Page 24 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

M eg didn’t expect the invitation.

She’d just finished restocking the pantry shelves when Vivian poked her head into the back hallway, sunglasses perched on top of her silver curls and a wine-colored tote bag slung over one shoulder.

“Happy hour,” she announced, as if this were a universally understood summons. “You’re coming.”

Meg blinked. For weeks, she’d watched these women from the sidelines, never imagining she’d be invited in.

“I—what?”

“Every week,” Eleanor’s voice chimed in from behind her. She wore a coral linen top and linen pants that somehow looked both chic and like she’d napped in them. “We gather. We snack. We pour a generous glass or three. You’ve been officially promoted to invitee. ”

“And before you say no,” Margo’s voice added from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel, “I’ve already closed up. You have no excuse.”

Meg looked between the three women, all wearing expectant expressions.

“Margo said you were off at five,” Vivian interrupted. “You’re not escaping. We’ve been patient long enough. You’ve earned your place.”

Margo smiled, looking pleased. “They’ve been asking about you for weeks. I told them you needed time to settle in first.”

There was no arguing with the Circle—especially when they had Margo’s backing. Not when they deployed coordinated invitations and matching expressions of determination.

Twenty minutes later, Meg found herself climbing the garden steps behind Eleanor’s cottage, a platter of lemon bars in one hand and a bottle of prosecco tucked awkwardly under her arm.

Margo walked beside her, carrying a covered dish that smelled of herbs and garlic.

The late afternoon sun filtered through bougainvillea vines.

“They used to meet at the Shack weekly after closing,” Margo mentioned as they climbed. “Now they rotate porches like a secret society of good wine and better opinions.”

“How long have you all been friends?” Meg asked.

“Oh, forever,” Margo said with a wave. “Eleanor and I met when we were both pregnant—with your uncle Rick and her oldest. Vivian moved here in the seventies. We’ve been through everything together.

Marriages, divorces, raising kids, losing parents, starting over.

” She paused at the garden gate. “They’re the sisters I never had. ”

Tonight, it was Eleanor’s turn to host. Her back patio overlooked a bluff above the shoreline, the view framed by wind-twisted trees and a worn wooden table dressed with a faded batik cloth. Vivian was already pouring drinks, her bangles clinking cheerfully as she moved.

“Meg!” Eleanor waved her over like an old friend. “And Margo, finally! You remember Nadine and Letty.”

Meg did—and didn’t. Their faces looked familiar from the birthday party, though she hadn’t had a chance to talk to them all. Back then, they’d seemed like background characters in Margo’s life—friendly, familiar, but peripheral.

Nadine was small and precise, always in navy cardigans and practical sandals. Letty had dyed-red hair and a laugh that could knock over a potted plant.

“Welcome to the sacred circle,” Letty said, handing Meg a glass while Vivian pressed one into Margo’s hands. “We’re delighted to finally have you. Sit. Eat. We’ve been talking about you for weeks.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Should I be nervous?”

“Only if you don’t like unsolicited advice,” Vivian said, settling into the cushioned loveseat. “It’s our specialty. ”

“Or gossip,” Margo added with a mischievous smile that Meg had never seen before. “We’re terrible gossips.”

“Speak for yourself,” Eleanor protested, then immediately leaned forward conspiratorially. “Did you hear about the Hendersons’ pool situation?”

The table overflowed with snacks—stuffed dates, hummus with fresh herbs, little triangles of grilled cheese with fancy fig jam (“inspired by the Shack, naturally,” Eleanor said), and Margo’s covered dish, which turned out to be some kind of savory tart.

Someone had brought a cold orzo salad with lemon zest and sugar snap peas, and there was a half-empty bowl of pistachios already showing signs of a competitive snacking war.

Meg bit into a triangle of grilled cheese and tasted brie and something smoky—maybe roasted poblano?—and a wave of unexpected emotion rose in her chest. This was how her grandmother lived. Not just working, not just cooking—but gathering. Sharing. Being part of something rich and layered.

“The Hendersons hired that contractor—what’s his name, the one with the terrible Yelp reviews,” Nadine was saying.

“Jerry Mullins,” Margo supplied, taking a generous sip of her wine. “I told Diane not to hire him, but she said he was the cheapest bid.”

“And now their pool is draining into the Kowalskis’ yard,” Letty added with evident glee.

“It’s a complete disaster,” Eleanor confirmed. “Jerry disappeared after the first payment, naturally.”

Meg watched, fascinated, as her grandmother shook her head with the satisfaction of someone whose advice had been ignored and proven right. This was a side of Margo she’d never seen—relaxed, a little sassy, fully engaged in the local drama.

