Page 9 of The Beach Shack (Laguna Beach #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Hello?” Her voice was rough with sleep.

Meg sat up, pushing her hair from her face. “What exactly happened? Your texts last night weren’t very specific.”

“The creative team made unauthorized changes to the font package for San Clemente’s rebrand. Completely undermined the heritage feel we promised in the pitch.”

“And nobody ran this by me first?” Meg swung her legs over the side of the futon.

“They thought they were enhancing the concept. Reeves is furious—says it makes his historic family business look like a trendy pop-up shop.”

“It would,” Meg agreed, already mentally composing what she’d say to the client. “I’ll call him at 7 and walk through why we’re reverting to the original design.”

“He’s threatening to pull the account, Meg. He used the words ‘fundamental breach of trust.’”

“He won’t,” she said with more confidence than she felt, moving to the window and pulling back the curtain. A perfect Southern California morning greeted her—clear blue sky, palm trees swaying in a gentle breeze, the distant glimmer of ocean. “I know how to handle him.”

After confirming details with Brad, Meg ended the call and began her morning routine—or as close to it as she could manage in Tyler’s house. She’d discovered his coffee maker last night, a surprisingly high-end espresso machine that seemed at odds with his otherwise casual lifestyle.

In the kitchen, she measured beans precisely and set the water to heat, the familiar ritual providing comfort in unfamiliar surroundings.

While waiting for her coffee, Meg surveyed Tyler’s kitchen with a critical eye.

Surfing magazines scattered across the counter.

Dishes from at least two days ago stacked beside the sink.

A collection of seashells lined the windowsill, each labeled with locations and dates in Tyler’s distinctive handwriting.

Meg picked up one shell, turning it over to read the label: “Byron Bay, Australia – March 2022.” She frowned, setting it down and checking another: “Gold Coast, Australia – November 2021.” She hadn’t realized Tyler traveled to Australia so regularly.

The espresso machine beeped, and she gratefully poured herself a cup, adding the precise amount of milk she preferred. Laptop open on the counter, she began drafting an email to the creative team while simultaneously reviewing Reeves’ original contract specifications.

She was so focused on her work that she didn’t hear the back door open. It wasn’t until a male voice said, “You’re definitely not Tyler,” that she realized she was no longer alone.

Meg spun around, coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup and onto her silk blouse. “Darn it!”

Standing in the doorway was a tall man with sun-streaked brown hair and the kind of tan that came from living outdoors rather than visiting a salon. He wore board shorts, a faded t-shirt with a marine conservation logo, and a startled expression that quickly morphed into recognition.

“Meg Walsh,” he said, his voice deeper than she remembered but still carrying that easy confidence that had once made her stumble over her own feet in the sand. “That’s definitely not Tyler’s usual morning look.”

“Luke.” His name came out more breathlessly than she intended. She set down her coffee cup and looked down at the spreading stain on her blouse.

Luke Donovan. Her former surf instructor. The guy who’d taught her to surf during senior year, who she’d had the biggest crush on but who’d never seemed to notice.

Now standing in her brother’s kitchen, looking unfairly good for this early hour, and holding a paper bag that smelled tantalizingly of breakfast burritos.

“Sorry for barging in,” he said, holding up a key. “Tyler gave me this. I didn’t realize he had... company.”

“I’m not company,” Meg said, still blotting her blouse. “I’m helping Margo while Tyler’s gone.”

Luke’s eyebrows rose. “Gone? Where?”

“Australia. Some emergency. He didn’t tell you?”

“He mentioned maybe heading there soon, but not that he’d actually left.” Luke set the bag on the counter and reached for a paper towel, offering it to Meg. “Here. Silk and coffee aren’t great friends.”

“Thanks,” she said, stepping back to put distance between them. “Tyler left. Quite suddenly.”

“That explains the urgent text asking me to check his tide charts.” Luke glanced around the kitchen. “I figured he was just heading out for a morning photo shoot.”

Meg frowned. “You two are friends?”

“Going on eight years,” Luke confirmed, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hard to believe?”

“You’re the last person I expected to see in Tyler’s kitchen,” Meg admitted.

“Likewise.” His gaze swept over her corporate attire—pencil skirt, silk blouse (now stained), hair pulled back in a neat bun. “Though Tyler mentioned you’d gone full corporate up in San Francisco.”

Meg felt herself bristling at the implied criticism. “Some of us had ambitions beyond teaching tourists to stand on surfboards.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Luke didn’t flinch, but something in his eyes cooled—just a touch.

“Fair enough,” he said lightly. “Though for the record, I run a marine conservation program now. The surf lessons just help fund the research.”

She didn’t mean it the way it sounded. She’d been feeling guilty about her own ambitions, actually. Embarrassment washed over her. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Luke shrugged, the ease of the gesture somehow making her feel worse. “No worries. First cup of coffee, unexpected reunion... bound to be a little awkward.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Meg returned to blotting her blouse while Luke leaned against the counter, looking perfectly at home in Tyler’s space.

