Page 8 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

M eg sat cross-legged on Tyler’s futon, wrapped in one of his old sweatshirts and nursing a lukewarm mug of tea that had gone cold somewhere between minute five and minute twenty of trying not to figure out what the heck had happened to her life.

The house was quiet except for the rhythmic pulse of waves outside and the occasional ping of another email landing in her inbox. She didn’t check. She couldn’t. Not yet.

She opened her laptop anyway.

Slack. Nope.

Gmail. Nope.

Her cursor hovered over Brad’s name in her inbox for a second too long before she clicked away.

Instead, she opened Messages.

She scrolled past her marketing team group thread, past her project manager’s daily summaries, until she saw a name she hadn’t really registered in a while. Anna.

She clicked.

The last message was from Anna, sent a while ago. A photo of a watercolor she’d finished in Cinque Terre. Meg had liked it. She hadn’t replied.

Now, she typed:

Margo says hi. You still painting sunflowers?

She didn’t expect an answer. It was the middle of the night, and Anna was in Florence, and they hadn’t had a real conversation since—what, Tyler’s graduation?

But her laptop pinged almost instantly.

Moved on to lemons. Want to see?

Meg blinked. Smiled a little.

Another ping. Zoom?

Meg glanced at the clock. It was 10:03 p.m. in Laguna, morning in Florence.

Sure.

Seconds later, her laptop camera flickered to life.

Anna appeared, backlit by morning light pouring through a window that framed terracotta rooftops. Her hair was piled in a messy bun, and she wore a paint-splattered tee Meg vaguely remembered from a family beach trip a decade ago.

“Hi,” Anna said, cautious but not cold.

“Hi,” Meg replied. “Lemons, huh? ”

Anna held up a half-finished canvas. Bright yellows and moody purples. Unexpected. Bold.

“I got tired of sunflowers. Too obvious. Lemons are honest.”

Meg smiled faintly. “That’s very... you.”

Anna tilted her head. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. You always know how to flatter a girl.”

Anna shrugged. “I mean it nicely. You look like someone who hasn’t slept in a while.”

Meg hesitated, then nodded. “Tyler left yesterday. I’m covering the Shack. And still doing work stuff. It’s—a lot.”

Anna didn’t say I told you so. She just leaned in a little closer to the camera.

“You okay?”

Meg stared at her sister for a second. The question was simple. Familiar. Unexpected.

“Ask me again later.”

Anna gave a soft smile. “Okay. I will.”

They looked at each other for a beat, the silence between them thick with everything unspoken.

Meg took a sip of her tea and grimaced. “Why does tea taste like regret when it’s cold?”

Anna laughed. “Because cold tea is what happens when you stop paying attention to your needs for hours. Classic eldest child move.”

“I don’t have time to pay attention to my needs.”

“You’re literally sitting in an empty house, drinking tea and spiraling. ”

Meg gave her a look. “I’m not spiraling. I’m—looping. It’s different.”

Anna laughed. “Okay, fine. You’re looping like a Roomba trapped in a corner. Still counts.”

Meg smiled despite herself. “You haven’t changed.”

“And you haven’t slowed down,” Anna replied, gentler now. “But you did text me. That’s something.”

“Thank you,” Meg added, almost as an afterthought. “For saying yes. For not making me feel bad for showing up so late in the game.”

“Are you kidding?” Anna shook her head, amused. “You being there let me stay here. With Bea. This fellowship—it’s a huge deal. I said no at first. Because I didn’t think anyone would step up if there was an emergency. Especially not you.”

Meg let that settle. There was no edge to Anna’s voice now. Just quiet gratitude.

“Well, Tyler’s been covering for Margo more than we realized. He just didn’t talk about it. You know how he is—shows up with a surfboard and a solution, then disappears before anyone can thank him.”

“Thank you, Meg, for being there.”

“I’m glad I could do it. And honestly, Anna, I’m worried about her. She had some kind of episode last week—fell asleep at the grill, a customer had to wake her up. Tyler mentioned dizzy spells too. She acts like it’s nothing, but...”

“That sounds serious,” Anna said, her expression growing concerned. “Is she seeing a doctor?”

“I don’t know. You know how she is about admitting she needs help.” Meg rubbed her forehead. “I’m hoping I can convince her while I’m here.”

Anna nodded. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do from here. I hate being so far away when...” She trailed off, then seemed to shake herself.

Meg could see the worry in her sister’s eyes and decided to lighten the mood. “How is Bea?” she asked.

Anna brightened. “She’s thriving. I found her a great language program, and her Italian is already better than mine. The teachers love working with her—she’s got this natural ear for it. She misses our beach, though. Keeps asking if the waves look the same from Tyler’s window.”

Meg smiled. “Sounds like her.”

“She’s curious about you, too,” Anna added, her voice softer. “Keeps asking when you’ll actually hang out with us when we get back. You’ve always been the aunt who sends amazing birthday gifts but never shows up at the tide pools.”

Meg winced. “Ouch. Accurate.”

“Not judging,” Anna said quickly. “Just—she notices things. One more month and we’ll be back. Fair warning: she’s already planning which restaurants she wants to hit first, and she’s made me promise we can have a bonfire on the beach the day we get back.”

A muffled voice called something unintelligible in the background.

Anna turned her head. “Hang on.”

Off-screen, they heard footsteps and a door creak open. Anna came back a second later. “That was Bea. She’s heading to the bakery with her beat-up Moleskine—the one that goes everywhere with her. Still pretending she’s too cool to say hi, but I told her you were on the call.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“She said, and I quote, ‘Hi Aunt Meg’—with zero eye contact—and walked out the door. She’s documenting all the street art in our neighborhood. Trading English lessons for drawing tips at this artist’s studio she found.”

Meg laughed. “Was I that awkward as a teenager?”

“Worse. You practiced business presentations in the mirror.”

“I did not—okay, maybe once.”

Anna grinned. “Try every weekend for a month before the eighth-grade science fair.”

They talked for another ten minutes—about Bea’s growing collection of Italian sketches, Margo’s herb jars, how Meg had already planned to organize the Shack’s supply shelves while Anna was studying fresco restoration techniques at the Uffizi. Anna rolled her eyes in affectionate exasperation.

“Send me pictures of what you’re doing with the Shack?” Anna asked as they were winding down. “I want to see your organizational magic in action.”

“You’ll probably hate it. I color-coded the inventory system.”

“Of course you did.” Anna paused. “But Meg? When we get back, you won’t be able to hide behind work anymore. Bea’s going to expect actual aunt time. She’s got about six sketchbooks full of Florence stories to show you.”

Meg felt something warm settle in her chest. “I’d like that.”

When the call ended, Meg closed her laptop slowly.

She still felt tired. Still overwhelmed. But a little less alone.

She stepped outside onto the porch, the cool wood beneath her bare feet grounding her in the moment.

She listened to the waves—familiar, but different from the muffled city hum she was used to falling asleep to in her Russian Hill apartment.

No streetlights. No garbage trucks. Just stars and salt air and silence.