Page 59 of The Beach Shack Summer
“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.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tyler was trying to be quiet, but camera bags weren’t made for stealth. The zipper on his equipment bag sounded like a chainsaw in the pre-dawn silence, and he froze, listening for signs that he’d woken anyone.
“Going somewhere?”
He jumped, nearly dropping his lens. Stella stood in the hallway, still in pajama pants and an oversized Sydney FC shirt, looking amused by his reaction.
“Surf photography,” he whispered. “Dawn light’s perfect. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. Meg’s printer did. She’s been running it since four.” Stella yawned. “Where do you go?”
“Salt Creek. Good break, nice angles.” He shouldered his bag. “Want to come?”
“To watch you take pictures?”
“To see the sunrise. Maybe grab breakfast after.”
Stella considered this, then held up a finger. “Wait here.”
