The Beach Shack Artists (Laguna Beach #3)

Chapter 1

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 last few 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.”

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now, yeah.” She stood, brushing sand off her jeans. “Can we try the cove? The light’s about to shift.”

They walked along the beach, Tyler carrying the equipment bag while Stella scouted for shots. This had become their routine—early morning sessions before the beach filled with tourists, before the day’s responsibilities kicked in. It was the only time Stella seemed truly relaxed.

“You know,” he said as they rounded the point, “what you’re doing—seeing the light, finding the composition—that’s the same thing Anna and Bea do. Just with a camera instead of paint.”

“It’s not the same,” Stella insisted. “I’m capturing what’s actually there. They make stuff up.”

“Photography is interpretation too. You’re choosing what to include, what to leave out. That’s creative.”

“It’s selective,” she said. “There’s a difference.”

The cove was perfect—empty except for a few early surfers, the morning light making the water look alive. Stella immediately dropped to one knee, camera up.

“See that?” she murmured, more to herself than him. “The way the surfer’s silhouette breaks the light pattern?”

“I see it,” Tyler said softly, watching her work. She was so absorbed she didn’t notice him raise his own camera, capturing her in profile—the concentration on her face, the way she unconsciously leaned into the shot.

“Got it,” she said with satisfaction. Then, noticing his camera pointed at her, “Were you photographing me photographing?”

“Documentary work,” he said innocently.

“That’s weird, Dad.”

“That’s parenting, apparently. Everything’s weird.”

She almost smiled—he counted that as a victory.

They worked in silence for another hour, Tyler occasionally offering technical advice but mostly just watching her discover things on her own. She had good instincts, better than she knew.

“We should head back,” he said eventually. “Breakfast shift starts soon.”

“Five more minutes? The light’s doing something interesting with that kelp.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Light’s doing something interesting” was exactly how he’d describe it too.

“Five minutes,” he agreed.

“Hey, Dad?” she said suddenly, not looking up from her viewfinder. “Do you think Margo would let me photograph in the Shack sometime? Early morning, before opening? The light through those windows...”

“I’m sure she would,” Tyler said, trying not to sound too pleased. “That’s a great idea.”

“It’s just documentary work,” she said quickly. “Capturing the feeling of the space before…before things change.”

“Of course,” he said. “Very documentational.”

She did smile then, just a little. “Think Aunt Meg’s ready for this? Anna and Bea moving in for six weeks?”

“Meg’s tougher than she looks. And she’s got good organizational skills.” Tyler paused for a moment. “Though Anna has a way of making organizational skills... irrelevant.”

“Should be interesting.”

“That’s one word for it.”

As they packed up the equipment, Tyler caught himself hoping this morning routine wouldn’t disappear once the house filled with artistic chaos. These quiet moments with Stella had become precious to him.

“Race you to the car,” Stella said suddenly, taking off across the sand.

“No fair, you got a head start!” Tyler called, jogging after her with the equipment bag bouncing against his hip.

Whatever chaos Anna and Bea brought with them, at least he’d have these memories of peaceful mornings.