Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Meg Walsh stood in her living room, holding a stack of work files and staring at the antique writing desk that had been her mother's. The afternoon light streaming through the window behind it was perfect for painting—exactly what Anna would need.
"You've been standing there for ten minutes," Luke observed from the doorway.
"I'm thinking." She gestured at the room. "Anna needs this space for the light, but if I move the desk to my bedroom, there's no room for my filing cabinet. And if I move the filing cabinet—"
"Or," Luke said, gently removing the files from her hands, "we could let them figure it out when they get here."
Tomorrow. Anna and Bea’s flight landed at two in the afternoon. Less than twenty-four hours from now, her perfectly organized house would transform into... what? She couldn’t quite picture it, which made the anxiety worse.
When Anna had first asked if she and Bea could stay with Meg for a few weeks she’d almost frozen in place. Not at all what she’d had in mind.
But Anna had rented her house out while she’d been in Florence for a year and coming back early didn’t mean that her renters could leave early. So there it was.
"I'm being ridiculous," Meg said, letting Luke pull her into a hug.
"You're being you. Which includes planning for every contingency." He pulled back to look at her. "I take it the spice cabinet got reorganized again?"
"Three times yesterday. And I color-coded the towels this morning." She gestured toward the hall closet she'd spent two hours perfecting. "Blue for guests, white for everyday, gray for the beach. It's a system."
"Very practical." Luke's eyes danced with suppressed laughter. "What's left to organize?"
"I don't know what Bea needs. I haven't seen her since she was eleven. What if she's vegetarian? What if she has allergies? What if—"
"Meg." His voice was gentle but firm. "Anna would have mentioned allergies. You're not hosting strangers. You're hosting family."
"Family I don't really know anymore." She looked out the window at Mrs. Walker across the street, watering the same roses she'd tended for thirty years. Predictable. Orderly. "What if we drive each other crazy?"
A memory surfaced—seventeen years old, trying to study for SATs while Anna turned their dining room into a pottery studio.
Clay dust coating every surface, Anna humming off-key while she worked, completely oblivious to Meg's mounting frustration as the test date approached.
Meg had snapped finally, yelling about responsibility and consideration for others.
But she also remembered what came after—Anna appearing at her bedroom door at midnight with tea and homemade cookies, settling cross-legged on the bed.
"I'm sorry about the mess. Want help with the practice tests?
" Anna had stayed up until two in the morning, patiently working through vocabulary flashcards and essay prompts, making Meg laugh with ridiculous mnemonics that somehow actually helped her remember.
The chaos had been real. But so had the love underneath it.
Her phone buzzed. Tyler.
You ready for the invasion?
Define ready.
Fair point. How's the organizing going?
How did you know I was organizing?
Because I know you. Go easy on yourself, okay? It's going to be chaotic. That's Anna's thing. But it'll also probably be good.
When did you become so wise?
Since having a teenager. They force perspective.
How’s Stella handling all this?
Cautiously optimistic. She's curious about Bea but trying not to show it.
They'll be good for each other.
Another buzz. Anna, sending a photo from their hotel—her and Bea surrounded by mountains of luggage, both grinning.
Almost there! Can't wait! Bea's already talking about that lemon pasta.
Meg typed back.
Can't wait either. Everything's ready.
Then, because she couldn't help herself.
How much luggage is there?
Just the essentials! And maybe some art supplies. And Bea's collection of vintage scarves. And possibly a few extra canvases...
Anna. Where exactly do you think you're going to PUT all that?
We'll figure it out! That's half the fun! Bea's already planning how to arrange her corner. She's very excited about the light in the guest room.
Tell her I got those blackout curtains she can adjust if she needs to sleep in.
You're the best! See you tomorrow!
Half the fun. Meg looked around her organized living room and took a deep breath. Tomorrow, all of this careful arrangement would be upended by Anna's usual beautiful mess.
"Ready for dinner?" Luke asked, keys jingling. "Last quiet evening for a while."
