Page 4 of The Beach Shack Summer (Laguna Beach #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

T yler’s bungalow looked exactly as Meg had left it that morning—which now felt like a lifetime ago.

The surfboards still lined the hallway, the shell collection still cluttered the kitchen windowsill, and the fresh flowers she’d bought for Tyler’s “girlfriend” still bloomed cheerfully in a vase on the coffee table.

“This is it,” Tyler said unnecessarily, setting down his camera bag. “Home.”

Stella stood just inside the doorway, taking it in. Her eyes tracked over the small living room, the kitchen visible beyond, the narrow hallway that led to the bedrooms. “It’s... cozy.”

“It’s tiny,” Tyler said. “But it works.”

“Where should I...” Stella gestured vaguely with her duffel bag.

Tyler froze. Meg watched the exact moment reality hit him—his exhausted brain finally catching up to the logistics of having a teenage daughter in his two-bedroom bungalow where his sister was currently living.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, crap.”

“Language,” Stella said, clearly enjoying throwing his own words back at him.

“Right. Sorry. I just...” Tyler ran his hand through his hair. “Okay. You should take my room. It’s the biggest, has the best bed?—“

“Absolutely not,” Stella cut him off. “I’m not taking your room.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Stella, it makes sense?—”

“I said no.” Her jaw set in a way that was painfully familiar. Pure Walsh stubbornness. “I’m not... I don’t need your room.”

They stood at an impasse, Tyler’s offer hanging awkwardly between them.

“I’ll give Stella my room,” Meg said quietly. “The spare room. It’s comfortable, already set up.”

Tyler turned to her. “Meg, no?—”

“It’s fine. I’ll take your room, Tyler. You can have the couch.”

“The couch?” Stella looked at the loveseat in question. “He won’t fit on that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tyler said quickly.

“Your feet will hang off the end,” Meg pointed out.

“I’ve slept in worse places. ”

“This is stupid,” Stella announced. “I’ll take the couch. I’m the shortest.”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Tyler and Meg said in unison.

Stella threw up her hands. “Then what? This is like some weird accommodation standoff.”

“You’re taking the spare room,” Meg said firmly. “I’m taking Tyler’s room. Tyler’s taking the couch. Discussion over.”

“But—” Stella started.

“Kitchen,” Meg interrupted. “Why don’t you wait in the kitchen while we sort this out?”

“Do I get a choice?”

“No,” Tyler said.

“Cool. Love the democracy.” But Stella trudged into the kitchen, dumping her duffel bag on a chair. “Nice shells,” they heard her mutter.

Meg looked at Tyler. Really looked at him. He seemed to have aged five years since this morning, exhaustion and guilt etched into every line of his face.

“I should go to Margo’s,” she said quietly. “The apartment above the Shack is?—”

“No.” The word came out sharp, desperate. Tyler’s hand actually reached out like he might grab her arm before he caught himself. “Please, Meg. You can’t— I can’t?—”

“Tyler.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know how to be her father. I don’t know what she eats for breakfast or what music she likes or how to talk to her without her looking at me like I’m some stranger who ruined her life.

I can’t do this alone. Not tonight. Not yet. ”

From the kitchen came the sound of cabinet doors opening. “You have, like, no food,” Stella called. “Unless you count hot sauce as a food group.”

“I threw out the expired ones,” Meg called back.

“There are non-expired ones?”

Tyler almost smiled. Almost. “Please,” he said again to Meg. “Just... stay. We’ll figure out something better tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Meg agreed. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Luke cleared his throat. “I should probably let you all get settled.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Meg asked, only half-joking. The prospect of navigating this new dynamic without his calming presence felt daunting.

“Unless you need me to...?” Luke looked between them, reading the room.

“No, go,” Tyler said. “We’re good. We’ll manage.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Tyler attempted a smile. “Thanks for everything today. The airport, the Shack... all of it.”

“Of course.” Luke kissed Meg’s cheek. “Call me later?”

“Definitely.”

“Text if you need anything. Even if it’s just referee services.”

“Hopefully it won’ t come to that,” Meg said.

“Found cookies!” Stella announced from the kitchen. “Oh wait, they’re healthy. Never mind.”

Luke’s mouth twitched. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Tyler said dryly. “We’ll need it.”

After Luke left, the house felt smaller somehow. Just the three of them now, trying to figure out how to exist in the same space.

“Found tea,” Stella called. “Fancy tea. Who drinks elderflower anything?”

“That’s mine,” Meg admitted.

“Of course it is.” A pause. “There’s literally nothing edible in here. What do you people eat?”

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Tyler promised, raising his voice toward the kitchen. “Make a list of what you want.”

“A list?”

“Yeah, things you like to eat.”

Silence from the kitchen. Then, “Whatever. I’m not picky.”

Tyler looked at Meg helplessly. “She just complained about everything in my kitchen.”

“Teenage logic,” Meg said. “Come on, let’s get the rooms sorted.”

They found Stella sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone with one hand while eating rice crackers with the other.

“These are stale,” she announced without looking up.

“They’re supposed to be crispy,” Meg said .

“There’s a difference between crispy and stale.” But she took another one.

“Ready to see your room?” Tyler asked awkwardly.

Stella shrugged, pocketing her phone. “Sure.”

They walked down the short hallway, Tyler leading the way to the spare room. Meg tried not to think about how she’d spent the morning preparing it for someone else entirely.

