Page 36 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

M eg curled up on Tyler's porch swing with a blanket and a bowl of leftover strawberries from the art walk. Her legs were tired, her cheeks still slightly flushed from sun and laughter, and her heart... full in a way she hadn't expected.

Natalie and Paige had been hilarious. And kind. And exactly what she didn't know she needed—a glimpse of what it might feel like to have friends here again.

The San Clemente presentation had gone better than she could've imagined. The client had nodded and smiled in all the right places, asked smart questions, and seemed genuinely interested in continuing. They'd promised to get back to her in a week.

No guarantees. But still.

She tapped her phone screen and called Anna.

"You again," Anna answered playfully. "Did I win a prize? "

"You might've," Meg said, smiling into the twilight. "I just had the best day. And I needed to tell someone who'd get it."

"Tell me everything," Anna said, the background noise sounding like a café or maybe a plaza. "Wait, does this have anything to do with cute environmentalists or grilled cheese emergencies?"

"Shockingly, no. This was a work thing. My San Clemente pitch went really well. They're considering a retainer."

"Meg, that's amazing!"

"I know. I'm trying not to jinx it, but it felt... right. Like I was useful and still myself, even without the Mercer & Reid polish."

"And what about the Shack?"

Meg let out a soft laugh. "Well, the other day after surviving the morning rush without getting tomato soup on my shoes, I went to the Laguna Beach Art Walk with my old friends. You know, Natalie and Paige."

"Wait. You went out? With people?"

"Real ones," Meg said. "Women who remember me from when I had braces. Natalie even called me 'our own little power suit,' which I think was meant affectionately."

Anna laughed. "This feels huge."

"It was." Meg twirled a piece of strawberry by the stem. "I even got a charcoal portrait done. The artist said I looked 'a little wild around the eyes,' which honestly felt like the most accurate thing anyone's said about me in years."

"I love that."

"And Anna—" Meg's voice grew more serious. "I found out Margo used to show her paintings at those galleries. Back in the day, she was a regular on the First Thursday circuit. Even sold pieces. I had no idea."

"She never talks about her art," Anna said softly. "I always wondered."

"There was this whole life she had before.

.. well, before everything became about the Shack.

" Meg picked at the strawberry leaves. "We ended up at a bonfire on the beach, and people were sharing poetry and passing around marshmallows, and I just thought—when's the last time I did something with no agenda? No outcome to optimize?"

"And?"

"And it felt like the opposite of everything my life had been in San Francisco. Just people and art and firelight." Meg paused. "I bought these earrings. Aquamarine. Natalie said they looked like me, and I didn't even know what that meant anymore, but I bought them anyway."

Anna was quiet for a second. Then: "Do you miss it? San Francisco, I mean."

Meg didn't answer right away. A breeze moved through the lemon tree in the yard, soft and citrusy.

"Yeah," she said finally. "Sometimes. I miss the energy. Walking into a room and feeling like I knew exactly who I was and what I was there to do. I miss being seen as the expert."

Anna waited.

"I miss my espresso machine," Meg added with a crooked smile. "And decent Thai takeout. And not having to explain what I do."

"But?"

"But..." Meg let her voice trail off for a beat. "I don't miss who I had to be to keep it all afloat. The person who was always 'on,' always fixing. I didn't realize how much of myself I'd left out of that version."

"Maybe that part is still you," Anna said gently. "Just not the whole story anymore."

"Yeah," Meg said, voice softening. "Maybe that's it."

Anna didn't say anything for a long moment, and Meg could hear her smile through the silence.

"Actually," Meg continued, "Luke came with me to the presentation today."

"Wait, Luke went with you? How was that?"

Meg felt heat creep up her cheeks. "He offered to come for moral support. Said it had been a while since I'd done anything that important without backup."

"And?"

"And... it was nice. Having someone there who wasn't invested in the outcome but cared about me doing well." Meg twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "He cleaned up surprisingly well. Actual shoes and everything."

Anna laughed. "Meg Walsh, are you falling for your surf instructor? "

"He's not just a surf instructor," Meg said, maybe a little too quickly. "He runs marine conservation programs. And he's... I don't know. Different than I thought."

"Different how?"

"Smarter. More serious about things that matter. But still..." Meg trailed off, not sure how to finish.

"Still what?"

"Still him, I guess. Still the person who remembers my pineapple rash guard and thinks citizen science is a perfectly good idea."

Anna was quiet for a beat. "That sounds nice, Meg.”

"We're going to do more First Thursdays," Meg said, changing the subject before Anna could probe further. "Natalie, Paige, and me. They're planning some kind of girls' night when you get back. Apparently I need to see their extensive collection of embarrassing photos from senior beach week."

"Oh god, those photos," Anna groaned. "Please tell me they don't have the one where you?—"

"Where I what?"

"Never mind. You'll find out."

Meg laughed. "Great. Something to look forward to. But seriously, it felt good. Having plans that aren't work-related. Having people who want to make plans with me."

"Bea's going to flip when she hears you're making friends," Anna said warmly. "She's been worried you were lonely."

"She's been worried about me? "

"Kids notice things. She asked me once why you always sounded tired on the phone." Anna's voice grew thoughtful. "But you don't sound tired anymore."

Meg closed her eyes. "When you come home, can we go to the Saturday market? I want to make every single pasta dish you've had in Florence. But with you and Bea."

"I'll bring the recipes," Anna said, a little choked up. "And the good olive oil."

“Perfect,” Meg said quietly.

"I'm really glad you called."

"Me too," Meg said. "I didn't want to forget this part. The in-between. Before I know how it all turns out."

They talked for another few minutes—about Anna's final gallery visits in Florence, about Bea's latest sketchbook filled with street art, about the specific kind of pasta Anna wanted to teach Meg to make.

When they finally hung up, Meg sat in the swing for a while longer, watching the stars emerge one by one.

She felt something she hadn't experienced in years—the simple pleasure of having good news to share with someone who loved her enough to really listen.

She gathered her empty bowl and headed inside, already looking forward to whatever came next.