Page 14 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“ N o, no, no.” Joey grabbed Stella’s wrist before she could place the napkin. “You’re rushing the final placement. Watch again.”

Stella slumped against the counter. Joey had appointed himself her personal excellence coach. So far she’d learned the proper angle for straw insertion, the optimal ice-to-soda ratio, and now, apparently, the sacred art of napkin placement.

“Joey, it’s napkins. Not brain surgery.”

“It’s excellence,” Joey said, demonstrating again with the precision of a bomb expert. “Stack of twelve, fanned at forty-five degrees, three taps—exactly three—then insert at the optimal angle for customer retrieval.”

“In Sydney, we just grabbed napkins from a pile.”

“This isn’t Sydney.” Joey’s voice held the gravity of someone defending civilization itself. “This is the Beach Shack way. ”

Bernie shuffled over from his corner table, observing the lesson with obvious amusement. “Kid’s been doing this for three years. Still acts like napkins are sacred artifacts.”

“They’re the first thing customers touch,” Joey insisted. “First impressions matter.”

“It’s napkins,” Stella repeated.

“It’s—“

“Excellence, yeah, I got it.” She attempted the placement again, managing something that looked almost right. “There. Happy?”

“Better. But your tap timing needs work. It’s tap-tap-tap, not taptaptap.”

“Oh bugger! I’m going to murder him,” Stella announced to no one in particular.

“Language.” Tyler looked up from the grill where he was assembling the lunch prep.

Stella rolled her eyes. “It means ‘bother.’ Literally just means bother.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes at her, then turned to Joey. “Joey, maybe ease up on the napkin theology.”

“But she needs to learn the systems! How else will she?—”

The door chimed. A woman floated in, all flowing fabrics and purposeful energy, yoga mat under one arm.

“Tyler!” She practically sang his name. “You’re back! I’ve been hoping to catch you!”

Tyler’s shoulders tensed slightly. “Hi, Patricia.”

The woman—Patricia—glided to the counter, and Stella watched with fascination as she seemed to invade Tyler’s personal space without actually moving that close. It was like she had her own gravitational field.

“I’ve been dying to discuss the festival photography. My ceramics pieces this year are particularly special, and I need someone who understands light and shadow and—” She stopped mid-sentence, noticing Stella for the first time. “Oh! Who’s this?”

“This is Stella,” Tyler said, and something in his voice made Stella stand a little straighter. “My daughter.”

Patricia’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up. “Your daughter? Tyler Walsh has a daughter?” She leaned across the counter, studying Stella like she was one of her ceramic pieces. “Oh my goodness, she has your eyes! How did I not know about this? How old are you, sweetheart?”

“Sixteen,” Stella said, suddenly feeling like a specimen under a microscope.

“Sixteen! Tyler, you’ve been hiding a sixteen-year-old daughter?” Patricia’s hand landed on Tyler’s arm, squeezing sympathetically. “That must have been so hard, being a single father all these years. Where has she been?”

“Sydney,” Stella said, saving Tyler from answering. “With my mum.”

“Australia! How exotic!” Patricia hadn’t removed her hand from Tyler’s arm. If anything, she’d moved closer. “And now you’re here for the summer? How wonderful! A father-daughter reunion. It’s like something from a movie.”

Stella watched the interaction with growing interest. Patricia’s body language was fascinating—the way she tilted her head, how her hand lingered on Tyler’s arm, the breathy quality of her voice. It was like watching a nature documentary about mating rituals.

“About the photography,” Tyler said, extracting his arm to grab a spatula. “When’s the festival?”

“I know it seems far off, but I need time to select the perfect pieces, and then we’ll need to schedule sessions to capture them properly.

Morning light would be best, don’t you think?

My home studio is private. Very private, very peaceful.

Just the two of us and the morning light. I could make breakfast...”

She was doing something weird with her hair now, tucking strands behind her ear in a way that seemed unnecessarily complicated. Stella found herself mentally cataloging the gestures. Hair tuck. Arm touch. That laugh that sounded like wind chimes.

“I’ll check my schedule,” Tyler said, focusing very hard on the grill.

“Wonderful! We could discuss it over coffee? Tomorrow morning perhaps? I know you must be busy with...” she gestured vaguely at Stella, “...all of this.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Tyler said flatly.

“But I’m sure you need adult conversation too. Maybe over dinner? I know this intimate little place in Newport...”

Joey, who’d been watching the exchange with barely concealed glee, jumped in. “Can I get you some coffee, Patricia? Fresh pot!”

“Oh, that would be lovely. You know how I like it.”

“Regular coffee with extra sugar, coming right up!” Joey said cheerfully.

