Page 20 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

M eg wasn't entirely sure why she was going to this bonfire. The sensible thing would be to stay at Tyler's, catch up on client work.

She should stay. Work. Be responsible.

Instead, she grabbed her keys and headed out, telling herself she wouldn't stay at the bonfire long. Just enough time to reconnect with people she'd lost touch with over the years.

Crystal Cove was a fifteen-minute drive north, a more secluded stretch of beach between Laguna and Newport.

As Meg navigated the winding coast road, she noticed details she would have overlooked days ago—the quality of the evening light on the water, the way the coastline curved, the riot of summer wildflowers clinging to the cliffs.

She spotted the bonfire before she saw the people gathered around it—a warm orange glow on the beach, visible from the small parking area.

As she made her way down the sandy path, Meg felt a familiar flutter of social anxiety.

She hadn't attended anything like this in years, preferring the structured networking events of her professional world to casual gatherings.

The group came into view as she descended the last stretch of path—perhaps fifteen to twenty people spread around a well-built fire, some seated on driftwood logs, others in low beach chairs. Coolers dotted the perimeter, and someone was playing guitar softly.

Meg paused, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden sense that she didn't belong here. These were Luke's friends, Tyler's community. People who had stayed, who had built lives here while she'd been focused on climbing corporate ladders and building an impressive résumé.

Before she could reconsider her decision, Luke spotted her from across the fire.

He raised a hand in greeting, then made his way around the gathering toward her.

He'd changed from his work clothes too, now wearing board shorts and a faded Laguna Marine Conservation hoodie, his hair rumpled by the evening breeze.

"You came," he said, clearly pleased.

"Just for a little while," Meg qualified immediately. "I have work to finish tonight."

"Of course." Luke's smile suggested he'd expected no less. "Want something to drink? We've got beer, wine, soda..."

"Water is fine. I'm driving. "

"Always responsible," he said, but there was no judgment in his tone as he guided her toward the coolers.

As they walked, Meg felt curious glances from the gathered group. A few faces looked vaguely familiar—people she might have known in high school or seen around town years ago.

"Luke!" called a woman with a long silver braid. "Are you going to introduce your friend?"

"Everyone, this is Meg Walsh," Luke announced as they rejoined the circle. "Margo's granddaughter."

A chorus of warm greetings followed, peppered with comments of recognition.

"Margo's granddaughter!"

"Tyler's sister, right?"

"Haven't seen you around in ages!"

Luke handed her a bottle of water and gestured toward an empty spot on one of the logs. As Meg sat, a man across the fire raised his beer in greeting.

"Mike Reynolds," he introduced himself. "You probably don't remember me, but?—"

"Lifeguard stand three," Meg said, surprising herself with the memory. "You gave me my first parking ticket when I was seventeen."

Mike laughed. "Good memory! I'm fire department now, but yeah, that was me."

The conversation flowed easily after that, with various people sharing connections to Margo, the Beach Shack, or Meg's high school days. Meg found herself relaxing incrementally as the night progressed, the rhythmic sound of waves accompanying the stories and laughter around the fire.

"So, what brings you back to Laguna?" asked a woman who'd introduced herself as Cassie, apparently the owner of a local bookstore. "Tyler mentioned you were in San Francisco."

"Just helping out while Tyler's away," Meg explained. "Temporary arrangement."

"The Beach Shack is lucky to have you," Cassie said.

"It is," agreed an older man named Harold, who Meg learned had been surfing the local breaks for over fifty years. "Your grandfather knew what he was doing when he set it up. Perfect spot, perfect concept."

"He and Margo built something special there," Harold continued. "Place where everyone feels welcome, where kids can get their first job, where locals can count on good food and friendly faces. That's not as common as it should be."

No one mentioned Margo’s health tonight, Meg noticed. Maybe they hadn’t seen it… or maybe they were used to seeing just enough to worry, and not enough to say anything.

The conversation shifted to reminiscences about how the beach had changed over the decades, stories about local businesses that had come and gone, appreciation for the ones that had endured. Meg found herself genuinely interested in these glimpses of her hometown's evolution.

For the next half hour, Meg fielded questions about her life in the city, her marketing career, and how long she planned to stay in Laguna. She answered honestly, enjoying the easy warmth of people who remembered her as a teenager but were interested in who she'd become as an adult.

