Page 1 of The Beach Shack Artists 3
CHAPTER ONE
Tyler Walsh stood on the beach at sunrise, watching his daughter frame a shot of the tide pools. The morning light hit the water at just the right angle, catching the rocks just right. Stella saw it too—he could tell by the way she adjusted her position, seeking the perfect composition.
“Lower,” he suggested quietly. “See how the light catches the spray when you’re at water level?”
She crouched, then lay flat on her stomach on the damp sand without hesitation. Six weeks ago, she would have worried about getting dirty. Now she was fully focused on the shot, doing the same thing he did when he was working.
“Oh,” she said quietly, clicking the shutter. “Oh, that’s... yeah.”
Tyler smiled. That sound was the sound of seeing something truly worth capturing. He’d been making that same noise for twenty years.
“Let me see,” he said, though he already knew it would be good.
She handed over the camera, and he scrolled through the morning’s shots. Each one showed improvement, but the lastfew were genuinely strong. She’d found the story in the scene—the contrast between rough barnacles and smooth water.
“These are really good, Stella.”
She shrugged, taking the camera back. “They’re okay.”
“They’re more than okay. You’ve got a real eye for?—“
“Don’t say it,” she interrupted. “I’m not an artist. I just like taking pictures.”
Tyler checked his response. They’d had this conversation before. Stella seemed determined to resist any label that might put her in the same category as the artistic side of the family.
“Speaking of which,” he said, “how are you feeling about Anna and Bea coming? It’s almost the big day.”
Stella gave him a look that suggested his casual tone needed work. “Subtle, Dad.”
“I’m just?—“
“Worried? Yeah, I noticed.” She turned back to the tide pools, adjusting her settings. “I’ll be fine. Anna is family.”
“Anna’s... a lot sometimes.”
“Define a lot.”
Tyler thought for a moment about how to explain his sister diplomatically. “Remember when you were little and I told you about how Anna once turned our garage into a pottery studio? Without asking anyone?”
“The dog paw print bowls story.”
“That’s Anna in a nutshell. She gets these amazing artistic visions and just... implements them. Wherever she happens to be.” Tyler watched a seagull dive for fish beyond the breakers. “She means well, but she tends to take over spaces.”
“And Bea?”
“Bea’s Anna’s daughter. So, imagine Anna but with sixteen years of confidence and a year in Florence talking about Italian masters.”
Stella snapped another photo. “She said my aura was ‘very geometric’ when we video-called last week.”
“Your... aura?”
“Apparently, it’s a compliment. Means I have good structure or something.” She rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell, I don’t want to know about auras. I don’t want to discuss the emotional weight of color. I just want to take pictures.”
Tyler didn’t even bother to say, “Language.” He’d been initiated into Australian slang.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Tyler said carefully. “There are different ways to be creative.”
“I’m not creative. I’m... documentational.”