While Joey poured, Patricia turned her attention back to Stella. “So you’re working here too? Family tradition?”

“I’m learning,” Stella said carefully. “Napkin placement, mostly.”

“How... thorough.” Patricia accepted her coffee from Joey, then immediately gravitated back toward Tyler. “You know, if Stella’s interested in the arts, she should come see my studio. I teach pottery classes for teenagers.”

“That’s kind,” Tyler said. “We’ll think about it.”

“Of course. No pressure.” She sipped her coffee, then made a face. “Joey, dear, this might be a touch too sweet.”

“Sorry! I’ll make a new one!”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She set the cup down and refocused on Tyler. “So about those morning sessions...”

Stella found herself studying Patricia’s technique with scientific interest. There was definitely a pattern here—the unnecessary touches, the hair adjustments, the way she kept mentioning her “home studio.” It was actually kind of impressive in a horrifying way.

Patricia was leaning closer to Tyler now, something about the “spiritual essence” of clay work, and Tyler looked like he was considering climbing out the service window to escape.

Time for a rescue mission.

“So,” Stella said loudly, cutting through Patricia’s monologue. “When do I get my L-plates here?”

Tyler blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Oh right, driving lessons. That’s going to take up a lot of time, Patricia. Probably every morning for weeks.”

“L-plates?” Patricia looked confused. “Is that?—”

“Learner’s plates,” Stella explained. “For learning to drive. I’m sixteen.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Patricia started, but Tyler was already nodding enthusiastically.

“Yeah, huge time commitment. DMV, practice sessions, more practice sessions... We’ll be pretty booked up.”

Patricia’s smile faltered slightly. “I see. Well, perhaps after?—”

“Could be months,” Tyler added cheerfully. “You know teenagers and driving. Very thorough process. Safety first and all that.”

“Of course. Family first.” Patricia touched his arm one more time. “You’ve been working out! All that camera equipment must be heavy.”

Stella held in a groan.

Patricia smiled again. “We’ll talk when things calm down.”

“Whenever that is,” Tyler said, still playing along. “Driving lessons, you know how it is. ”

Patricia gathered her things, her yoga mat, her oversized bag. “Well, good luck with the... L-plates.”

“Thanks!” Stella said brightly. “I’m very excited to terrorize suburban neighborhoods.”

Tyler actually chuckled at that. “See? Months of work ahead.”

Patricia’s smile was definitely forced now. She moved toward the door, pausing for one last look at Tyler. “Don’t forget about the photography. My pieces really are special this year.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Tyler said vaguely. “After the driving situation is sorted.”

The door chimed as Patricia left, and Tyler’s shoulders immediately relaxed. He turned to Stella with a grin. “Nice save. Perfect timing with the driving thing. ‘L-plates’—that was brilliant.”

“Thanks,” Stella said, examining her napkin placement with sudden interest.

“The way she just deflated when I mentioned months of driving practice?” Tyler was actually laughing now. “And ‘terrorize suburban neighborhoods’? Genius.”

“Glad you liked it.”

“Seriously, I owe you one. She’s been circling for months and—” He stopped, noticing Stella’s expression. “What?”

“Nothing. Just... about those driving lessons...”

“Great improv,” Tyler continued, not catching on. “We should use that excuse all summer. Sorry Patricia, can’t photograph your ceramics, teaching my daughter to drive?—”

“Except I actually wasn’t kidding.”

Tyler’s grin froze. “You... what?”

“I want to learn to drive. For real. That’s the age here, right? Sixteen?”

The color drained from Tyler’s face. “But... but you just... and I said...”

“You said it was a good idea,” Stella pointed out helpfully. “Huge time commitment, you said. Very thorough process.”

“That was when I thought you were joking!”

“Why would I joke about wanting to drive?”

“Because... because...” Tyler gripped the counter. “You weren’t serious. Tell me you weren’t serious.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since I got here. Watching kids my age driving past the beach. Windows down, music playing. Freedom.”

“Freedom,” Tyler repeated faintly. “She wants freedom. In a car. My sixteen-year-old wants?—”

The grilled cheese on the grill started smoking.

“Tyler,” Joey said urgently. “Tyler, the sandwich?—”

But Tyler stood frozen, staring at Stella like she’d just revealed she was secretly an alien.

“THE SACRED CHEESE!” Joey dove for the grill, spatula flying. “BERNIE, WE NEED BACKUP!”

“What’s happening?” Bernie perked up from his corner.

“Tyler’s having a moment and the cheese is burning! ”

“She wants to actually drive,” Tyler said faintly. “She played me. She saved me from Patricia just to tell me she wants to operate heavy machinery.”

“Cars aren’t heavy machinery,” Stella pointed out.