Page 35 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“They do work themselves out,” Stella said. “We’re pretty efficient at chaos management by now.”
Tyler looked around the restaurant again, taking in the full scope of Anna’s ongoing Florence Method. A customer was standing by Bernie’s relocated booth, clearly confused about the seating situation. Another family clustered by the displaced condiment station, trying to figure out the new supply geography. The whole place looked like someone had picked it up and shaken it.
“Shouldn’t someone... fix this?” Tyler asked.
“Anna’s convinced it just needs time for people to adapt,” Stella said. “She thinks the problem is that customers aren’t open to change, not that her system has flaws.”
“What about Margo?”
“Margo’s been watching everything very carefully,” Stella said, and something in her tone suggested there was more to that story. “But she hasn’t stepped in to fix it.”
“So, it’ll just... stay like this?”
“Until someone deals with it,” Stella said. “Meg will probably handle it when she gets back from her client meeting. She’s good at translating Anna’s improvements back into functional restaurant space.”
Tyler felt a small twinge of something—guilt? Relief? He wasn’t sure. “Anna should fix her own experiment.”
“Anna should,” Stella agreed. “But Anna thinks it’s working perfectly.”
“Well,” he said, adjusting his camera strap, which had somehow gotten twisted, “sounds like everyone handled it perfectly without me. And Meg’ll be here soon.
“We always do,” Stella said, and there was something in the way she said it—not resentful, not bitter, just matter-of-fact—that made Tyler feel slightly off-balance.
She returned to her coffee cup organization. Bernie had gone back to his tablet, occasionally chuckling at something. Joey was wiping down displaced tables the same way he always had. Margo’s voice drifted from the kitchen, talking to a supplier about tomorrow’s delivery.
Everything was normal. Everything was handled—or would be soon. Everyone had adapted to the crisis competently and moved on.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Meg arrived at the Beach Shack to find the entire Beach Shack dining room completely unrecognizable. Stella had texted that there might be some…issues, and to prepare herself.
“Hello, Mrs. Borden,” Meg called, reaching for her apron. “Looking for your usual spot?”
“I can’t find my usual spot,” Mrs. Borden said, still turning. “The window table is gone, and there’s a condiment station where I normally sit, and I don’t understand what happened to everything.”
Meg looked around the dining room and felt her stomach drop. Bernie’s corner booth sat marooned in the center of the room like a lost island. The coffee station had been moved to the left, forcing customers to climb around furniture to reach cream and sugar. Mrs. Walker’s window table now housed salt, pepper, and napkins in a completely unreachable.
“Let me help you find somewhere,” Meg said, guiding Mrs. Borden to the only available window spot. “How about here? Different table, same view.”
“But this isn’t my table. I’ve been sitting in the same spot for twelve years.”
“Same window, just shifted over,” Meg assured her.
Tyler appeared from the kitchen, camera bag over his shoulder.
“Hello, Mrs. Borden,” he said.
“Your furniture has been relocated,” Mrs. Borden informed him. “It’s very disorienting.”
“Ah. I heard this wasn’t going well.”
“Understatement. Where is Anna?” Meg asked, already moving toward Bernie’s displaced booth.
“Outside with Bea, measuring something called ‘circulation patterns,’” Tyler said.
“Of course she is.” Meg grabbed one end of Bernie’s booth. “Tyler, could you help me move this back before?—”
“Actually, I need to get to the Festival,” Tyler said, already backing toward the door. “Big day today. Very important documentation schedule.”