As the evening progressed, the group gradually thinned, people departing in twos and threes with promises to meet again soon. Meg checked her watch, surprised to find it was nearly ten o'clock. She'd stayed far longer than she'd intended.

"I should head back," she said, standing and brushing sand from her jeans. "Early start tomorrow."

"I'll walk you to your car," Luke offered.

They said their goodbyes to the remaining group, several people extracting promises from Meg to visit their shops or join them for coffee before she left town.

"Natalie still asks about you sometimes," Cassie mentioned as Meg was leaving. "You two were inseparable in high school, right?"

Meg felt a pang of guilt. Another connection she'd let fade away.

"We were," she acknowledged. "Is she still local?"

"Teaching at the high school now. English department." Cassie smiled. "She'd probably love to hear from you."

Meg nodded, making a non-committal sound that wasn't quite agreement. Another loose end from the life she'd left behind, another relationship she'd allowed to fade away.

As they walked up the beach path toward the parking area, Luke was unusually quiet. The air had cooled considerably, and Meg was grateful for Anna's sweatshirt.

"Your friends are nice," she offered, breaking the silence.

"They're good people," Luke agreed. "Most have known each other forever. That's Laguna for you."

Meg glanced at him. "It felt good tonight. Being part of that, even temporarily."

"It doesn't have to be temporary," Luke said gently.

The moon had risen fully now, throwing silvery light across the beach. In this illumination, Luke's expression was thoughtful, hopeful.

"How did you end up so involved at the Beach Shack anyway?" Meg asked. "Tyler I understand—it's family. But you?"

Luke looked out at the ocean for a moment before answering.

"After college, when I moved back to start the marine conservation program, I was pretty lost. Great degree, nebulous career path, living on grant funding.

" He smiled slightly. "Margo hired me part-time.

Said she needed help during summer rushes, but I think she just knew I needed structure. "

"That sounds like Margo," Meg said, thinking of her grandmother's knack for practical kindness.

"The Beach Shack became a kind of home base," Luke continued. "Somewhere I could always count on when research funding got tight or projects fell through. Margo and Tyler..." He paused. "They became family when I didn't have much of that left."

The simple admission touched Meg in a way she hadn't expected. She remembered that Luke's father had died when they were in high school, and his mother had moved to Arizona years ago.

"I didn't know," she said softly.

"Why would you?" There was no accusation in his voice, just quiet acknowledgment of the distance she'd placed between herself and her hometown. "You built your own life, Meg. That's not a criticism."

They resumed walking, reaching the small parking area where only a few cars remained. Meg's phone buzzed in her pocket—again, then again. She pulled it out to find a flurry of texts from Brad, each marked urgent.

"Duty calls?" Luke asked, nodding toward the phone.

"Always." Meg sighed, then looked up at him. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. It was... nice. Unexpected, but nice."

"Anytime." He hesitated, then added, "I mean that. While you're here, if you want to see the real Laguna—not just the Beach Shack and Tyler's place—I'd be happy to show you around."

"Tour guide services now?" Meg tried for lightness, though something about his offer touched her.

"Marine biologist, surf instructor, grilled cheese flipper, and tour guide," Luke confirmed with a grin. "I contain multitudes."

Meg smiled back, momentarily forgetting the insistent buzzing of her phone. "I'll keep that in mind."

They had reached her car. Meg unlocked it, then turned back to Luke, suddenly unsure how to say goodbye. In San Francisco, she would have offered a professional handshake. Here, on a moonlit beach with someone who had once known her better than anyone... the usual rules seemed inadequate.

Luke solved the problem by taking a step back, giving her space. "Drive safe. And Meg?" His expression turned warm. "I'm really glad you came tonight. It felt right, having you there."

The simple honesty lingered in Meg's mind as she drove back to Tyler's house. There was clearly more to discover about her connection to this community—not secrets or mysteries, but relationships and belonging she'd never taken time to explore.

Her phone had accumulated three more messages from Brad by the time she pulled into the driveway.

Apparently, the San Clemente client was having second thoughts about their approach based on competitor research. According to Brad, only Meg could salvage the situation.

She sighed and shook it off as she stepped into the house.

Five minutes later she was on her laptop, replying to emails and prepping for tomorrow's crisis call.

The bonfire, the beach, the way Luke had shared his story about finding family at the Shack—they all faded into background noise as work took over.

But later, crawling into bed after midnight, it wasn't strategy decks running through her head. It was the way those faces had looked in the firelight when they talked about the Beach Shack.