“This is it,” Tyler said, opening the door.

Stella peered inside, taking in the neat space, the fresh flowers on the nightstand, the carefully arranged towels Meg had changed twice.

“Roses?” Stella’s voice was carefully neutral. “Fancy.”

“I thought—” Meg stopped. “Yeah. They’re nice.”

“Were these for the girlfriend?”

“There is no girlfriend,” Tyler said quickly.

“But you said you were bringing someone special—” Stella’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Awkward.”

“Yeah,” Meg agreed. “Very.”

Stella stepped into the room, dropping her duffel bag in the corner without ceremony. No unpacking, Meg noticed. Just the bag, zipped and ready, like she might need to leave at any moment.

“Sheets are clean,” Meg offered. “Extra blankets in the closet if you need them.”

“It’s California.”

“Right.”

“In summer.”

“Right. ”

They all stood there, clustered in the doorway like no one knew how to move.

“I need to grab my things,” Meg said finally, breaking the awkward silence. She squeezed past them to collect her essentials—toiletries, tomorrow’s clothes, her laptop. Everything else could wait.

“So I’m displacing everyone,” Stella said flatly, watching Meg pack. “Cool. This is exactly what Mom said would happen.”

“What?” Tyler’s voice sharpened. “What did she say?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Stella—”

“I said forget it.” She turned away, studying the shells on the windowsill with intense focus.

Meg zipped up her overnight bag. “All yours,” she said gently.

“Thanks,” Stella muttered, still not turning around.

“If you need anything—” Tyler started.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, but?—”

“I’m fine.” Stella’s voice was harder now, a clear dismissal.

They retreated to the hallway, Tyler still hovering like he wanted to say more but didn’t know what.

“She’s got to be exhausted,” Tyler said quietly. “That flight’s a killer even when you’re not dealing with...” He gestured helplessly at the closed door.

“When did she leave Sydney? ”

“Yesterday? Today? I’ve lost track of time zones.” He rubbed his face. “God, has it really only been one day?”

“Give her space,” Meg advised quietly.

“Right. Space.” Tyler looked at the closed door like it was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “I should... my room’s all yours. I already grabbed what I need.”

“Tyler, that couch is tiny?—”

He was already moving toward the living room, clearly done discussing it.

Meg followed, watching as he attempted to arrange his six-foot-two frame on the loveseat. It was almost comical, if it weren’t so obviously uncomfortable.

“This is ridiculous,” she said.

“It’s fine.”

“Your knees are bent at a ninety-degree angle.”

“I’m very flexible.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.” He shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t require contortionist skills. “Seriously, Meg. Go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

Music started filtering through the spare room door—something with a heavy beat and indecipherable lyrics.

“She’s playing music,” Tyler said, a note of wonder in his voice.

“That’s what teenagers do.”

“Right. Normal teenager things.” He shifted again, wincing. “This is fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will. Now go.”

Meg retreated to Tyler’s room, feeling strange about invading his private space. The bed was neatly made, camera equipment organized on the dresser, a few photos tacked to the wall—mostly landscapes, but one of the three siblings from years ago, sun-bleached and smiling.

She changed quickly and crawled into bed, trying not to think about how wrong this all felt. Through the wall, she could hear Stella’s music—loud enough to make a point but not quite loud enough to complain about.

Her phone buzzed. Anna.

How’s everyone settling in?

Tyler’s pretending the couch fits him. Stella’s barricaded in her room with loud music. I’m in Tyler’s bed feeling weird about it.

Wait, why are you in Tyler’s bed???

Long story. Sleeping arrangements are complicated.

I need details!

Tomorrow. Too tired now.

Is she nice?

She’s sixteen and defensive.

So... a teenager.

Exactly.

Does she look like him?

Spitting image. It’s actually uncanny.

OMG. I can’t wait to meet her.

Give her time. She hasn’t even unpacked.

That bad?

Her suitcase is sitting in the corner like an escape plan.

Oh, no. That’s heartbreaking.

I know.

The music from Stella’s room shifted to something slower, sadder. Meg could hear Tyler shifting on the couch, the sound of springs protesting under his weight.

This morning she’d thought everything was about to change.

She just hadn’t imagined it would change like this.

Anna texted.

Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be better.

Will it though?

It has to be. Can’t get more awkward than today.

Don’t jinx it.

Meg plugged in her phone and tried to settle into Tyler’s bed.

Everything smelled like him—salt and sunshine and home.

Through the walls, she could hear the quiet soundtrack of their new reality: Stella’s music, muffled but persistent.

Tyler’s occasional shifts on the too-small couch.

The house settling around its unexpected configuration.

Day one of... how many? The whole summer stretched ahead, full of questions none of them knew how to answer.

But they’d survived today. Tyler’s secret was out, Stella had a room—even if she wouldn’t unpack—and they were all under one roof.

Tomorrow they’d have to get settled. Buy groceries. Navigate breakfast. Learn how to be a family.

Tonight, though, they could just exist in their separate corners, processing the earthquake that had hit their lives.

The music finally faded around midnight—Stella apparently succumbing to the combination of jet lag and emotional exhaustion. Meg could picture her passed out fully clothed, still defensive even in sleep.

The house went quiet except for the sound of Tyler trying to find a comfortable position on a couch built for someone half his size.

Meg closed her eyes and tried not to think about how complicated tomorrow would be.