Page 27 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

M eg stood in Tyler’s guest room, holding her two suitcases and trying to look dignified about moving three doors down.

“That’s it?” Tyler asked from the doorway. “Two suitcases?”

“I travel light.” She grabbed her laptop bag. “Oh, and I need to get my toothbrush.”

“Right. Toothbrush.”

She walked to the bathroom, emerged with her toothbrush and travel toiletry bag. “And that coffee mug I’ve been using.”

“The blue one?”

“It’s mine now.”

“That’s my favorite mug.”

“Was. Was your favorite mug.” She headed to the kitchen, Tyler trailing behind.

Stella sat at the counter, watching this unfold with poorly concealed amusement. “Big moving day? ”

“Don’t start.” Meg grabbed the mug, then paused. “Oh, and that throw pillow.”

“Which throw pillow?” Tyler asked.

“The one I’ve been using for back support.” She darted to the living room, returning with a small decorative pillow. “And your stapler.”

“My stapler?”

“It’s a really good stapler.”

“Meg—”

“And this pen.” She plucked a pen from the counter. “It’s the perfect weight.”

“You’re robbing me,” Tyler said. “In slow motion. In front of witnesses.”

“Stella, you saw nothing,” Meg said.

“I saw everything,” Stella corrected. “This is hilarious.”

Luke arrived to find Meg surrounded by suitcases and random household items. “Need help with the truck?”

“No truck,” Tyler said flatly. “Apparently we’re walking her suitcases three houses down like the world’s saddest parade.”

“It’s not sad,” Meg protested. “It’s... efficient.”

“Efficiently sad,” Stella suggested.

They formed a ridiculous processional—Meg with a suitcase and the stolen pillow, Tyler carrying the other suitcase while jealously guarding his remaining office supplies, Luke with the laptop bag and a box of work papers Meg had accumulated, and Stella documenting the whole thing on her phone .

“This is definitely going in the family history,” Stella announced. “The Great Three-Door Migration.”

“Still ridiculous,” Tyler muttered.

They made the thirty-second journey in funeral-march formation. Mrs. Patterson from next door stopped watering her roses to stare.

“Moving day!” Meg called out cheerfully.

“Three houses,” Tyler added mournfully. “We’re moving her three houses.”

“It’s devastating,” Stella deadpanned. “We may never recover.”

Mrs. Patterson looked deeply confused as they trooped past.

They dispersed Meg’s belongings in about four minutes. Two suitcases in the bedroom, laptop in the office, stolen items strategically placed to look like they belonged.

Stella wandered off while they arranged things, returning with a grin. “Found another trophy in the hallway closet. ‘Most Improved Swimmer, age 6.’ Tyler, you were really bad at swimming?”

“I was six!”

“Still. Most improved means you started somewhere pretty rough.”

“Can we focus on the move please?”

“Sure, sure. Oh, and there’s a crayon drawing of a dinosaur eating a surfboard signed ‘Tyler age 5’ behind the closet door.”

“Why are you going through closets?”

“It’s my ancestral home now too. I’m exploring. ”

“I need to go back,” Meg announced.

“What did you forget?” Tyler asked, already looking protective of his remaining possessions.

“My phone charger. And that hand lotion. And maybe those crackers?—”

“The crackers are mine!”

“Were. Were yours.”

“This is theft. Stella, you’re witnessing theft.”

“Still seeing nothing,” Stella said, but she was grinning.

They made three more trips, Meg finding increasingly ridiculous things she “needed.” A single fork (“It’s the good one”), a box of tissues (“They’re the soft kind”), and finally, triumphantly, a potted succulent from the kitchen windowsill.

“That’s where I draw the line,” Tyler said. “You can’t take Herbert.”

“You named the plant?”

“Stella named the plant.”

“Herbert needs light,” Stella said solemnly. “Meg’s house has better windows.”

“Traitor,” Tyler muttered, but he let Meg take the plant.

By the fourth trip, the neighbors were openly watching. The sad parade had become performance art.

“Is that it?” Luke asked, trying not to laugh. “Or do you need to go back for specific air molecules?”

“I think that’s everything.” Meg surveyed her new domain—the house now containing two suitcases, stolen office supplies, and one perfect pen. “Home sweet home.”

“We should probably let you settle in,” Tyler said, but nobody moved.

They stood in the living room, the moment suddenly real. Meg was moving out. Three doors, but still out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Meg said. “At the Shack.”

“Right. Tomorrow.”

“It’s literally three houses,” Stella pointed out. “You can probably hear each other if you yell.”

“Please don’t yell,” Meg said.

“I make no promises,” Stella replied.

