Page 20 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
“Always.”
She scrolled through her recent shots, then paused. “These are from the Shack. Just... people being people when they think no one’s watching.”
Tyler leaned closer as she showed him the first image. Bernie at his corner table, tablet open, but caught in a moment of pure concentration—like he was solving world peace through spreadsheet calculations.
“That’s perfect,” Tyler said. “Look at his expression. You can actually see him thinking.”
“Right? He does this thing where he gets completely absorbed.” Stella moved to the next shot. “This is Joey during the lunch rush.”
The image showed Joey mid-napkin-fold, but his face was turned toward a table of kids making a mess, wearing this expression of pure horror mixed with resignation.
Tyler laughed. “His napkin trauma, documented for posterity.”
“Gets better.” Stella scrolled forward. “This is Margo.”
The photo caught Margo at the grill, spatula raised, but her head turned toward the dining room with this look of quiet amusement. Like she was watching a show only she could see.
“She knows everything that’s happening at every table,” Stella said. “But she never lets on. I love that about her.”
“These are really good, Stella. Like, really good.”
“There’s more.” She showed him another series—Anna arriving late with paint in her hair, completely unaware that she was tracking blue footprints across the floor. Bea explaining something with wild hand gestures while a customer sat there looking politely confused.
“This one’s my favorite,” Stella said, stopping on an image of the whole dining room during the lunch rush. Everyone in motion—Margo at the grill, Joey delivering plates, customers eating and talking—but somehow composed like a painting.
“That’s incredible composition. How did you get everyone in frame like that?”
“Waited about twenty minutes for the right moment. Everyone kept almost lining up perfectly, then someone would move.”
“Twenty minutes?”
“I was on break. Had time to kill.”
Tyler studied the photo more carefully. There was something about the way she’d captured it—the organized chaos that wasthe Beach Shack on a busy day, but making it look like everyone knew exactly what they were doing.
“You’ve got a real eye for this,” he said. “These tell stories.”
“That’s what I’m going for. I like watching how families work. Who does what, who shows up when, who handles what.”
“Sounds very observational.”
“Very nosy, you mean.”
“I was being polite.” Tyler grinned. “But honestly, this is the kind of stuff that wins photography competitions. Candid moments, real life, actual emotion.”
“I’m not thinking about competitions yet. Just enjoying learning.”
“Good approach.” Tyler scrolled back through the Beach Shack series. “You should keep doing this. Document the family business. Summer at the Shack. Bernie’s betting empire, Joey’s napkin perfectionism, Anna’s creative chaos.”
“Don’t forget Patricia’s pottery persecution complex.”
“How could I forget?” Tyler handed her camera back. “Seriously though, bring this camera. I want to see what you capture at the Festival.”
“Different subject matter.”
“Same eye. Same timing.” Tyler closed his laptop. “Plus, I could actually use the help. Two photographers see more than one.”
“That’s not how math works.”
