Page 42 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
Tyler arrived late, as usual. Anna breezed in moments after him with a flourish, wearing a dramatic scarf that had definitely seen some art supply action.
“Sorry I’m late,” Anna said, air-kissing Meg’s cheek. “I was reviewing my Festival submission materials. The light studies turned out better than expected.”
“Shall we eat?” Margo suggested gently, hoping to steer them toward safer territory.
Everyone settled around the table. For exactly ninety seconds, the dinner was pleasant. Quiet chewing, compliments to the chef, a little wine-fueled laughter.
Then Anna opened the conversation that would end it all.
“So,” she said brightly, “I’ve been reflecting on the Florence Method implementation.”
“Learning experience,” Meg muttered into her wine glass.
“Exactly! It was such valuable feedback about restaurant dynamics.” Anna’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm that was either inspiring or terrifying, depending on your perspective. “I think the principles were sound—improved circulation, better aesthetic harmony, enhanced customer flow patterns.”
The silence was deafening. Even the candles seemed to stop flickering.
Margo watched Tyler’s face cycle through disbelief and the beginning of an escape plan. Meg had gone very still, the way she did when she was calculating how many different ways to say no. Stella and Bea exchanged a look that suggested they were mentally composing their own obituaries.
“The principles were sound?” Meg said carefully.
“Absolutely. The spatial optimization created much better energy flow. The coffee station relocation improved efficiency. The storage reorganization was much more logical.” Anna gestured enthusiastically with her fork. “I think people just needed more time to adjust to the improvements.”
“Those improvements,” Tyler said slowly, “confused every regular customer for days.”
“But that’s natural with any upgrade,” Anna continued, missing the warning signs entirely. “Change requires an adjustment period. The new furniture arrangement maximized the space much better.”
“After customers spent twenty minutes wandering around looking for the napkin dispensers,” Meg said, her voice dangerously quiet.
“But they were in much more logical locations. Better traffic flow, easier access patterns.”
Margo watched her granddaughter’s face, seeing decades of this exact pattern. Anna, brilliant and passionate, completely oblivious to the reality that other people existed in her beautiful vision.
“Anna,” Meg said, her voice dangerously quiet, “we just spent three days moving everything back because customers couldn’t find anything. Bernie got lost trying to locate the coffee supplies. Joey couldn’t find the napkin dispensers when he needed them. Mrs. Walker had to ask where everything went.”
“Growing pains,” Anna said earnestly. “All improvements require an adjustment period. The spatial relationships were much more harmonious.”
“Harmonious?” Tyler’s voice cracked slightly. “Anna, you moved the coffee station twice in one week.”
“Because I was perfecting the optimal placement based on customer flow patterns.”
“Because,” Meg said, standing abruptly and sending her chair scraping against the floor, “our customers don’t want optimal placement. They want to know where their coffee is.”
“That’s such a limited perspective?—“
“Limited?” Meg’s control finally snapped. “Anna, you’re being a complete diva. You have zero concern for other people.None. You see a perfectly functional restaurant and think ‘improvement project’ instead of thinking about the people who’ve been coming here for decades.”
The entire table went dead silent. Luke’s wine glass paused halfway to his mouth. Bea looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.
Anna’s face went pale. “I’m not a diva. I was trying to optimize?—“
“You were trying to turn our family restaurant into your personal laboratory,” Tyler said, pushing back from the table.
“That’s not—“ Anna looked around the table, genuine confusion clouding her features. “Margo, tell them. Efficiency matters. Aesthetic harmony improves the dining experience.”
Margo looked at her granddaughter—talented, passionate Anna, who saw poetry in everything and couldn’t understand why other people didn’t automatically share her vision. She saw decades of this exact pattern playing out—Anna with the grand idea, Meg cleaning up the aftermath, Tyler disappearing the moment it got complicated.
“Anna,” Margo said quietly, “when was the last time you asked what anyone else wanted?”
