Stella look over. Her great-grandmother was watching Anna’s moment of realization with what appeared to be fond curiosity.
By 11:30, even Anna was beginning to see the problems with the Florence Method. Customers were taking longer to get settled, people kept looking for things in their old locations, and regulars were standing around looking confused instead of comfortable.
“Maybe,” Anna said carefully, “the Florence Method needs some local adaptation.”
“Maybe,” Stella agreed diplomatically, “we could try a modified version. Like keeping the basic layout but adding small improvements instead of completely rearranging everything.”
“That’s very diplomatic,” Bernie observed from his relocated booth, which now sat in a traffic pattern instead of his preferred corner. “Though I’d suggest consulting the natives before implementing future improvements.”
“Everyone’s adapting,” Anna said.
“Mrs. Brady should be here any minute,” Stella said. “She’s going to be looking for her usual spot by the door.”
“She’s probably outside trying to figure out why nothing looks familiar,” Margo said.
Through the window, they could indeed see Mrs. Brady standing on the sidewalk, peering through the glass with the confused expression of someone whose regular café had been transformed overnight.
Stella turned away from the window just in time to help Bernie navigate around Mrs. Walker’s displaced table to reach the relocated condiment station. Joey looked like he was mapping out delivery routes for a space mission. Anna was studying the room like a scientist watching an experiment produce unexpected results.
And Margo?
Margo just sipped her coffee, as calm as ever, watching the chaos unfold like it was a movie she’d seen before—and knew exactly how it ended.
Stella checked the time. Almost closing time, and they’d managed to survive Anna’s Florence Method for almost a full day.
And Meg had missed the whole thing. She’d been at her other job in San Clemente and wouldn’t be in until later.
This day wasn’t done making trouble. Meg would walk in, see Bernie’s booth marooned in the middle of the room, and probably wonder—again—why no one had stopped it in the first place.
But stopping Anna wasn’t really their job. And apparently, according to Margo’s calm observation, fixing it wasn’t either.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tyler pushed open the Beach Shack door and knew instantly he’d missed something.
The tables were all wrong—Bernie’s corner booth sitting in the middle of the room like a lost island, Mrs. Walker’s window spot occupied by the condiment station, chairs arranged in patterns that made no practical sense. The coffee station had migrated three feet to the left, creating a navigation puzzle for anyone wanting cream and sugar.
Bernie looked up from his displaced booth with a grin that suggested he’d been waiting for this moment. “Tyler! You missed the show.”
“What show?”
“The Florence Method,” Stella said from behind the register, restocking coffee cups. “Anna introduced authentic Italian café methodology to the Beach Shack dining experience.”
Tyler blinked. “That sounds ominous.”
