Page 16 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Happens every day,” Joey explained as he tied on his apron. “Like clockwork.”

Meg quickly found herself falling into the rhythm of the place—taking orders, calling numbers, managing the flow while Margo worked the grill with practiced precision.

Lisa, the college student who handled the register, arrived just in time for the peak of the rush, sliding seamlessly into position.

“The Longboarder, extra crisp,” Margo called, sliding a sandwich toward Meg.

“Longboarder?” Meg frowned at the unfamiliar term .

“Triple cheese on sourdough,” Joey whispered as he passed. “Secret menu.”

Of course there was a secret menu. Meg had spent enough time in trendy San Francisco restaurants to recognize the concept, though she hadn’t expected it from her grandmother’s decades-old beach shack.

The lunch rush was just beginning to let up when a familiar figure appeared at the takeout window. Luke, in a faded blue t-shirt with a marine conservation logo, his hair still damp from what Meg assumed was a morning in the ocean.

“Margo!” he called cheerfully through the window. “Heard the bell all the way from the point.”

Meg watched as her grandmother’s face lit up. “Luke Donovan. Just in time for the second wave.” She gestured toward the growing line of teenagers in wet suits, fresh from what appeared to be a surfing class.

“You need backup?” Luke asked, already moving toward the back door.

“Always.” Margo turned to Meg. “Luke helps out when we get slammed. Tyler’s arrangement.”

Before Meg could respond, Luke appeared behind the counter, grabbing an apron from a hook with the familiarity of someone who knew exactly where everything belonged.

“Meg,” he acknowledged with a nod, then immediately turned to Margo. “Grill or window?”

“Window,” Margo decided. “Those kids know you.”

Meg watched as Luke stepped into the operation without hesitation, greeting the surfing students by name, joking with regulars, all while efficiently managing orders.

“You’re staring,” Margo observed quietly beside her.

Meg quickly looked away from Luke. “Just weird to see him working here.”

“He doesn’t work here,” Margo corrected, flipping a sandwich with practiced ease. “He helps. There’s a difference.”

For the next hour, the three of them moved around each other in the small space behind the counter—Margo at the grill, Luke handling the window orders, and Meg managing the indoor counter and register when Lisa took her break.

What surprised Meg most was how quickly they found a rhythm together, as if they had been doing this for years.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” Luke commented, nodding toward the neatly arranged plates Meg had prepared.

“Muscle memory,” Meg replied, surprised to find herself feeling pleased at his observation.

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Some things you never forget.”

Before she could determine if there was a double meaning to his words, he’d turned back to the window.

By one-thirty, the rush had eased considerably. The surfing students had departed with their takeout orders, and only a few regulars remained at the counter stools, nursing iced teas and lingering over the last bites of their sandwiches.

“We survived,” Luke announced, untying his apron .

“Barely,” Meg said, though in truth, they’d handled the rush efficiently.

Margo wiped down the grill, her movements slightly slower than earlier. Meg noticed her grandmother’s subtle wince as she stretched to reach the upper shelf.

“I need to check the inventory before the afternoon delivery,” Margo said. “Meg, why don’t you take a break? You’ve been on your feet all morning.”

“I’m fine,” Meg began, but Margo cut her off.

“Luke, take her for a walk on the beach. She’s been inside all day.”

Meg opened her mouth to protest being discussed as if she weren’t standing right there, but Luke jumped in before she could.

“Great idea. The tide pools are perfect right now.” He turned to Meg. “Twenty minutes. Fresh air. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Meg pointed out.

“Marine biologist,” he corrected with a grin. “Close enough when you’re near the ocean.”

Margo was already shooing them toward the door. “Go. Lisa and I can handle things for a while.”

The clear matchmaking attempt would have been annoying if it weren’t so transparent. Margo didn’t even attempt to look innocent.

“Fine,” Meg conceded. “Twenty minutes.”

Outside, the afternoon sun warmed the wooden deck. Meg hadn’t realized how much she needed fresh air until she took her first deep breath outside .

“She’s always been like that,” Luke said as they descended the steps to the beach. “Pushing people together.”

“Subtle as a bulldozer,” Meg agreed. “I remember.”

They walked in silence for a moment, finding their way down to the firmer sand near the water’s edge. Meg slipped off her shoes, letting her feet sink into the cool, damp sand. Despite herself, she felt some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

“So,” Luke said finally. “How are you really doing with all this? Being back, helping Margo, Tyler’s mysterious departure?”

Meg considered deflecting with her usual “everything’s fine” response, but something about the genuine concern in Luke’s question made her hesitate.

“It’s—an adjustment,” she admitted. “The Beach Shack is both exactly the same and completely different from what I remember.”

“How so?” Luke asked as they navigated around a piece of driftwood.

“The place itself, the smells, the sounds—all the same. But Margo is...” She paused, searching for the right words.

“Older?” Luke supplied gently.

Meg nodded. “I never noticed it in our phone calls. But seeing her work the grill for hours, the way her hands shake sometimes when she thinks no one’s watching?—”

“She’s eighty,” Luke reminded her. “But tougher than most people half her age. ”

“Tyler seemed to think she needed help,” Meg said, voicing the question that had been nagging at her. “But she keeps insisting she’s fine. I feel like I’m missing something.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, watching a group of sandpipers scurry along the edge of the water. “Margo would never admit to needing help. It’s not in her DNA.”

