Page 42 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER FORTY

M eg's phone rang just as she was wiping down the last table at the Beach Shack, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the dining room.

She glanced at the screen, expecting to see another routine message from a colleague, but Brad's name appeared with an unfamiliar tone in the preview: "Congratulations! "

She answered, setting down her cleaning cloth. "Brad?"

"Good news, Meg. Margaret Cassidy called this morning with their decision on Phase Two."

Meg felt her heart skip. "And?"

"They're moving forward with the expanded strategy.

Full approval for the conservation partnerships, the local artisan programs, everything.

" Brad's tone was measured but pleased. "They want to formalize a longer-term consulting arrangement, and they've specifically requested that you continue working from your current location. "

"Really?" Meg sank into one of the dining chairs, relief flooding through her.

"Really. Cassidy said the local perspective was what made the difference—that you understood their market in a way their previous consultants hadn't." Brad paused. "I'll be honest, Meg, I was skeptical about this remote arrangement. But this proves it works. More than works."

"I'm glad to hear that," Meg said, meaning it.

"There's something else. Mrs. Cassidy mentioned your work to the Coastal Tourism Board. They're looking for a consultant who understands what they called 'authentic community marketing.' I've got inquiries from three potential clients, all wanting the same approach you've developed."

Meg walked to the window, watching late-afternoon surfers paddle out in the gentle swell. "That's... that's incredible."

"It is. So here's where we stand—I can offer you a formal remote work arrangement, new client pipeline, and yes, the promotion track is still very much on the table. The question is, are you ready to make this official?"

Meg thought about Margo at the grill, Joey's dreams of marine systems training, the way the Beach Shack operated on relationships rather than metrics. "I'd like that, Brad. A lot."

"Good. Let's give this six months and see how it goes.

If the remote setup works well with these new clients, we'll revisit the VP conversation then.

" A pause. "You know, Meg, I always said the best consultants understand their markets from the inside.

Turns out you don't need a corner office to change the world. "

After they hung up, Meg sat in the quiet Beach Shack for a long moment, letting the news settle. Six months to prove herself. New clients to win over. The validation that her work could thrive here—if she could make it stick.

"That sounded like good news," Margo said, emerging from the kitchen.

"The best news," Meg said, still a little breathless. "Brad just offered me a formal remote work arrangement. Multi-year contract with San Clemente, plus new clients who want the same approach."

Margo's face lit up. "Oh, Meg. That's wonderful."

"I was just going to call Luke and tell him," Meg said, pulling out her phone. She glanced toward the window. "I wonder what he's doing here?"

Margo followed her gaze to see Luke approaching the Beach Shack steps, carrying a coffee cup. "Everyone can see how he feels about you, dear," she said quietly to Meg. "Everyone except you."

Heat rose to Meg's cheeks, but before she could respond, Luke appeared at the door.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," Luke said as he entered, holding up his cup with a grin. "I would've brought coffee, but let's be honest—Margo's is better."

Meg laughed, feeling giddy with possibility. "Actually, you have perfect timing. I just got incredible news."

Luke's eyes immediately focused on her face, reading her expression. "Tell me."

"Why don't you two go celebrate properly," Margo interrupted, reaching for her cleaning supplies. "I can finish up here. I'll see you tonight at the circle, Meg."

Luke raised an eyebrow at Meg. "Sounds like we've been dismissed. Your place?"

"Tyler's place," Meg corrected. "But yes."

Twenty minutes later, they sat on Tyler's small porch, the ocean stretching endlessly before them. Meg curled her legs under her on the weathered Adirondack chair, feeling the day's tensions finally ease from her shoulders.

"So," Luke said, settling into the chair beside her. "Tell me everything."

"Brad called. The San Clemente presentation went even better than I thought. They want a multi-year contract, and they've specifically requested that I continue working from here." Meg felt her excitement bubbling over. "Turns out being in Laguna hasn't hurt my career—it's transformed it."

"Meg, that's amazing," Luke said, his smile lighting up his entire face. "I'm so proud of you."

"There's more. I want to stay, Luke. Not just for the contract, but... really stay. Help with the Beach Shack, be part of what Margo's built here."

Luke leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, voice quiet but steady .

