Page 34 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY

T he Beach Shack hummed with its particular brand of organized chaos—the kind that looked like disaster to outsiders but ran like clockwork for those who knew its rhythms. Meg tied on her apron, watching Stella work the register with the confidence of someone who’d been doing it for years, not weeks.

“Morning update!” Bernie announced from his corner booth, tapping his phone with glee.

“Current betting pools as follows: Luke’s truck at the Walsh house—even odds it’ll be there again tonight.

Tyler cracking about surfer boys—three to one says before noon.

Patricia’s next pottery ‘coincidence’—tomorrow, two to one. ”

“Bernie,” Margo warned from the grill.

“I’m providing a community service! Also running pools on: Will Stella touch a knife before September?—“

“Not taking that bet,” Stella called out, not missing a beat as she handed change to a customer.

“—Joey’s next romantic disaster, Anna’s actual arrival date, and who gets the premium festival booth spot.”

“You’re running pools on everything,” Meg said.

“It’s a gift.” Bernie winked.

“Oh, rack off with the pools,” Stella muttered.

“Language!” Tyler said automatically.

“It means ‘go away.’ Literally just means go away.”

“It sounds like?—”

“Like Australian. Yes. We’ve been through this.”

A tourist approached the counter with a small bag. “We brought this back from Moonlight Beach,” she said, pulling out a smooth piece of sea glass. “For your ceiling.”

Stella’s hands stilled on the register. “Oh. That’s... thank you.”

“Been coming here twenty years,” the woman added. “About time I contributed.”

Meg watched Stella accept the sea glass with something like wonder, her eyes flicking up to the shell ceiling when she thought no one was looking. Later, during a lull, Meg caught her studying the patterns above, one hand unconsciously touching her pocket.

“Napkins need folding,” Stella announced, returning to earth. “The fancy way for table twelve?”

“They’re regulars,” Margo confirmed. “They notice these things.”

Stella moved through her tasks like she’d been born to them—manning the register, folding napkins with origami precision, wiping down tables between customers. The only thing she wouldn’t touch was the knife block, stepping around it like it might bite.

“She’s good,” Margo said quietly to Meg. “Natural rhythm. Knows what needs doing before you ask.”

“Except—”

“Except knives. Yes.” Margo watched her great-granddaughter work. “She’ll get there when she’s ready.”

The morning rush started building. Stella flowed between register and cleaning, charming customers and keeping Joey supplied with properly folded napkins. Everything running exactly as it should.

Then Andrew walked in with two friends, and Meg watched Tyler’s entire body go rigid.

“Hey, Stella!” Andrew approached the counter with what he probably thought was swagger. “Caught some sick waves this morning. You should’ve been out there.”

“Was sleeping,” Stella said, not looking up from the register. “Like normal humans.”

“Could teach you some moves. Private lessons. Very exclusive.”

His friends snickered. Tyler gripped his spatula like a weapon.

Stella finally looked up, expression politely bored. “That’s sweet, Andrew, but I learned to surf at Bondi. You know, where the waves actually require skill?”

“Ouch,” one friend muttered.

“Also,” Stella continued, handing him his change, “ I’m sixteen. You’re what, twenty-two? Little creepy, mate.”

She made direct eye contact with Tyler across the kitchen, the tiniest smirk playing at her lips. See? Handled.

Tyler relaxed fractionally, though Meg noticed him stress-eating a pickle.

“Bernie!” Joey called out. “Add ‘Andrew’s rejection recovery time’ to the pools. I say three weeks.”

“You’re on!”

Andrew slunk to a back table with his friends, properly chastised. Stella went back to the register like nothing had happened.

“Your daughter’s terrifying,” Luke told Tyler, arriving for his usual coffee. “In the best way.”

“She gets it from her aunts,” Tyler said, still looking slightly stunned.

“Speaking of,” Stella said, turning to Meg with a grin that meant trouble. “Luke stopped by our house this morning.”

Meg felt heat creep up her neck. “Stella?—”

“Just saying.” She shrugged, eyes dancing with mischief, then turned back to the register.

“I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t.” Stella patted her shoulder.

The morning continued in this vein—perfectly orchestrated chaos, Stella handling everything with increasing confidence, Bernie updating his pools, customers flowing in and out.

Even Patricia made an appearance, though she seemed more interested in the new ceramics teacher who’d started at the community center.

“Plot twist!” Bernie announced. “Patricia might be moving on! Adjusting Tyler odds accordingly.”

“Thank God,” Tyler muttered.

As the lunch rush approached, Margo gathered them for a quick meeting.

“Weekend’s going to be insane,” she announced. “Surfing competition starts Friday. We’ll be slammed all three days.”

“We’ll need all hands,” Joey said.

“I can come in early,” Stella offered immediately. “Help with setup.”

“Me too,” Meg added.

“We’ll manage,” Margo said, but she looked pleased. “We always do. And remember, we close at three sharp. No exceptions, no matter how many competitors beg for late orders.We can’t do extra wave calls on competition weekends.”

The rest of the shift passed in comfortable rhythm.

Meg caught Stella looking up at the shell ceiling twice more, that unconscious pocket-touch that suggested secrets.

But mostly, she watched her niece own her space in the Shack, handling everything from difficult customers to Andrew’s friends’ lingering looks with easy confidence.

“She’s really good at this,” Tyler said quietly, joining Meg during a brief break.

“Natural Beach Shack material,” Meg agreed.

“Think she knows that? ”

Meg thought about the pocket touches, the glances at the ceiling, the way Stella had accepted that sea glass like it was precious.

“She’s getting there.”

By closing time, everyone was tired but satisfied. Another good day in the books, everything running smoothly, family rhythms established.

“Same time tomorrow?” Stella asked, already knowing the answer.

“Bright and early,” Margo confirmed. “Surfing crowd waits for no one.”

As they cleaned up, Meg noticed Stella pause by the shell basket, running her fingers along the rim. Such a small gesture, but weighted with possibility.

Tomorrow would be chaos. Surfers and competitions and everyone wanting food at once.

But tonight, everything was exactly as it should be. Stella confident in her space, Tyler surviving the surfer boys and Bernie running pools on absolutely everything.

“Ten to one says tomorrow goes off without a hitch,” Bernie announced, heading for the door.

“No one’s taking that bet,” Margo called after him.

She was right. In a family like theirs, smooth sailing never lasted long.

But for now, in this moment, everything was perfect.

Even if Stella still wouldn’t touch a knife.