Page 22 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he presentation had gone perfectly. Better than perfectly, if such a thing existed.

The San Clemente Resort team loved her Phase Two expansion plans, and the unexpected conservation partnership possibility for Luke was the cherry on top.

But as they drove north on PCH, Meg found her professional high giving way to the knot in her stomach she’d been carrying for days.

“Okay,” Luke said as they passed through Capistrano Beach. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. The meeting went great.”

“The meeting went great and you’re doing that thing with your hands.”

Meg looked down. She was tapping her fingers against her thigh—pointer, middle, ring, pinkie, reverse. “I’m just processing.”

“Meg. ”

“Really, I’m?—“

“You’ve checked your phone six times since we left, you’re doing the finger thing, and you’ve got that crease between your eyebrows.”

“I don’t have a crease.”

“You absolutely have a crease.” He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Want to stop somewhere? Decompress before heading back to the chaos?”

She should say no. Should get back to Tyler’s, face the mountain of work waiting for her in whatever corner wasn’t already occupied. Instead, she said, “Yes. Please.”

Luke took the next exit into Dana Point Harbor. The late afternoon sun painted everything golden, boats bobbing gently in their slips. He parked near Baby Beach, where families were packing up after a day in the calm waters.

“Walk?” he suggested.

They found a bench at the far end of the beach, away from the families. Meg slipped off her heels, digging her toes into the still-warm sand.

“So,” Luke said after a moment. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“You know how you said the remote work proves I can stay?” Meg watched a sailboat motor toward the channel. “I’ve been thinking about what ‘staying’ actually means.”

“And?”

“Last night I took a business call from Tyler’s bathroom. Again. While sitting on the edge of the tub discussing Instagram metrics with a multimillion-dollar client.”

Luke’s mouth twitched. “The acoustics?—”

“Are excellent, yes, I know.” She managed a smile. “But Luke, it’s insane. I’ve taken over every surface in that house. Stella’s eating breakfast standing up because the kitchen’s too crowded. Tyler’s editing photos on his bed. We’re all pretending it’s fine but?—”

“It’s not fine.”

“It’s really not.” She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “But what’s the alternative? Tyler needs me there. Stella’s just starting to trust us.”

“What does staying mean to you?” Luke asked. “Really staying, not just camping out in Tyler’s guest room?”

Meg considered this. “I don’t know. I’ve been so focused on not abandoning them that I haven’t thought about what actually settling here looks like.” She paused. “I should probably figure out the San Francisco house situation.”

“You’re still paying mortgage on an empty place?”

“It’s not empty. My furniture’s there. My life is—was—there.” She corrected herself. “But yeah, it’s sitting there while I’m here, and that’s not exactly sustainable either.”

“Sounds like you’re already thinking about selling.”

“Maybe? I don’t know. It feels so final.” She watched a pelican dive for fish. “Which is ridiculous because I haven’t been back except to grab clothes. But selling it means admitting I’m not going back to that life. ”

“Is that bad?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” She laughed, frustrated. “I’ve never thought so much about living spaces in my life. Last night I was sitting on Tyler’s porch trying to call Anna privately, and I noticed my old house for the first time since I’ve been back.”

“Your old house?”

“Where I grew up. Sam’s place. It’s like three doors down from Tyler.” She shook her head. “It’s been empty so long it just faded into the background for me. Like visual white noise.”

Luke sat up straighter. “Wait. You’re right. It’s totally empty. She’s been gone for years.”

“It’s not really empty. I mean, no one lives there, but it’s still Mom’s.” Meg traced patterns in the sand with her toe. “At least, I think it is. She’s been gone for years but I don’t think she ever sold it.”

“Has anyone been inside?”

“Not that I know of. Though someone’s maintaining the garden. I noticed that last night—roses all trimmed, herbs neat. Weird, right?”

“Very weird.” Luke stood, offering her his hand. “Want to go look?”

“What? No. Luke, we can’t just?—“

“We’re not breaking in. Just looking. From the outside. Like concerned neighbors.”

“I am a concerned neighbor,” Meg realized. “I literally live three doors away and I’ve been ignoring an empty house.”

“So let’s unconcern ourselves. ”

The drive back to Laguna took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of Meg listing all the reasons this was a bad idea: it wasn’t their house, Sam might have sold it, what if someone was squatting, what if the neighbors called the police.

“The neighbors are Tyler and Margo,” Luke pointed out. “Pretty sure they won’t call the cops on you.”

They parked in front of Tyler’s. The chaos was visible even from outside—papers pressed against windows like trapped birds. Three doors down, Sam’s house sat quiet, a Spanish-style bungalow that matched the neighborhood’s 1920s charm.

“It looks... normal,” Meg said, surprised. “I expected it to look more abandoned.”

They walked down the sidewalk, trying to appear casual. Up close, the maintenance was even more obvious. The lawn was mowed, hedges trimmed, no accumulation of newspapers or flyers.

“Someone’s definitely taking care of it,” Luke observed.

“But who? And why?” Meg peered through a gap in the fence. “The back garden looks perfect too. Those tomatoes are staked properly and everything.”

“Maybe Sam hired someone?”

“Sam doesn’t hire people. She doesn’t... organize things like that.” Meg moved to the front window, cupping her hands around her eyes to peer inside. “Oh.”

“What?”

“It’s... it’s exactly the same. Like she just left yesterday.” Through the glass, she could see the living room—same couch, same art on the walls, even what looked like the same magazines on the coffee table. “This is weird, right? This is objectively weird?”

“Pretty weird,” Luke agreed. “Want to check the back?”

They walked around the side of the house, past the maintained garden beds. The back door had a window. Meg peered through.

