Page 11 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)
CHAPTER TEN
M eg gripped the steering wheel and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. Beside her, Stella stared out the window, earbuds in but music loud enough that Meg could hear the tinny beat.
“So,” Meg said, then immediately regretted starting a sentence she had no idea how to finish.
Stella pulled out one earbud. “So?”
“The grocery store is just up here. Gelson’s. It’s... nice.”
“Nice.” Stella’s tone was flat. “Cool.”
Silence stretched between them. Meg had negotiated million-dollar contracts, presented to hostile boardrooms, navigated corporate politics with ease. But making small talk with her teenage niece? Apparently impossible.
“So you’re my aunt,” Stella said suddenly.
“Apparently. ”
“Do I have other relatives I should know about? Besides Tyler and Margo?”
Meg seized on the opening. “Well, there’s Anna—she’s your other aunt. In Florence right now with her daughter Bea. Your cousin. They’re both artists.”
“Artists run in the family, huh?”
“Seems like it. Tyler with his photography, Anna teaches art, Margo used to paint...” Meg trailed off.
“What about you?”
“I can’t even draw stick people.”
Almost a smile from Stella. Almost. “And my... grandmother? Tyler’s mom?”
“Sam. Samantha. She’s... traveling. We think.”
“You think?”
“She sends postcards sometimes. Last one was from Peru. Or maybe Portugal. Somewhere with a P.”
“That’s weird.”
“That’s Sam.” Meg pulled into the Gelson’s parking lot. “And there’s Rick—Margo’s son, so technically your great-uncle. He’s an accountant. Very... practical.”
“One non-artist in the bunch?”
“Two,” Meg added. “I went the corporate route.”
“Right. The fancy job Tyler mentioned.”
They got out of the car, Stella shoving her hands in her pockets. The automatic doors whooshed open, revealing the pristine interior of Laguna Beach’s upscale grocery store.
“Fancy,” Stella observed.
“They have regular food too,” Meg assured her, grabbing a cart .
“Do you organize it by food groups?”
“I—how did you?—”
“Tyler mentioned it. Said it was terrifying.”
“It’s efficient,” Meg said, her chin up.
“Sure.” But there was amusement in Stella’s voice now.
They started in produce, Meg automatically selecting items for the week. Stella watched her pick through the basil.
“That’s a lot of green stuff.”
“I was thinking about dinner. What do you like?”
Stella shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not picky.”
“You literally came shopping to make sure I got the right Pop-Tarts.”
“That’s different. That’s breakfast.”
Meg selected tomatoes, garlic, lemons. “What does your mom usually make?”
“She doesn’t. Cook, I mean. We mostly get takeout or...” Stella gestured vaguely. “The twins are five. Everything in our house is shaped like dinosaurs or comes in nugget form.”
“The twins?”
“Her new kids. They’re...” She shrugged again. “Five.”
Meg heard what Stella didn’t say—that meals revolved around the five-year-olds, that Stella probably fended for herself most nights.
“They’re alright, I guess. When they’re not destroying my stuff. ”
“Well, what would you want to try? If you could have anything?”
“I don’t know. Real food, I guess? Like what normal families eat?”
The vulnerability in the question made Meg’s chest tight. “I make a decent pesto. Pasta with basil and garlic, pine nuts, parmesan?”
“Is that the green stuff?”
“The green stuff, yes. It’s good, I promise.”
“Whatever. Sure.”
They moved through the store, Stella loosening up enough to assert opinions about cereal (“Froot Loops or nothing”), bread (“Seeds are for birds”), and orange juice (“Pulp is non-negotiable”).
Meg found herself enjoying the negotiations, even when Stella insisted on adding items that hadn’t seen real fruit since their invention.
“Meg??”
Meg turned to find her friend Natalie pushing a cart overflowing with juice boxes and goldfish crackers.
“Natalie! Hi!”
“I thought that was you! How’s everything?” Natalie’s gaze landed on Stella with curious interest.
“Great. This is... this is Stella. Tyler’s daughter.”
Natalie’s eyebrows shot up, but she recovered quickly. “Tyler’s daughter! How wonderful. I didn’t know he had—I mean, how nice to meet you!”
“Yeah, you too,” Stella muttered, clearly uncomfortable .
“Are you visiting for the summer?” Natalie asked, teacher voice engaged.
“Something like that.”
An awkward pause. Meg jumped in. “We’re shopping for dinner. Stella’s going to try my pesto.”
“Oh, you’re in for a treat! Meg makes amazing pesto. She used to bring it to study groups in high school. We’d bribe her with coffee to make extra.”