Finally, reluctantly, they filed out. Meg stood in the doorway, watching her sad parade walk back home. Tyler turned around twice, like he might come back for his stapler. Stella waved once, casual-like. Luke blew her a kiss.

The house felt enormous around her.

Tyler stared at his kitchen, which somehow looked wrong without Meg’s papers covering every surface.

“So,” Stella said. “Dinner?”

“Right. Dinner.” He opened the refrigerator with confidence. Then closed it. Opened it again. “We have eggs.”

“Breakfast for dinner?”

“No, that’s...” He closed the refrigerator. “Pizza? ”

“Sure.”

They stood there, neither moving to actually order.

“We could...” Stella started, stopped. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just, we could get pizza and maybe check if Meg needs anything? For her new place? She probably hasn’t eaten.”

Tyler tried not to look pathetically grateful. “That’s very thoughtful.”

“It’s practical. We should make sure she’s settled. For emergencies.”

“Exactly. Emergencies.”

They ordered too much—pizza, salads, breadsticks, dessert. While waiting, they drifted around the house like ghosts.

“It’s quiet,” Stella observed.

“Yeah.”

“And empty.”

When the food arrived, they packed it up like a rescue mission. Tyler grabbed plates from the cabinet, then paused. "Wait. She's moving into a fully furnished house."

"So?" Stella asked, already wrapping napkins.

"So she has plates."

"Not our plates." Stella added beverages to their pile. "Plus Herbert needs to visit. Scope out the territory."

Tyler looked at their unnecessary rescue supplies—plates, napkins, cups, and one succulent—and shrugged. "Fine. But we look ridiculous. "

The walk took thirty seconds but felt momentous. Three houses. Might as well be three miles.

Tyler knocked. "We brought dinner!"

The door flew open. Meg stood there in her moving clothes—which were just her regular clothes since she'd moved two suitcases—trying very hard not to look emotional.

"You brought dinner?"

"And plates," Stella added. "And napkins. And Herbert for a consultation visit."

Meg looked at their supply pile and started laughing. "You know this place has a fully stocked kitchen, right? Like, fancy everything?"

"These are comfort plates," Tyler said with dignity. "Totally different thing."

"Of course. How thoughtless of me." Meg stepped aside, definitely not crying. "Get in here with your comfort plates. I was just contemplating cereal in Mom’s old bowls."

They spread out in the kitchen, the table big enough for three with room for more.

“This is nice,” Stella said, looking around. “Very... adult.”

They ate pizza in her old house as they all quietly surveyed the new space.

Stella suddenly stood up, carrying Herbert to the window. "Herbert needs light," she said solemnly. "Meg's house has better windows. He told me."

"Herbert doesn't talk," Tyler protested.

"You're just not listening right." Stella placed Herbert on Meg's windowsill with ceremony. "See? Look how happy he is."

"Traitor," Tyler muttered, but he was fighting a smile.

"Herbert's made his choice," Meg said. "I promise to give him excellent light and only occasional conversations about my problems."

"That's all he asks for," Stella confirmed, returning to her pizza.

“Your office setup looks good,” Tyler said, having wandered through to check.

“All two suitcases worth,” Meg agreed.

“And my stapler.”

“Our stapler now. Herbert and I have adopted it.”

As they prepared to leave, Stella lingered in the doorway. “So like... we can come over? Even if we just need to borrow back our stuff?”

“Anytime,” Meg assured her. “Even if you just need to visit Herbert.”

“Cool. That’s... cool.”

Walking back, Tyler felt the weight of change. Three doors suddenly seemed like a significant distance. Tomorrow they’d have to figure out breakfast without Meg’s careful choreography. Tomorrow he’d have to actually cook something.

“That was nice,” Stella said as they reached home. “The pizza thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we could do it regularly? Or take turns?”

“Like shared custody of dinner? ”

“Exactly like that.”

Inside, the house felt different. Not empty, exactly, but reconfigured. Like furniture after a move—same pieces, new arrangement.

“Night,” Stella said, heading for her room.

“Hey, Stella?”

She paused. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. For suggesting the pizza. I was kind of...”

“Freaking out?”

“Mildly concerned.”

“You were freaking out.” But she said it gently. “It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Plus, Meg’s literally three doors down. If we really screw up, we can send smoke signals.”

“Or yell.”

“She specifically asked us not to yell.”

“Emergency yelling only,” Tyler compromised.

Stella almost smiled. “Night, Tyler.”

Her door closed, music starting up at reasonable volume. Background noise for their new configuration.

Tyler looked around his reclaimed kitchen. Tomorrow he’d have to meal plan. Tomorrow they’d navigate life without a buffer.

But tonight, they’d proven three doors was walkable. Even with stolen staplers and relocated succulents and too much pizza.