Page 15 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)
“Two tons of metal powered by explosions isn’t heavy machinery?”
“When you put it like that,” Bernie mused, “it’s a wonder any of us survive.”
“Not helping, Bernie!”
“SAVED!” Joey held up the slightly charred sandwich triumphantly. “The cheese lives to fight another day!”
“I need to make a phone call,” Tyler said, already heading for the back door. He moved like a man in a dream—or a nightmare. “Nobody move. Nobody... learn anything while I’m gone.”
“But you said it was a good idea—” Stella started.
“That was before I knew you were serious!”
The back door slammed. Through the window, Stella could see him pacing in the alley, phone already pressed to his ear, gesticulating wildly with his free hand.
“Is he okay?” Joey asked, still cradling the rescued sandwich.
“He’s calling my mum,” Stella explained, settling back on her stool to enjoy the show. “This should be good.”
Even from inside, they could hear fragments of Tyler’s increasingly agitated voice:
“—L-PLATES, Fiona! She asked for L-PLATES! ”
Bernie chuckled. “This is better than my weather knee stories.”
“Should someone check on him?” Joey asked, but he was clearly enjoying the drama too much to actually move.
Through the window, Tyler had stopped pacing. He stood very still, and even from here Stella could see his shoulders slump in defeat.
The bell chimed. Meg and Margo entered, Meg carrying her laptop bag and looking frazzled, Margo carrying her usual calm energy.
“Why is Tyler in the alley looking like someone died?” Meg asked.
“Stella wants to learn to drive,” Bernie supplied helpfully.
Margo’s face lit up with delight. “Oh, how wonderful! You’ll love driving here, sweetheart. The Pacific Coast Highway at sunset?—”
“Margo,” Meg interrupted. “Look at Tyler.”
They all turned to watch as Tyler ended his call and stood in the alley, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him.
“Give him a minute,” Stella said. “He’s processing.”
“You did this on purpose,” Joey accused. “You waited until he was comfortable and then dropped the bomb.”
“Actually,” Stella said, “I was trying to save him from Patricia. The driving thing just happened to be real.”
“You used a real desire as a fake excuse?” Bernie asked, clearly impressed. “That’s some next-level strategy.”
“Thank you,” Stella said modestly.
“L-plates,” Bernie repeated, still confused. “Is that like a license plate?”
“Learner’s plates,” Stella explained. “In Australia, you get these yellow plates that show you’re learning. Here it’s different, yeah?”
“Here it’s called a learner’s permit,” Margo said gently. “We’ll need to get you a handbook, schedule the written test?—”
“Margo!” Tyler had returned, looking pale. “Please don’t help plan this.”
“Someone has to,” Margo said practically. “You look ready to faint.”
“She wants to drive. My daughter wants to drive. In a car. On roads. With other cars.”
“That’s typically how it works,” Meg said, and Stella could see her fighting not to laugh.
“This isn’t funny!”
“Tyler,” Meg lost the battle against her grin. “Your face when she asked?—”
“She said L-plates! I didn’t even know what she meant! And then I AGREED with her! I told Patricia it would take months!”
“Which you seemed pretty happy about at the time,” Stella pointed out.
“That’s not—that’s completely different?—”
“Is it though?” Stella asked innocently. “You’re the one who sold Patricia on the whole months of driving lessons thing. Very thorough process, you said.”
“I was trying to get rid of her!”
“And it worked. You’re welcome.”
“Don’t—” Tyler took a deep breath. “You tricked me.”
“I multitasked,” Stella said. “Saved you from Patricia AND asked about something I actually want. Efficiency.”
“She’s got a point,” Bernie said. “Kid’s working smart, not hard.”
“Bernie, you’re not helping!”
“I’m not trying to help. I’m enjoying the show.”
Margo moved behind the counter, automatically starting Tyler’s familiar routine. “Tyler, sweetheart, you knew this day would come.”
“I thought I had more time!”
“I’m sixteen,” Stella pointed out. “Not six.”
“Sometimes I can’t tell the difference,” Tyler muttered.
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
They glared at each other across the counter, and Stella felt a weird jolt of recognition. The stubborn set of his jaw, the way his eyebrows pulled together—it was like looking in a mirror.
“You two have the exact same stubborn face,” Meg observed.
“We do not,” they said in unison, then looked annoyed at their synchronization .
“So,” Stella said after a moment, “can we go get that handbook thing today? I want to start studying.”
“Studying,” Tyler repeated faintly. “She wants to study. To drive. My daughter wants to?—”
“Okay,” Meg intervened. “How about we all take a breath. Stella, that’s great that you want to learn. Tyler, you taught Anna to drive, remember? You were actually pretty good at it.”
“She was eighteen!”
“She was seventeen.”
“That’s completely different!”
“How?”
“It just is!”
The afternoon continued with Tyler alternating between manic grilled cheese preparation and muttered concerns about insurance rates. Stella went back to her napkin practice, but her mind was already on the freedom that came with a license. The places she could go. The independence.
“Six weeks,” Tyler said suddenly.
“What?”
“That’s how long the learner’s permit is valid before you can take the driving test. Six weeks minimum.”
“Okay?”
“Six weeks of practice. With me. In a car.”
“That’s generally how it works, yeah.”
Tyler gripped the spatula tighter. “I need to call my insurance agent.”
“NOW you’re being dramatic,” Meg called from her booth .
“Am I? Am I really?”
And in the organized chaos of the Beach Shack, with Tyler spiraling about driving lessons and Stella pretending she wasn’t excited about learning, something shifted.
Not everything—Stella still wouldn’t touch the grill, still kept that careful distance from fully belonging.
But she’d asked for something. Something that required trust. Something that meant staying.
At least for six weeks.
Tyler would take it.
Even if it killed him.