“I missed Margo’s birthday,” he said finally. “Had to cover an emergency shift at the surf school. Did she like the shell I found her?”

Meg looked up, surprised. “The iridescent one? That was from you?”

“Found it at Crystal Cove last month. Knew it would fit perfectly in her ceiling mosaic.” There was genuine affection in his voice when he spoke about Margo. “Eleanor said she’d deliver it for me.”

“She loved it,” Meg said, remembering her grandmother’s delighted expression. “Said she knew exactly where it belonged.”

Luke smiled, and for a moment, Meg glimpsed the enthusiastic instructor she’d known—kind, passionate about the ocean, with an ability to find joy in simple things that she’d once found both baffling and magnetic.

“So,” he said, nodding toward the bag he’d brought. “Breakfast burrito? Figured Tyler would be hungry after shooting the dawn patrol, but since he’s apparently in Australia...”

Meg hesitated, then nodded. “Actually, yes. Thank you.”

Luke unpacked the food—two burritos wrapped in foil, still warm from the cafe down the street. “Brought Tyler his usual,” he said, setting them on the counter. “But since he’s apparently in Australia...”

“I’ll take it off your hands,” Meg said.

Luke grinned. “Tyler’s going to be so disappointed he missed out on his breakfast burrito. I might never hear the end of it.”

“I’ll tell him I saved him from the calories,” Meg replied, unwrapping the burrito.

As she took a bite, she was pleasantly surprised—perfectly spiced eggs, avocado, and something that gave it an unexpected kick of flavor .

“Good?” Luke asked, unwrapping his own.

“Really good. Tyler has excellent taste in breakfast food.”

As they ate, Luke asked about Tyler.

“Tyler usually goes to Australia two or three times a year for underwater photography gigs,” Luke said, mercifully changing the subject. “Always planned months in advance. Must be serious if he left so suddenly.”

“He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details,” Meg replied. “Just said it was an emergency and Margo needed help.”

“That’s Tyler. Five-word texts, max. Usually with no punctuation. But he has been getting calls at odd hours lately. International numbers.”

Luke took another bite of his burrito, studying her. “I’m surprised he called you instead of Anna.”

“Anna is in Florence. Some art fellowship she’s been trying to get for years.”

“Ah, right. She mentioned applying again last time she visited.” Luke seemed to know more about what had been happening with Meg’s family while she’d been away, which was both irritating and oddly comforting.

“Since when do you and my brother hang out?” Meg couldn’t help asking. “You weren’t exactly friends when I left.”

“Surfing has a way of bringing people together,” Luke said simply. “Started running into him at dawn patrol a lot after I moved back to Laguna. He needed that outlet after everything, with your mom leaving.”

A pang of guilt hit Meg.

“He never really talked about that time,” she said softly.

“Not his style.” Luke crumpled his burrito wrapper. “Anyway, I started helping out at the shack when he needed breaks. Kind of a tradition now. Especially lately. Margo’s been having some dizzy spells, getting tired more easily. Tyler was worried about leaving her alone during the lunch rushes.”

“You work at the Beach Shack too?” Meg couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

“Not really work. Fill in sometimes. I make a decent grilled cheese, but Margo says I flip with ‘unnecessary flourish.’” He demonstrated with an exaggerated wrist motion that made Meg smile despite herself. “If you need backup while you’re figuring things out, just let me know.”

“I think I can handle grilled cheese,” Meg said, though the offer was tempting. The thought of facing the lunch rush alone was more daunting than she wanted to admit.

“Of course you can.” Luke’s easy agreement held no trace of sarcasm. “But Tyler would kill me if I didn’t offer to help his big sis.”

Meg checked her watch and sighed. “I should get ready. I have a client call at seven, then I need to be at the shack by ten-thirty. ”

“That’s right. You tell businesses how to tell their stories.” At her questioning look, he added, “Tyler mentioned it once or twice.”

“And you protect the ocean,” Meg said, remembering his earlier correction.

“Try to.” Luke straightened, heading for the back door. “Thanks for the company, Meg. Unexpected but nice.”

“Thanks for breakfast,” she replied, oddly reluctant to see him go.

He paused at the door. “You know, the waves are perfect this morning. Best therapy for corporate emergencies.”

“I don’t surf anymore,” she said automatically.

Luke’s eyes—still that impossible shade of blue she remembered—studied her face. “Shame. You used to race into the water before even dropping your towel on the sand.”

The memory hit her with startling clarity—the exhilaration of running toward the waves, the freedom of letting go.

“I was a kid then,” she said quietly.

“You were eighteen,” Luke corrected, “and you knew how to live in a way most adults forget.”

Before she could respond, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed to punctuate his observation.

Meg stood in the sudden silence of the kitchen, the scent of coffee and jalapeno sauce lingering in the air.

Her phone buzzed with another email, and she turned back to her laptop, trying to push away the uncomfortable feeling that Luke had seen straight through the person she’d carefully constructed herself to be.

Whatever teenage feelings she’d once had belonged firmly in the past.