Page 110 of The Beach Shack Summer
“Quitter,” Stella said.
“Proudly. Some of us like our beds.”
“Some of us like our boards,” Luke countered.
“Some of us are choosing beds,” Meg said firmly. “And coffee. And not having sand in places sand shouldn’t be.”
They rinsed off at the beach showers, Stella chattering about the differences in breaks, asking Tyler technical questions about water photography that he was thrilled to answer.
Back at the house, Tyler cooked a proper post-surf breakfast while Luke went home to get ready for work.Stella scrolled through her phone, showing Meg videos from Bondi.
“See, that’s what I deal with usually,” she said, showing a clip of absolute chaos—hundreds of surfers fighting for waves. “This morning was like a meditation compared to that.”
“No wonder you’re so good,” Meg said. “That looks like aquatic Hunger Games.”
“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Stella intoned seriously, then cracked up.
After breakfast, Stella headed to the shower and Meg left for her shift at the Shack. Tyler settled at his laptop to download the morning’s photos while Stella sprawled on the couch with a book, occasionally asking questions about lens choices.
The images loaded onto his screen in a cascade of morning light and ocean spray. Stella carving across a wave, frontlit by the rising sun making the spray glow. Meg’s determined face as she paddled. Luke and Meg’s kiss, perfectly framed by spray. The usual dawn patrol crew in the background?—
Tyler stopped. Clicked back. Enlarged.
In the background of Stella’s best wave, Andrew was watching her instead of the incoming set.
Next photo. Miguel had stopped paddling mid-stroke, head turned to track her ride.
Next. Tom from the café, supposedly positioning for a wave but clearly distracted.
Tyler scrolled faster now, his stomach sinking. In every shot where Stella was riding, at least one—usually more—surfers in the background were watching her instead of the waves.
“These are sick!” Stella appeared at his shoulder suddenly. “Look at that spray! Can you teach me how to capture motion like that?”
“Sure,” Tyler managed, quickly clicking away from a particularly obvious shot of three guys completely ignoring a perfect set to watch her paddle past. “Motion’s all about shutter speed.”
“Is that one of Meg kissing Luke? Gross. But also kind of cute. Don’t tell them I said that.”
“Secret’s safe.”
After she wandered off, Tyler returned to the photos. It was worse than he’d thought. One kid had actually missed his wave entirely, too busy watching Stella paddle back out. Another had nearly collided with his friend, distracted mid-ride. Tom from the café had actually pearldived—nose-first into the water—because he was looking backwards at Stella instead of forward at the wave.
His daughter. His sixteen-year-old daughter. Being watched by what appeared to be every male surfer between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five in Laguna Beach.
He grabbed his phone and texted Luke.
We have a problem.
Patricia finally wore you down? Already heard about the festival booth location drama.
Worse. Every surfer in town has noticed Stella.
Just noticed now?
I have photographic evidence. Kid literally pearldived watching her.
Welcome to having a daughter.
I need better advice than that.
