Page 5 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
"Someone has to think about logistics."
"Or," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand, "you could just be here. With me. Before everything changes."
She looked at him—really looked—at the way the sunset caught his eyes, the patient smile he always gave her when she was spinning out. He'd never once complained about her need to organize everything, never made her feel foolish for color-coding towels or alphabetizing spices.
"You're right," she said. "One more quiet evening."
They shared a piece of key lime pie, talked about the weekend farmer's market, made plans for Luke to teach Bea about tide pools if she was interested. Simple, peaceful conversation that would be impossible once the house filled with artistic energy.
As they walked back to the truck, Luke's arm around her shoulders, Meg found herself imagining tomorrow. The arrivals gate. Anna's smile—the same smile that had lit up their childhood, even in the middle of creative disasters. Bea, who she barely knew, stepping into her carefully arranged life.
"It's going to be chaos," she said.
"Probably."
"Paint everywhere. Art supplies taking over. My whole routine disrupted."
"Most likely."
"And I'm actually excited about it. Is that weird?"
Luke stopped walking, turning to face her with a grin. "Finally admitting it?"
"I miss her. I miss having family around. Even if it means?—"
"Color-coded chaos?"
"Something like that."
When they got home, Meg stood in the living room one last time, looking at everything she'd spent the day rearranging. The writing desk positioned just so. Her work files neatly stacked.The throw pillows she'd carefully selected to match her coastal aesthetic.
Tomorrow it would all be different. Anna would claim the best light for painting. Bea would likely add her own touches. The house would transform from Meg's organized sanctuary into something messier, warmer, more alive.
"Last chance to reorganize something," Luke said, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Don't tempt me."
"The towels are color-coded. The spices are alphabetized. The guest room has been prepared to hotel standards. What's left?"
"I could make a diagram of where everything should go?—"
"Or you could go to bed and let tomorrow worry about itself."
"What if this is a huge mistake? What if we can't live together anymore?"
"Then it's a mistake you make together. As family." He kissed the top of her head. "But I think it's going to be messy and frustrating and occasionally infuriating. And I think you're all going to love every minute of it."
Tomorrow. Her organized life colliding with Anna's artistic chaos. But maybe that collision would create something beautiful—the way Anna's murals always did, unexpected and lovely and completely worth the disruption.
“Come on,” Luke said, tugging her toward the stairs. “Last peaceful night. Let’s not waste it worrying about tomorrow.”
He was right. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Tonight, she could just be here. In this house. In this moment. Before everything changed.
CHAPTER THREE
The thing about visits from Rick, Margo decided, was that they were rarely social calls.
