Page 86 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“Like maybe we’re finally learning how to work together instead of just working around each other.” Meg stepped closer to examine Anna’s technique. “The community loves it. Mrs. Henderson told me yesterday that she brings her grandkids by just to look at it.”
“And no turpentine in the coffee station,” Luke added with a grin.
“No paint brushes soaking next to the napkins,” Meg agreed. “Anna gets her creative outlet, customers get something beautiful to look at, and Joey gets to keep his sanity. Win-win-win.”
They stood quietly for a moment, taking in the mural’s peaceful beauty.
“You know,” Luke said, “this kind of feels like a metaphor for your whole summer.”
“How so?”
“Finding ways to honor everyone’s needs instead of just managing them. Anna gets to create, but within boundaries that work for everyone. It’s not about controlling her artistic vision—it’s about channeling it.”
Something clicked.
“I used to think good management meant preventing chaos,” she said. “Turns out it might mean finding the right place for the chaos to happen.”
Luke squeezed her hand. “That’s very zen.”
“Don’t tell Bea I said that. She’ll want to discuss the philosophical implications of controlled artistic expression.”
They settled on the Shack’s steps, close enough that their shoulders touched. The evening air was cool but not cold, salt-scented and soft. Above them, Anna’s painted stars seemed to twinkle in the mural’s night sky section.
“So,” Luke said after a moment. “How does it feel? First summer as a Beach Shack family member officially survived.”
“Exhausting. Wonderful. Completely different than I expected.” She leaned back against the step above her. “Three months ago, I was convinced I was going to spend the summer managing Anna’s chaos and preventing family disasters.”
“Instead?”
“Instead, I learned that family disasters manage themselves, Anna’s chaos is actually kind of endearing when you’re not trying to control it, and Stella is possibly the most capable person I’ve ever met.”
“High praise from someone who manages corporate clients for a living.”
“Former corporate clients,” Meg said, then paused. “Well, mostly former. The San Clemente project is still ongoing, but it’s different now. It feels like work I chose rather than work I fell into.”
“How so?”
“It’s about helping a community build something meaningful instead of optimizing profit margins for people who already have plenty.” Meg gestured toward the mural. “When I’m working with them, it feels like this—like I’m part of something that matters.”
“And the corporate world?”
“Feels more and more like something I used to do. The San Clemente work showed me what’s possible when business serves community instead of the other way around.”
Meg pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “I keep thinking about what I want my life to look like in five years, and none of it involves conference rooms or corporate ladders or trying to optimize other people’s profit margins.”
“What does it involve?”
She turned to look at him—Luke, who apparently had a thing for Walsh family chaos and had somehow become essential to her idea of home.
“It involves this,” she said simply. “The Shack, Laguna, work that feels meaningful instead of just profitable. Family dinners where Anna psychoanalyzes vegetables. Helping Margo with her painting comeback. Watching Stella grow into whatever amazing thing she’s becoming.”
“And?” Luke prompted gently.
“And you. It involves you, if you’re interested in being involved.”
Luke’s smile was soft, certain. “I’m extremely interested in being involved.”
They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the waves and the distant sound of cars on PCH. Above them, the moon cast gentle shadows across the wall.