Letty clinked her glass against Meg’s. “You holding up okay with all the Beach Shack chaos, dear?”

Meg hesitated. “It’s… a lot.”

“Of course it is,” Nadine said briskly. “This place—this life—it’s woven tight. You can’t pull one thread without unraveling half a tapestry.”

“That’s true of all legacies,” Vivian added, tilting her glass toward Margo. “You don’t just inherit the stories—they come tangled in secrets, obligations, old arguments nobody quite remembers.”

“Some people run from that,” Eleanor observed. “Some come back.”

Margo looked at Meg with soft eyes. “And some people need time to figure out which they are.”

The words hung in the lavender-scented air. Meg looked down at her glass, aware that all five women were watching her with varying degrees of affection and curiosity.

“I wasn’t planning to come back,” Meg admitted.

“But you did,” Letty said simply. “That means something.”

“You and your mother have more in common than you think.,” Margo said quietly.

That caught Meg’s attention. “Mom? ”

“Sam left too,” Vivian said gently. “Had to find herself away from here before she can figure out what home means.”

“The difference is,” Margo added, “you came back when I needed you.”

They didn’t push. Didn’t pry. But the message was clear: they saw her. Not just as Margo’s granddaughter, not just as the temporary help behind the counter. As part of this. As one of them.

“So,” Vivian said after a companionable silence, “how long are you staying?”

Meg smiled into her glass. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Nadine nodded. “It always is. Stay long enough, and you’ll start seeing the patterns.”

“Like what?”

“Like who always shows up to help on clean-up days, and who brings wine but no paper towels,” Eleanor said with a pointed look at Letty.

“Hey, wine is a contribution,” Letty protested.

“Like who’s still pretending Richard’s decisions were all wise and noble,” Vivian continued with a meaningful glance at Margo.

Margo raised her glass. “Richard made the best decisions he could with the information he had.”

“Including paying for that guy’s cottage?” Nadine asked dryly.

Margo’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “That’s ancient history, Nadine. ”

“Is it?” Vivian asked. “Because Meg’s asking questions, and sooner or later?—“

“Ladies,” Margo interrupted firmly, but not unkindly. “Not tonight.”

But Meg had caught the exchange, the way the conversation had suddenly sharpened before Margo shut it down. Another piece of the puzzle she didn’t understand yet.

The conversation moved on—Nadine asking Eleanor about her new deck tiles, Letty launching into a story about a disastrous second date with a man who’d confused her with his accountant.

But Meg watched Margo more closely, seeing how she laughed at Letty’s stories, how she argued with Eleanor about the best way to prune bougainvillea, how she rolled her eyes at Vivian’s conspiracy theories about the city planning committee.

This was Margo as herself—not as the matriarch, not as the business owner, but as a woman with opinions and friendships and a wicked sense of humor that came out when she felt safe.

“Meg,” Margo said during a lull, “tell them about that efficiency presentation you tried to give the staff.”

Meg groaned. “You heard about that?”

“Joey told me,” Margo said with a grin. “Said you had color-coded charts and everything.”

“I was trying to help,” Meg protested, but she was smiling now.

“The belief that everything can be solved with the right system,” Nadine diagnosed .

“I may have come on a little strong,” Meg admitted.

“A little?” Margo laughed. “Joey said you looked like you were conducting a hostile takeover of grilled cheese.”

The women dissolved into laughter, and Meg found herself laughing too.

For the first time since returning to Laguna, she felt her shoulders truly relax.

Not because anything was solved—but because she was no longer alone in it.

And because she was seeing her grandmother as a whole person, not just the role she played in Meg’s life.

As the sun dipped toward the ocean and a salty breeze rustled the rosemary bushes, Eleanor lit a row of lanterns along the patio’s edge. Warm amber light flickered against the tablecloth, the glassware, the soft faces of women who had built this community stitch by stitch.

And now—somehow—both Meg and Margo were part of this circle, but in different ways. Margo as the longtime friend and confidante, Meg as the newcomer being carefully, lovingly inducted.

“One more round?” Vivian asked, already reaching for the bottle.

“Absolutely,” Margo said, holding out her glass.

Meg watched her grandmother—really watched her—and realized she’d been seeing only one side of a much more complex and interesting woman.

Margo wasn’t just the keeper of the Beach Shack.

She was the friend who gave unsolicited but correct advice about contractors.

The woman who made devastatingly good tarts and had strong opinions about city politics.

The person who had built a chosen family and had earned their fierce loyalty.

And for tonight, at least, Meg was being invited into that family too.