"Let me just check the guest room one more time—"
"Meg." He caught her hand. "It's perfect. You've checked it four times."
She let him lead her to the truck, but couldn't stop herself from glancing back at the house. Had she remembered to put extra towels in the hall closet? What about getting the good coffee?
The restaurant was perfect—quiet, intimate, with a view of the ocean as the sun began its descent. They ordered wine and the fish special, settling into their usual routine.
"You know what I was thinking about today?" Luke said, cutting into his salmon. “Tyler told me that one time Anna painted a mural on your garage wall without asking.”
"Oh God." Meg nearly choked on her wine. "The giant octopus. I came home from work and there was this massive sea creature covering the entire side of the house."
“He said it was actually pretty good."
"It was beautiful. That was the problem. But we had to paint over it. Took three coats of paint.”
“Too bad you couldn’t keep it.”
“I know.” Meg smiled at the memory. "The neighbors kept asking who my artist was. Mrs. Walker wanted to commission Anna to do her garden shed."
"See? Chaos, but good chaos."
They lingered over dessert, Luke telling her about the family of sea otters that had taken up residence near his favorite surf spot, Meg updating him on the passive-aggressive email chain with her most demanding client. Normal. Easy. The life they'd built together.
But even as she laughed at his stories, Meg found herself thinking about logistics. They'd need to leave by one o'clock to reach the airport safely. Traffic on the 405 could be unpredictable. Should she bring flowers for Anna? Was that too much? What if their flight was delayed?
"You're doing it again," Luke said gently.
"What?"
"Planning. I can see the wheels turning."
"Someone has to think about logistics."
"Or," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand, "you could just be here. With me. Before everything changes."
She looked at him—really looked—at the way the sunset caught his eyes, the patient smile he always gave her when she was spinning out. He'd never once complained about her need to organize everything, never made her feel foolish for color-coding towels or alphabetizing spices.
"You're right," she said. "One more quiet evening."
They shared a piece of key lime pie, talked about the weekend farmer's market, made plans for Luke to teach Bea about tide pools if she was interested. Simple, peaceful conversation that would be impossible once the house filled with artistic energy.
As they walked back to the truck, Luke's arm around her shoulders, Meg found herself imagining tomorrow. The arrivals gate. Anna's smile—the same smile that had lit up their childhood, even in the middle of creative disasters. Bea, who she barely knew, stepping into her carefully arranged life.
"It's going to be chaos," she said.
"Probably."
"Paint everywhere. Art supplies taking over. My whole routine disrupted."
"Most likely."
"And I'm actually excited about it. Is that weird?"
Luke stopped walking, turning to face her with a grin. "Finally admitting it?"
"I miss her. I miss having family around. Even if it means—"
"Color-coded chaos?"
"Something like that."
When they got home, Meg stood in the living room one last time, looking at everything she'd spent the day rearranging. The writing desk positioned just so. Her work files neatly stacked. The throw pillows she'd carefully selected to match her coastal aesthetic.
Tomorrow it would all be different. Anna would claim the best light for painting. Bea would likely add her own touches. The house would transform from Meg's organized sanctuary into something messier, warmer, more alive.
"Last chance to reorganize something," Luke said, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Don't tempt me."
"The towels are color-coded. The spices are alphabetized. The guest room has been prepared to hotel standards. What's left?"
"I could make a diagram of where everything should go—"
"Or you could go to bed and let tomorrow worry about itself."
"What if this is a huge mistake? What if we can't live together anymore?"
"Then it's a mistake you make together. As family." He kissed the top of her head. "But I think it's going to be messy and frustrating and occasionally infuriating. And I think you're all going to love every minute of it."
Tomorrow. Her organized life colliding with Anna's artistic chaos. But maybe that collision would create something beautiful—the way Anna's murals always did, unexpected and lovely and completely worth the disruption.
“Come on,” Luke said, tugging her toward the stairs. “Last peaceful night. Let’s not waste it worrying about tomorrow.”
He was right. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Tonight, she could just be here. In this house. In this moment. Before everything changed.