“You knew each other in high school?” Stella asked, showing the first sign of interest.
“Since kindergarten, actually. Meg, me, and Paige. The three musketeers, her mom used to call us.”
“Huh.” Stella looked between them like she was trying to imagine Meg as a teenager.
“We should go,” Meg said, suddenly self-conscious. “Frozen stuff melting.”
“Of course! But hey, we need to get together again soon—all three of us. Paige is going to flip when she hears about...” Natalie gestured delicately toward Stella. “All this happy family news.”
“Definitely,” Meg said. “Maybe coffee this week?”
“Yes! I’ll text you and Paige.” She shifted her overflowing cart, a box of juice boxes threatening to topple. “These goldfish crackers aren’t going to buy themselves!” She turned to Stella with a smile, and added, “And it has been very nice to meet you.”
After Natalie left, they finished shopping in relative quiet. Stella added her Pop-Tarts and sugary cereal while Meg filled the cart with actual food. At checkout, Stella watched the total climb with widening eyes .
“Food’s expensive here.”
“Beach town prices,” Meg agreed. “Everything costs more near the ocean.”
“In Sydney too. Mum always complained about it.”
They loaded the car, Stella helping without being asked.
As they drove back to Tyler’s, Stella asked, “So this pesto stuff. Is it hard to make?”
“Not really. Want to watch?”
“Maybe. If I’m not busy.”
“Of course. Very busy schedule of... what exactly?”
Stella groaned, but there was almost warmth in it.
“Hey, can I drive home?”
Meg looked at her with horror. “You don’t drive, do you?”
Stella’s chin rose a little. “Not yet, but I plan to.”
“Well, then we can plan to have you drive when you know how.”
Stella crossed her arms and slid down on the car seat a little, and Meg pretended not to notice. And wasn’t at all sure what the rules were for all of this.
Back at the house, they unloaded groceries together. Stella immediately opened her Pop-Tarts, eating one cold while Meg organized the refrigerator.
“These are perfect,” Stella announced. “Exactly the right kind.”
“You picked them.”
“Still. Thanks.” She grabbed her earbuds. “I’m gonna... be in my room. Let me know when dinner happens, I guess. ”
“Will do.”
Stella paused at the hallway. “Thanks. For the shopping and stuff. And for not making it weird with your friend.”
“Natalie? She’s harmless.”
“Still. You could have made it into a thing. Tyler probably would have.”
“Tyler has his own approach,” Meg said diplomatically.
“Yeah.” Stella disappeared down the hall, music already playing.
Meg looked at the basil on the counter, already planning dinner. Nothing fancy, nothing that screamed “trying too hard.” Just pasta and pesto and maybe some good bread. Food that might make a teenager feel like she belonged somewhere, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
Her phone buzzed. Tyler.
How did it go? Everyone survive?
We’re alive. She got her Pop-Tarts. Making pesto for dinner.
You’re cooking?
Don’t sound so shocked.
I’m not shocked. Just... impressed. Thanks, Meg.
Meg set the phone aside and began organizing her ingredients. She lifted the basil, inhaling its sharp green scent, then frowned. This wasn’t nearly enough, especially if she wanted to make extra for Tyler’s lunch tomorrow. He’d live on hot sauce and determination if left to his own devices.
“Stella?” she called down the hall.
“Yeah?” The response was muffled by closed door and music.
“Could you do me a favor?”
The door opened slightly. “What kind of favor?”
“Run to Margo’s and grab more basil? This isn’t enough for dinner plus leftovers.” Meg found a basket on top of the fridge. “Remember that cottage we passed on the way here? The one with all the gardens?”
Stella appeared fully in the hallway, looking suspicious. “The jungle-looking one?”
“That’s Margo’s. Just five houses down on the right. She’s probably still at the Shack, but her garden gate’s always open—it’s around the side of the house. Behind a bright blue gate.” Meg held out the basket, then had a thought. “Here, smell this.” She held up a basil leaf.
Stella leaned in, sniffing. “Okay?”
“That’s what you’re looking for. Big bushy plants with leaves like this. Should be in one of the raised beds—she’s got them organized by type.”
“You want me to just... take stuff from her garden?”
“She won’t mind. That’s what it’s for.” Meg pressed the basket into Stella’s hands. “Just a big handful. I’ll start prepping everything else.”
“Fine.” Stella took the basket like it might bite. “Five houses down on the right, blue gate, smell for the green stuff.”
“Exactly. You’ve got it.”
After Stella left, Meg returned to her prep work, smiling slightly. Cooking wasn’t painting or photography or any of the other artistic pursuits her family favored. But it was something.