“Look, I know you’re still figuring things out—your work, the Shack, your life here. But I meant what I said. I want to be part of it. Not to rush anything. Just to... be here. However you’ll let me.”

Meg looked at him—this man who saw her clearly, who never asked her to be anyone but herself.

“That sounds perfect,” she said softly.

Luke reached for her hand, his touch warm and steady. They sat like that for a moment, the silence between them full but easy.

Meg exhaled slowly, then gave a small smile.

"There's something else," Meg said, needing to share the full story. "About what Margo's really been doing all these years. About the reconciliation with Uncle Rick."

She told him about the scholarship fund, about Richard's original promise, about the dozens of young people Margo had quietly helped over the decades. Luke listened without interruption, his expression growing more amazed with each detail.

“Wow,” he said slowly when she finished. "She's been running a scholarship fund this whole time?"

"For decades. Kids who needed help with college, trade school, anything that would give them a chance." Meg studied his face. "That's exactly why she does it. Not for gratitude, but because she believes in the ripple effects. In what happens when you give someone a chance."

Luke was quiet for a long moment, absorbing everything she’d shared. “That’s incredible,” he said finally. “What she’s built… what she’s been doing all these years, without needing anyone to know.”

He looked at Meg, eyes steady. Then, gently, he gave her hand a squeeze.

“You were always meant to be part of this.”

Meg felt something catch in her chest—not nerves, not uncertainty. Just recognition. A quiet kind of knowing.

Luke smiled. “So what happens next?”

“I make pasta for tonight’s Circle,” she said, a grin tugging at her lips. “And start figuring out what my actual life looks like here.”

She squeezed his hand back. “Want to help me figure it out?”

"Wouldn't miss it," Luke said.

They spent the afternoon cooking together with an attention and care Meg hadn't brought to food preparation in years. Luke was there, reading her movements, handing her ingredients before she asked, their rhythm in the kitchen as natural as everything else between them.

"This is going to be incredible," he said, watching her adjust seasoning with the precision she usually reserved for marketing presentations.

"It has to be," Meg replied. "First time bringing something I've made myself to the Circle. I want it to be perfect."

"It already is," Luke said, and she knew he wasn't just talking about the pasta.

The lemon pasta came together slowly—fresh pasta made from scratch, a sauce that required patience and constant attention, herbs chopped with care.

As the afternoon light slanted through the kitchen windows, Luke glanced at the clock. "I should probably head out soon. Give you time to get ready for tonight."

Meg looked up from stirring the cream sauce. "I wish you could come."

"Women's circle," Luke said with a gentle smile. "I get it. Some traditions are worth keeping."

"I'll bring leftovers," she said, the words carrying more weight than they should. "To your place. After."

Luke's eyes lit up. "I'd like that. A lot."

The pasta was perfect—silky and bright with lemon, fragrant with fresh herbs, substantial enough to feed the circle with plenty left over. She packed it carefully in a ceramic dish while Luke gathered his things.

"See you later," he said at the door, and instead of a quick kiss to her temple, he leaned forward and kissed her properly—soft, certain, like something that had been waiting years to happen.

When they broke apart, Meg felt breathless and grounded all at once.

"Welcome home, Meg Walsh," he whispered against her forehead.

Later, as she gathered her keys and checked her reflection one more time, Meg felt the particular anticipation that came with the evening's circle.

The woman looking back at her barely resembled the polished executive who'd arrived in Laguna weeks ago.

Her hair had stopped fighting the humidity—and so had she.

Her clothes leaned toward comfort instead of armor, and her eyes held a kind of peace she hadn't seen in years.

The drive to Eleanor's house felt different tonight—not like traveling between worlds, but like moving through one continuous landscape where she finally fit.

The evening air was warm, scented with jasmine and salt, and the string lights strung between the houses glowed like stars that had decided to come down for a closer look.

Tonight, she wasn't just attending the circle. She was bringing something she'd made herself to share, joining rather than observing, belonging rather than visiting.

She stepped through Eleanor's front door, pasta dish in hand—and stopped.

A hand-painted sign hung across the living room entry:

WELCOME HOME, MEG.

No fanfare. No speeches. Just her circle, smiling. Waiting.

And somehow, that was everything.