“That’s the Turner family trait,” Meg said with a small laugh. “Stubbornness disguised as self-sufficiency.”

“Wondered where you got that from,” Luke teased, bumping her shoulder lightly with his.

The casual contact shouldn’t have affected her, but Meg found herself acutely aware of him, the familiar scent of salt water and sunshine that she’d always associated with him.

“There’s something else,” she said, steering her thoughts away from dangerous territory. “I’m still trying to figure out how the Beach Shack even operates. The limited hours, the seasonal fluctuations... the business model seems unusual.”

Luke’s expression shifted subtly. “Unusual doesn’t mean unsustainable.”

“I haven’t had a chance to really look at the books yet, but I just don’t get how a place open only four hours a day has survived for fifty years.”

“Margo’s never been one for paperwork,” Luke said, but something in his tone suggested he wasn’t surprised by her observation .

“It’s more than that. I haven’t had time to really dig into it, but there seem to be regular withdrawals going back years. Always the same amount, always the same day of the month.”

Luke stopped walking, looking out at the horizon as if carefully considering his next words. “Some things have been in place at the Beach Shack for a long time, Meg. Before Margo, even.”

“What does that mean?” Meg frowned.

“Just that...” He hesitated. “Margo has her reasons for doing things the way she does. And she’s kept that place running for fifty years.”

“Through what appears to be a completely unsustainable business model,” Meg countered. “The hours alone don’t make sense for profitability, let alone these mystery payments.”

“And yet, it survives,” Luke pointed out. “Maybe there’s more to success than what shows up on a balance sheet.”

Meg couldn’t help feeling slightly defensive. “I know there are intangible values in a family business. But numbers still have to add up.”

“They do for Margo.” Luke’s expression softened. “Just maybe not in the way they taught you at business school.”

Before Meg could press further, her phone buzzed with a text. She pulled it from her pocket to find a message from Joey:

Delivery here early. Margo asking for you.

“Break time’s over,” she said, holding up the phone .

Luke nodded, and they turned back toward the Beach Shack. They walked in silence for a moment, the conversation about finances hanging between them.

“Hey,” Luke said finally. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Just locals, nothing fancy. You should come. Get away from spreadsheets for a few hours.”

The invitation caught her off guard. “I have client calls tonight.”

“All night?” he challenged.

Meg thought about the stack of emails waiting for responses, the presentation she needed to review, Brad’s increasing demands for updates. “Pretty much.”

Luke nodded, accepting her answer without pushing. “The offer stands. Beach at Crystal Cove, starting around seven.”

As they approached the Beach Shack, Meg saw Margo at the back door, signing for a delivery. Her grandmother looked up, caught sight of them walking together, and didn’t even try to hide her satisfied smile.

“Subtle,” Meg murmured.

“Bulldozer,” Luke agreed with a laugh.

They separated at the steps, Luke heading toward his truck parked nearby while Meg returned to the shack. As she passed Margo, her grandmother raised an eyebrow.

“Nice walk?” Margo asked innocently.

“Very strategic timing with that delivery,” Meg replied.

Margo’s eyes twinkled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. ”

Inside, as Meg helped unpack the delivery, she noticed Margo quickly tucking a stack of papers into a drawer when she thought Meg wasn’t looking. A glimpse of what appeared to be a bank statement, different from the business accounts Meg had seen earlier.

Another small mystery in a growing collection.

“Everything okay?” Meg asked casually.

“Just fine,” Margo replied, too quickly. “Just some personal business.”

Meg nodded, not pressing the issue. But as she returned to organizing supplies, she thought about Luke’s words on the beach. Margo has her reasons for doing things the way she does.

What reasons could justify the strange financial patterns she’d glimpsed? And why was her grandmother, normally so straightforward, being secretive about them?

The afternoon continued without incident, the Beach Shack closing promptly at three despite a few hopeful latecomers. As Meg helped with the closing procedures, she found her thoughts returning repeatedly to Luke’s bonfire invitation.

One evening away from work wouldn’t derail her career. And perhaps, in the more relaxed setting of a beach gathering, she might learn more about what was really happening with the Beach Shack’s finances.

“All done for the day?” Margo asked as they finished cleaning up .

“Almost,” Meg said. “I thought I might stop by that bonfire at Crystal Cove tonight.”

The surprise on her grandmother’s face quickly gave way to pleased approval. “Wonderful idea. Don’t worry about opening tomorrow. I’ll handle it.”

“I didn’t say I’d be out late,” Meg protested.

“Of course not,” Margo agreed, not even trying to hide her smile. “But just in case.”

As they walked to their cars, Meg caught Margo watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“What?” Meg asked.

“Nothing,” Margo said softly. “Just remembering something.”

“What?”

Margo’s smile turned wistful. “Just that life has a way of circling back sometimes. Giving us second chances when we least expect them.”

Before Meg could ask what she meant, Margo had climbed into her car with a finality that suggested the conversation was over.

Driving back to Tyler’s house, Meg told herself her decision to attend the bonfire was purely strategic—a chance to learn more about the Beach Shack’s history and perhaps gain insight into the financial questions that were beginning to trouble her.

But as she contemplated what to wear—something practical and beach-appropriate, she decided firmly—Meg couldn’t quite ignore the flutter of anticipation that definitely wasn’t about grilled cheese or spreadsheets. She blamed the ocean air—and maybe Luke Donovan’s completely unfair smile.

Some things you never forget.