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

CHAPTER TWO

L AX arrivals was its usual chaos of emotions and exhaust fumes.

The automatic doors whooshed open and closed in endless rhythm, letting in waves of jet fuel scent mixed with the particular staleness of terminal air conditioning.

Meg had positioned them strategically near the sliding doors, close enough to spot Tyler immediately but not so close that they’d block traffic.

She’d already checked the arrival board three times. Landed. On time. Any minute now.

“You’re doing that thing with your hands,” Luke observed.

She looked down. Her fingers were tapping against her thigh in rhythm—pointer, middle, ring, pinkie, reverse. An old anxiety habit she thought she’d broken.

“Sorry.” She shoved both hands in her pockets.

“Don’t apologize. Just pointing out you might want to dial it back before—there he is. ”

Meg’s heart jumped. Tyler emerged from the sliding doors, looking travel-worn in his usual style—rumpled t-shirt, board shorts despite it being winter in Australia, that easy Walsh smile that had gotten him out of trouble their whole lives.

He had that particular smell of long-haul flights—recycled air and exhaustion mixed with something distinctly eucalyptus-Australian.

Except he wasn’t smiling. And he wasn’t alone.

The girl beside him was maybe sixteen, seventeen at most. Rumpled Sydney FC jersey, earbuds dangling around her neck, shoulders hunched in that universal teenage posture of ‘I don’t want to be here.

’ She clutched her phone like a lifeline, the lock screen still showing Sydney time.

Sun-kissed skin with the kind of natural highlights that came from years of beach living, not bottles.

And those eyes. Tyler’s eyes. Walsh eyes.

Meg’s brain stuttered to a complete stop.

“Tyler!” Luke called out, waving them over.

Tyler’s face did something complicated when he spotted them. Relief? Dread? Both? He guided the teenager through the crowd with one hand hovering near but not quite touching her shoulder, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

“Hey,” Tyler said when they reached them. His voice sounded strange. Careful. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Luke’s confusion was evident but he rolled with it, offering his hand to the girl. “I’m Luke. You must be Stella. ”

“Yeah, nah,” she said, not taking the offered hand. Her accent was pure Sydney, sharp and defensive. “I must be.”

“This is cooked,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Meg’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Tyler?”

“We should... car?” Tyler’s words came out jumbled. “The car. We should go to the car.”

“Right,” Luke said slowly, clearly reading the situation even if he didn’t understand it. “I’m parked in the garage. This way.”

They walked in the world’s most awkward formation—Tyler and Stella in front, not quite together, Meg and Luke behind, exchanging glances that said ‘what the hell is happening?’

The parking garage was cooler but stuffier, concrete trapping the day’s heat. They reached Luke’s truck, and another awkward dance began—who sits where? Stella solved it by climbing in the back before anyone could suggest otherwise, immediately putting her earbuds in.

Tyler threw her a look that might have been hurt, might have been resignation, then climbed in after her.

Meg ended up in the passenger seat by default, her mind still spinning. The leather seats were sticky from the heat despite Luke’s attempt at air conditioning. As Luke pulled out of the garage, she grabbed her phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

Margo, you’d better be sitting down.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Why? Tyler’s flight landed safely?

Meg glanced back at Tyler, who was staring out the window, then at Stella, who was aggressively typing on her own phone, still on Sydney time.

We’re on our way. Tyler’s bringing someone. Just... brace yourself.

Meg, you’re being mysterious.

Trust me. And maybe give Joey something to do in the back.

Luke merged onto the 405, attempting conversation. “So, Stella, do you surf? Being from Australia and all.”

“Sometimes,” Stella muttered without looking up.

“The waves here are different from Bondi, right?” Luke continued, maintaining his easy tone. “More mellow in some spots, but?—”

“Cool,” Stella said, clearly not interested.

“Right.” Luke caught Meg’s eye in a quick glance.

Silence filled the truck. Meg found herself turning slightly, stealing glances at Stella in the side mirror. Those eyes. The shape of her nose. The way she chewed her bottom lip while texting—exactly like Tyler did when he was concentrating .

“Water temp’s been good,” Luke tried again. “About sixty-eight degrees.”

“Thrilling,” Stella said flatly.

Tyler finally stirred. “Stella, Luke’s just?—”

“Making conversation. I know. I’m not stupid, I reckon.” She shoved her headphones over her ears, universal sign for ‘leave me alone.’

Meg’s phone buzzed.

What kind of someone? Should I clear the café?

No! Just... you’ll see. Two minutes.

You’re being very strange, dear.

I know. I’m sorry. Just... trust me.

She tucked her phone away, stomach churning.

Her hands had gone clammy despite the struggling air conditioning.

In five minutes, everyone would know Tyler’s secret.

In five minutes, Joey’s fantasy about the sophisticated girlfriend would shatter.

In five minutes, the entire Beach Shack community would discover that Tyler—their Tyler, everyone’s favorite wandering soul—had been a father for sixteen years and never said a word.

“Almost there,” Luke said unnecessarily as they exited toward Laguna Beach.

Meg caught Tyler’s eye in the mirror. He looked terrified.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said quietly .

“Is it?” He glanced at Stella, who was staring out the window despite her headphones, watching the unfamiliar streets roll by. “I’m about to introduce my daughter to people who don’t even know she exists. How is that okay?”

Stella pulled off one headphone. “We don’t have to do this now. I can wait in the car.”

“No,” Tyler said firmly. “No more hiding. We’re doing this.”

“Fine. Whatever.” The headphone went back on, but Meg caught the way Stella’s hands trembled slightly as she adjusted them.

Luke pulled into the Beach Shack’s small parking lot.

Through the windows, Meg could see the usual afternoon crowd—Bernie at his regular table, shifting in his seat and rubbing his knee like his weather knee was acting up.

Storm coming, but not the weather kind. Joey was behind the counter, Margo moving between customers with practiced ease.

“Ready?” Luke asked.

No one answered.

The salt air hit them as they opened the truck doors, mixing with the familiar scent of grilled cheese and coffee that always clung to the Beach Shack’s entrance. Stella stayed slightly behind Tyler, her bag clutched tight, arms crossing defensively over her Sydney jersey.

Tyler was a father. Had been a father for sixteen years.

And in about thirty seconds, everyone was going to know.