Page 37 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

M eg wasn’t sure what she expected when Luke texted, “Meet me at the lifeguard station on Pearl Street beach. Bring shoes you don’t mind ruining. Trust me.”

But it probably wasn’t an overstuffed tote bag, a clipboard, and Luke, already half-sandy and sunburned, grinning like he’d just discovered gold.

“This is your idea of fun?” she asked, stepping cautiously down the wooden stairs toward the beach. Her sandals crunched on sun-baked sand, and her hair—freshly washed, now frizzing—already smelled faintly of salt.

Luke held up the clipboard like a prize. “Citizen science, Walsh. Sexy, right?”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “That depends. Are there forms involved?”

“Many,” he said, entirely too proud. “Today we’re documenting beach erosion patterns. And possible microplastic clusters.”

“Be still my heart.”

But the teasing came easily. It felt good, light. Especially after the heavy weight of the last few weeks—the coffee supplier confrontation, the revelation about Margo’s monthly “Standing Obligation,” the memory of Tyler’s sketches and scribbled warnings.

Today, she just wanted to breathe.

She dropped her tote next to his and pulled her hair into a loose bun. “Alright, professor. What’s my first assignment?”

Luke handed her a laminated data sheet and a bright orange flag on a thin metal stake. “We’re marking sample zones every fifteen feet. Then we log tide line height, debris, shell content, and anything unusual—like this.” He bent and retrieved something from the sand, holding it up.

Meg squinted. “Is that… a Barbie shoe?”

“Disturbingly, yes.”

They stared at it.

“I want to judge,” Meg said, “but I think I had that exact pair decades ago.”

“You and half the ocean.”

She followed him down the beach, planting markers as instructed, pausing every so often to sketch quick outlines and log data on the tide line.

Luke explained how sea walls, offshore dredging, and even inland construction could accelerate erosion.

He pointed out how different patches of sand shifted depending on time of year, weather patterns, and even the number of tourists.

It was nerdy. And a little messy.

And she loved it.

By the time they reached the final section of beach, her shoes were soaked, she had sand in places she hadn’t realized were accessible, and her clipboard had developed a suspicious smear that might’ve once been kelp. Her cheeks ached from smiling.

Luke paused by a rock formation where a small, shaded alcove protected an overhang of driftwood and seaweed. “We usually find weird stuff here.”

Meg knelt beside him, brushing aside damp grit. Sure enough, buried beneath a thin layer of sand was a plastic comb, a rusted bottle cap, and—of all things—a tiny holiday ornament shaped like a dolphin in a Santa hat.

“Joy to the world,” Meg murmured, holding it up.

Luke chuckled. “You ever think you’d go from spreadsheets and skyscrapers to sand and sea trash?”

She sat back on her heels. “Honestly? No. But I also didn’t expect grilled cheese to become a career turning point.”

He handed her a water bottle from his pack and joined her on the sand. The waves rolled in slow and even, the tide halfway in, and the sun sat lower in the sky now.

“Remember when we used to surf just down from here?” Luke asked, tipping his head toward the next cove. “You had that ridiculous yellow rash guard with pineapples on it.”

Meg laughed. “It wasn’t ridiculous. It was iconic.”

“You fell off your board more than you stayed on it.”

“I was enthusiastic.”

“You were determined,” Luke corrected. “Big difference.”

They sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of waves and seagulls filling the space between them. Meg traced a finger through the damp sand absently.

“Can I ask something?” she said finally.

Luke glanced over. “Of course.”

“When you’re not rescuing kelp or building sea turtle fences or helping with the lunch rush at the Beach Shack… what do you want to do?”

He was quiet for a beat. “I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately.

I love the environmental work, but funding’s always a mess.

I get these short-term grants or one-off projects, but nothing sustainable.

I thought about going back to school for marine biology, maybe get a master’s.

But then Margo asked for help last summer, and I’ve kind of… stayed.”

Meg nodded. “Because of Tyler.”

“And because of Margo. And the Shack. And… this place.” He gestured around them. “I guess I’ve been waiting to figure out what comes next.”

Meg stared out at the ocean. “I always knew what came next. Promotion, bonus, another pitch. I never stopped to think whether I actually wanted any of it. ”

Luke turned to face her fully. “You’re good at what you do, Meg. That was never the question.”

“No. The question is whether it still fits. Whether I fit.”

He studied her. “You know, you’re kind of amazing out here.”

Meg blinked. “I have kelp in my hair.”

“You’re observant. Detail-oriented. You caught things I’ve missed on these surveys for months.”

She smiled faintly. “Years of redlining contracts and scouring invoices.”

“It translates,” Luke said. “You could do this, you know. Or something like it. Environmental work. Community projects. There’s a need for people who get the big picture and know how to manage chaos.”

Meg looked at him. Really looked.

Luke, with his sun-bleached hair and ocean eyes, sitting cross-legged in the sand. Luke, who remembered her pineapple rash guard and how she used to stare at the ocean.

“I’m not sure where I belong anymore,” she said quietly.

Luke reached down and plucked the tiny dolphin ornament from the pile they’d collected. “You belong where you feel most like yourself.”

She took the ornament from him, turning it in her hand.

He didn’t let go right away. His fingers brushed hers—intentionally this time—and something flickered in his expression .

“You know,” he said softly, “I might fall for you if you keep quoting tide tables and naming data clusters after sandwiches.”

Meg felt herself flush. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not even a little.”

The moment hung there, warm and still.

Then, just as Luke leaned a little closer and Meg tilted forward to meet him, a rogue wave surged up the beach and splashed icy water over both of them.

Meg shrieked. Luke shouted something unintelligible, stumbling backward.

They were both soaked.

Meg wiped her face, laughing. “That was not subtle.”

Luke grinned, water dripping from his curls. “Apparently, the ocean has opinions.”

Meg wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved. Maybe both.

They spent another hour combing the final stretch of beach, logging data, chatting between waves. When the last marker was flagged and their bags packed, Luke held out a ziplock baggie containing the plastic bits they’d collected.

“Want to label this one?” he asked. “You get to pick the name.”

Meg smiled. “Let’s call it… Sample Group 7B: Grilled Cheese & Revelations.”

He laughed. “Perfect. ”

As they made their way back toward the stairs, the tide crept in behind them, smoothing the sand where their footprints had been.