Page 17 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)

“’Well, now you’ll always check your blind spots.’” Tyler smiled at the memory. “Then she made me rebuild Bernie’s stand. Took all summer. But I never forgot to check behind me again.”

Stella’s breathing had steadied. “Did Bernie forgive you? ”

“Eventually. Still brings it up sometimes. Says I owe him thirty years of free coffee.”

“That explains a lot.” She managed a small smile. “I really am sorry. I got cocky.”

“Yeah, you did. But that’s part of learning too. Being humbled by the things that seem easy.”

“I just...” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Everyone here is so good at everything. You with your photos, Meg with her business, Joey with his stupid napkins. Even Margo with her perfect grilled cheese. And I can’t even turn right.”

“You’ve been here a while now,” Tyler said gently. “You’re already killing it at the register, charming customers, learning to drive. You don’t have to be perfect at everything immediately.”

“Says the guy who takes perfect photos.”

“You want to know how many memory cards full of terrible photos I have? Thousands. Years of missing the shot, wrong settings, cut-off heads.” He touched her shoulder. “Being good at something means being bad at it first. And being brave enough to keep trying.”

She was quiet for a moment. “The jogger really was fine, right?”

“Probably didn’t even break stride. Laguna joggers are a hardy breed.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Can we... try again? But maybe go slower?”

“That’s my girl.” The words slipped out before Tyler could stop them.

Stella’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. “Right. Your disaster-prone, almost-jogger-hitting girl.”

“My brave, trying-again girl,” Tyler said. “Ready?”

“No. But yes.” She checked her mirrors—all of them this time.

“Yeah, it’s scary. But the scary things are usually worth it.”

“Deep wisdom from the guy who destroyed a newsstand.”

“Hey, I rebuilt that newsstand. It’s a thing of beauty now.”

“With your construction skills? I doubt it.”

“Wow. Attacked by my own daughter while teaching her to drive. Is this the thanks I get?”

She laughed—a real laugh—and pulled back onto the road. Slower this time. Careful but not paralyzed.

They made it around the block without incident. Then another. By the time they headed back to the parking lot her hands had stopped shaking.

“Tyler?” she said as they pulled in.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For not freaking out when I freaked out.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“And for destroying newsstands, apparently.”

“That too.” He smiled. “Though let’s try to keep your destruction to a minimum.”

“Deal. But if I do hit something, I’m blaming your genetics.”

“Fair enough.”

They spent another hour in the parking lot, Stella gradually gaining confidence. She progressed to twenty miles per hour—“Flying!” she declared. Practiced smooth stops—“No whiplash!”. She even managed to park reasonably straight—“Architectural precision!”.

“Okay,” Tyler said finally. “That’s enough for today.”

“What? No! I’m just getting good!”

“First rule of teaching—end on a high note.”

“That’s not a driving rule.”

“It’s a dad rule.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it. They both froze.

“I mean—” Tyler started.

“No, it’s... it’s fine.” Stella focused very hard on putting the truck in park. “So. Same time tomorrow?”

“If you want.”

“I want.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, then paused. “Hey Tyler? Thanks. For not completely freaking out.”

“I completely freaked out. I just did it quietly.”

“I know. I appreciated the quiet part.”

They switched seats, Tyler trying not to obviously readjust everything she’d changed. As he drove them home, Stella chattered about the experience, her nervous energy transformed into excitement.

“I can’t wait to tell Joey I drove! Do you think he’ll make a spreadsheet for my progress?”

“Probably.”

“With color coding for different skills?”

“Definitely.”

“Excellent.” She pulled out her phone, already texting. “Oh, he says Patricia came by again. Apparently she needed to discuss ‘urgent ceramic firing schedules.’”

“The festival pictures don’t need to be in until?—”

“I know. Bernie’s adding it to his betting pool data.”

“His what?”

“Nothing!” Stella said brightly. “So, tomorrow we’ll work on turns?”

Tyler let the subject change happen, too emotionally wrung out from the driving lesson to pursue Bernie’s latest gambling enterprise. Tomorrow they’d be back in the parking lot. Eventually, she’d want to try real roads. With other cars. And pedestrians. And infinite opportunities for disaster.

But today, she’d driven. She’d trusted him to teach her. She’d called him out on his terrible jokes without flinching.

In the grand scheme of terrifying parenting moments, Tyler counted it as a win. And it reminded him of when she’d been little and they’d had these kinds of moments together.

“Want to stop and get some ice cream on the way home?” he said tentatively. She hadn’t wanted to do that with him for years.

Stella had climbed into the passenger seat and had her nose in the handbook again. “Nah, thanks. I want to make sure I’m prepared for my next lesson.”

“Ah, okay,” Tyler said slowly, quiet the rest of the drive home.

“Hey,” Stella said as they pulled into the driveway. “Do you think Margo’s ever had a learner’s permit? ”

“Why?”

“Just wondering if driving excellence is genetic.”

“Everything’s about excellence with you and Joey now.”

“He’s corrupting me. Tomorrow I’ll probably have opinions about napkin feng shui.”

“God help us all.”

“You love it,” Stella said, hopping out of the truck. “Thanks for today. Really.”

She disappeared into the house before Tyler could respond, leaving him sitting in the driveway with the echo of her gratitude and the terrifying realization that tomorrow, they’d do it all again.

Parenting, he decided, was basically controlled terror punctuated by moments of pure joy.

Kind of like teaching your daughter to drive.