Page 10 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)

CHAPTER NINE

T he marina office smelled like coffee and neoprene, a combination that immediately made Tyler’s shoulders drop from their position near his ears. Luke sat behind a desk covered in tide charts and permit applications, but he pushed everything aside when Tyler walked in.

“You look like hell,” Luke said, already pouring a second mug.

“Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” Tyler collapsed into the visitor’s chair. “My life has exploded.”

“I noticed.” Luke slid the coffee across. “The secret daughter was a clue.”

“Not just Stella. Everything. A month ago I had a system. A routine. I knew what each day would look like.” Tyler stared into his mug.

“Now I’ve got a teenager who hates me living in my office, Meg’s turned my house into corporate headquarters, and Margo’s already planning to ‘great-grandmother thoroughly,’ whatever that means. ”

“And you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out. I’m... aggressively reassessing my life choices.” Tyler took a long sip of coffee. “She won’t even unpack, Luke. Just keeps her bag by the door like she might bolt any second.”

“She’s scared.”

“Of what? I’m not gonna—I would never?—”

“Not of you. Of wanting this.” Luke leaned back in his chair. “I’ve taught hundreds of kids to surf over the years. You know what the scared ones do? They sit on the beach forever, checking their leash, adjusting their wetsuit, finding reasons not to paddle out.”

“So?”

“So you don’t push them. You just keep showing up. Keep making it safe. Eventually they realize the water’s not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

Tyler slumped lower. “What if she never unpacks? What if she spends the whole summer with one foot out the door?”

“Then she spends the summer that way. But she’ll still be here.” Luke studied him. “Tyler, she chose to come. Fiona gave her the option, right? She could have said no.”

“Her mother remarried. New husband, new kids. Where else was she gonna go?”

“Anywhere. She’s sixteen, not six. Could’ve thrown a fit, refused to leave Sydney, made everyone’s life hell until they gave up.” Luke refilled his mug. “Instead, she got on a plane to live with a father she barely knows. That took guts.”

“Or desperation.”

“Maybe both. Point is, she’s here. In your former office, eating your donuts, demanding Pop-Tarts. That’s something.”

Tyler rubbed his face. “Meg’s taking her grocery shopping. They’re probably in the cereal aisle right now, judging my food choices.”

“Good. Let them bond over your terrible taste in breakfast foods.” Luke pulled out his phone, showed Tyler a text. “See? Meg says they’re debating the merits of pulp in orange juice.”

“She wants pulp. Who raised this kid?”

“Someone who wasn’t you, which is why she’s interesting.” Luke set the phone aside. “You’ve got to stop trying to make up for sixteen years in one week.”

“It’s been three days.”

“Exactly. Three days and she’s already got her own room, she’s going shopping with her aunt, she’s eating dinner with you. That’s huge progress.”

“Is it?” Tyler genuinely couldn’t tell anymore. “Because from where I’m sitting, my daughter acts like I’m just some guy who shows up twice a year with presents.”

“Aren’t you? I mean, from her perspective?” Luke’s voice was gentle but honest. “You’ve been Fun Vacation Dad. Now suddenly you’re trying to be Real Daily Dad. That’s a huge shift.”

“We used to be close. When she was little, she’d count down days until my visits. Now she barely looks at me.”

“She’s sixteen. Sixteen-year-olds barely look at anyone except through their phones.” Luke leaned forward. “But she’s here, Tyler. She could have fought harder to stay in Sydney, but she’s here.”

“Sixteen-year-olds are basically adults with worse decision-making skills and better metabolism.” Luke stood, moved to stare out at the boats. “Give her time to stop attacking the situation and start working with it.”

“How long?”

“As long as it takes.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“You want helpful? Here’s helpful.” Luke turned back. “Stop panicking every time she looks unhappy. Stop trying to fix sixteen years of absence with grocery runs and room conversions. Stop treating her like she might break.”

“But what if?—”

“And stop with the what-ifs. What if she hates you? She already kind of does, so that’s covered. What if she leaves? She’s sixteen, where’s she gonna go? What if you screw this up? You will, multiple times. Welcome to parenting.”

Tyler stared at him. “When did you become an expert on teenagers?”

“Twenty years of surf lessons. You learn things.” Luke returned to his desk. “Also, I watch you panic and do the opposite. Usually works. ”

“Funny.” Tyler checked his phone. Another photo from Meg: Stella holding up two different types of cereal, looking genuinely offended by his healthy options. “She looks happy.”

“She looks like a teenager who’s won the Pop-Tart war. Same thing.” Luke leaned back. “So, you good? Or do we need to break out the emergency rum?”

“I’m... processing.” Tyler set down his phone. “Can I ask you something? About Meg?”

“Sure,” Luke said slowly.

Tyler paused. “Just... be good to her, okay? She’s had enough people let her down.”

“I know.” Luke’s expression was serious. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere. Not after waiting this long.”

“I know you won’t.” Tyler stood, suddenly exhausted. “I should probably go.”

“That’s the spirit. Embrace the unknown.”

They walked out together, the marina quiet around them. At Tyler’s truck, Luke stopped him.

“Hey. One more thing about Stella.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s got your eyes, but she’s got her own mind. Stop looking for yourself in her and start seeing who she actually is.”

“Which is?”

“Scared. Brave. Funny when she forgets to be defensive. Probably going to organize your spice rack with Meg.” Luke grinned. “And definitely going to complicate your life in ways you can’t imagine.”

“Comforting. ”

“You didn’t come here for comfort. You came here for truth.”

Tyler climbed into his truck. “Thanks. For the coffee. And the wisdom. And not letting me spiral.”

“That’s what we do,” Luke said simply. “Eight years of dawn patrol, remember? I’ve seen you at your worst. This isn’t even close.”

As Tyler drove to the Beach Shack, he felt something settle. Not fixed, not solved, but... manageable. His daughter was picking out Pop-Tarts with his sister. His best friend was solid. His grandmother would probably have Stella trained in proper grilled cheese technique within the week.

His life had exploded, yes. But maybe the pieces were falling somewhere good.

Even if it involved pulpy orange juice.