“The kitchen’s the same too. Same plates in the rack. Same—“ She stopped. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“There are fresh flowers on the table. Like, really fresh. Pink roses, maybe a day old.”

“So someone’s not just maintaining it. They’re... visiting?”

“I guess? But why?” Meg stared at the flowers, baffled. “Who puts fresh flowers in an empty house?”

They retreated to the sidewalk, both glancing back at the house.

“So,” Luke said carefully, “setting aside the mystery of who’s leaving flowers in your mom’s empty house—it’s right there. Three doors from Tyler. Fully functional, apparently.”

“Luke, no.”

“I’m just saying?—“

“Even if I could get in touch with Sam, which is a big if, I can’t just move into my childhood home. That’s... that’s going backward.”

“Is it? Or is it finding a solution that keeps you close to Tyler and Stella while giving everyone room to breathe?”

They stood in front of Tyler’s house, the contrast stark—papers visible through windows, bikes crowding the porch, every sign of too many lives in too small a space.

“I don’t even know if she still owns it,” Meg said weakly.

“Easy enough to find out.”

“Luke.”

“What? I’m being practical. You need space to work. Tyler needs his house back. Stella needs to not eat breakfast standing up.” He gestured toward Sam’s house. “There’s a perfectly good house right there.”

“With a mysterious flower fairy, apparently.”

“Minor detail.”

Meg laughed despite herself. “This is insane. We’re standing here seriously discussing me moving into my mom’s abandoned-but-mysteriously-maintained house because I’ve turned Tyler’s place into a paper factory.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds very reasonable.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m trying to help. That’s literally what I’m doing.” He turned serious. “Meg, you can’t keep working from Tyler’s bathroom. Something has to give.”

“I know.” She looked between the two houses—Tyler’s chaos, Sam’s empty perfection waiting with fresh flowers. “I just... I have a lot of memories in that house. Not all of them good. ”

“Then maybe it’s time to make new ones.”

“Or maybe it’s time to accept that Sam’s not coming back and someone should actually use it.” She shook her head. “God, listen to me. An hour ago I was presenting to million-dollar clients and now I’m contemplating breaking into my mother’s house.”

“Character growth,” Luke said solemnly.

“Or a nervous breakdown.”

“That too.”

Tyler’s door opened. Stella stood there, earbuds around her neck. “Oh good, you’re back. Tyler’s been reorganizing your papers. I tried to stop him but he said something about reclaiming the dining table. It’s not going well.”

“Define ‘not going well,’” Meg said, already moving toward the door.

“He mixed up your color system. Reds are with blues. It’s chaos.” Stella noticed their position. “Were you guys just standing on the sidewalk?”

“Discussing real estate,” Luke said.

“Weird but okay.” She disappeared back inside.

Meg looked at Luke. “I should?—”

“Go. Save your filing system. But Meg?” He caught her hand briefly. “Think about it. The house, San Francisco, all of it. You can’t live in limbo forever.”

“I know.”

“And maybe ask Margo about the mysterious flower delivery. She might know something.”

“You think? ”

“She knows everything else about this neighborhood.”

Meg squeezed his hand before letting go. “Thanks. For today. For listening. For not laughing when I admitted to bathroom conferences.”

“I would never laugh at bathroom conferences. Bathroom board meetings, maybe.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

He pulled her closer, one hand settling at her waist. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re thinking about making this permanent. San Francisco’s too far away.”

“Is it?” she asked softly.

“Way too far.” He leaned down, kissing her gently. “I like having you here. In Laguna. Where you belong.”

She was just sinking into the kiss when?—

“OH MY GOD, FINALLY!”

They jumped apart to find Stella in the doorway, phone in hand.

“Were you—are you filming us?” Meg asked, mortified.

“No! Maybe. Okay, yes, but just the last part.” Stella grinned wickedly. “My rom-com radar is literally never wrong. Joey owes me twenty bucks.”

“You bet on us?” Luke asked.

“Everyone bet on you. Bernie’s got a whole pool going. I had ‘passionate goodbye kiss by end of July.’ Nailed it!”

“It’s not a passionate goodbye kiss,” Meg protested.

“Speak for yourself,” Luke said, then pulled her back. “Here, is this better? ”

He kissed her again, definitely passionate this time, definitely goodbye-worthy, while Stella shrieked with delight.

“THIRTY BUCKS! That’s gotta be worth thirty!”

Luke pulled back, grinning at Meg’s dazed expression. “Better?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Good.” He winked at Stella. “Put me down for ‘second kiss within a minute’ in Bernie’s next pool.”

“You’re all terrible,” Meg managed.

“Terribly happy for you,” Luke corrected, backing toward his truck. “Think about the house, Meg. And San Francisco. And staying.”

He drove off, leaving Meg standing there, lips still tingling, while Stella filmed the entire aftermath.

“This is better than Netflix,” Stella announced. “Tyler! They kissed TWICE! What’s that worth in the betting pool?”

She headed inside, face still burning, to find Tyler surrounded by paper chaos and Stella doing a victory dance in the kitchen.

“Twenty bucks!” Stella sang. “Twenty beautiful dollars!”

“I can’t believe you bet on my love life,” Meg said.

“Everyone bet on your love life. It was like watching a nature documentary. ‘Will the marine biologist approach the skittish businesswoman? Let’s observe.’”

“I hate you all.”

“No you don’t.” Stella pocketed her winnings. “You love us. That’s why you can’t figure out where to live. ”

Out of the mouths of teenagers.

Meg looked at the chaos of papers, thought about the empty house with its mysterious flowers, the kiss still warm on her lips, and Luke’s words echoing: San Francisco’s too far away.

Maybe it was time to stop living in limbo.

Maybe it was time to choose.