The Beach Shack Promise (Laguna Beach #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Stella Walsh had gotten good at mornings.

Not just awake-and-functional good. Actually good. Up before the marine layer burned off, camera in hand, catching the light that made Salt Creek look like something from a postcard nobody would believe was real.

She adjusted her position on the rocks, framing a shot of the tide pools. The water was doing something interesting — catching the early sun in a way that made the anemones glow purple and green. She clicked the shutter, checked the image, adjusted her angle.

“Lower,” Tyler called from somewhere behind her. “Get down to water level.”

“I know.” She was already moving, stretching out on the damp rocks without worrying about her jeans. Six weeks ago, she would have cared about getting dirty. Now she cared about getting the shot.

The spray caught her lens. She wiped it, tried again. Better. The light was perfect for another thirty seconds, maybe less.

Click. Click. Click.

“Got it,” she said, sitting up and scrolling through the images. The last three were good. Really good. She’d learned to tell the difference.

Tyler appeared beside her, coffee in hand. He’d started bringing two cups to their morning sessions — one for him, one that he’d hand over when she finished shooting. Like a reward system, except he’d never admit that’s what it was.

“Let me see.”

She handed over the camera, accepting the coffee in exchange. Still hot. He’d timed it perfectly.

“These are strong,” he said, scrolling. “The composition on this one — see how the rocks frame the water? That’s instinct. Can’t teach that.”

“You literally taught me that.”

“I pointed you in the right direction. You figured out the rest.” He handed the camera back. “You’re getting good, Stella.”

“Getting?”

“Fine. You’re good.” He took a sip of his coffee, looking out at the water. “Annoying, but good.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Then again. Then a third time.

She didn’t reach for it. She already knew what it would say—some variation of the messages that had been arriving for weeks now. Her mother had shifted from angry to hurt to something worse. Reasonable.

I understand you’re having a wonderful time. But we need to discuss your return flight.

The twins ask about you constantly. Oliver wants to know if you’ll help with his birthday party.

I’ve confirmed your enrollment. Year 12 orientation is around the corner.

Each message perfectly calibrated. Not demanding. Just... reminding. That she had a life in Sydney. That people needed her there. That this—the dawn photography, the Beach Shack, Tyler—was temporary.

“You going to check that?” Tyler asked, carefully casual.

“I know what it says.”

He didn’t push. That was something she’d learned about him—he knew when to push and when to wait. Mostly when to wait, actually.

They sat quietly for a moment, watching the surfers paddle out.

This had become their routine—dawn sessions before the Shack opened, Tyler teaching her things she sometimes already knew and sometimes desperately needed to learn.

Photography, mostly. But other things too.

How to read the ocean. Which regulars wanted conversation and which wanted to be left alone.

The precise amount of cheese that constituted a proper Margo Special.

She wanted to keep this. All of it.

“I want to stay,” she said.

The words came out quieter than she’d intended. She kept her eyes on the ocean, not ready to see his face.

“Here,” she added, in case that wasn’t clear. “For senior year. For—I don’t know. Longer. If that’s...”

She risked a glance. Tyler had gone very still, his coffee cup frozen halfway to his mouth.

“You want to stay,” he repeated.

“I’ve wanted to for weeks. I just didn’t know how to say it.” She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “I know it’s complicated. Visas and school transfers and all of that. And I know we’d have to figure out where I’d even live, since your futon is basically a torture device—”

“Hey, that futon has character.”

“It has springs that attack people in their sleep.”

“Character springs.” But he was smiling now. “Stella. You want to stay?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re sure? Not just because Bea’s planned your entire senior year already, or because Joey’s convinced we’ll collapse without you—”

“Joey thinks you’ll collapse without anyone. He’s already training his replacement for a school that’s twenty minutes away.”

“Fair point.” Tyler set down his coffee, turned to face her properly. “You’re sure.”

It wasn’t a question this time. He was studying her face, looking for doubt.

“I’m sure,” she said. “This is where I want to be. With you lot. Even though you’re all completely mental.”

“We prefer ‘eccentric.’”

“You would.”

He laughed, and for a moment everything felt simple. Possible. Like wanting something and getting it might actually be the same thing.

Then her phone buzzed again, and the weight came back.

“The problem is Mum,” Stella said. “She’s not going to agree to this.

She’s already enrolled me. She’s already planned the whole year.

And every time I think about calling her and actually saying it—” She shook her head.

“She’s going to think I’m abandoning her.

Abandoning the twins. Choosing you over them. ”

Tyler was quiet. She watched him pick up his coffee again, take a sip, set it back down.

“Have you talked to her about it at all?” he asked. “Even hinted?”

“No. I’ve been avoiding her calls for a week.” Stella pulled out her phone, looked at the screen. Four unread messages now. “She knows something’s wrong. She’s being very... understanding. Which is worse, somehow.”

“Worse than angry?”

“Angry I could fight. Understanding just makes me feel guilty.”

She opened the most recent message, let Tyler see it.

I know you’re busy with the festival. But please call when you can. I miss hearing your voice. The house feels empty without you.

Tyler read it, his expression careful. Neutral.

“That’s...” he started.

“I know.” Stella shoved the phone back in her pocket. “She’s not wrong. The house probably does feel empty. The twins are five—they’re a lot, but they’re not exactly conversation. And David works constantly. She’s probably lonely.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to—”

“I know. I know it doesn’t mean I have to go back. But it makes it harder.” She looked at him. “What do I even say? ‘Sorry, Mum, I know you spent sixteen years raising me, but I’ve decided I’d rather live with the dad who showed up twice a year’?”

Tyler flinched. Just slightly, but she saw it.

“That’s not—” she started.

“No, it’s fair.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s probably exactly what she’ll think.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Stella. It’s fine.” He managed a smile. “I know I wasn’t around. I know I’ve got a lot of ground to make up. And if you staying here means Fiona hates me forever, then—” He shrugged. “I can live with that. I’ve earned it.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She doesn’t like me much.”

That was probably true. Stella had never asked her mother directly about Tyler—it had always seemed like picking at a wound. But the few times his name came up, Fiona’s face changed. Not angry. Just... closed.

“I don’t think she’s going to let me stay,” Stella said quietly. “Even if I ask. Even if I tell her I want it. She’s going to say no, and then what? I just... go back? Pretend I never wanted anything different?”

Tyler was quiet for a long moment. She could see him thinking, turning something over.

“What if we figured out the practical stuff first?” he said finally. “School enrollment, what paperwork we’d need, visa requirements — all of that. So when you do talk to her, you’re not asking permission. You’re presenting a plan.”

“A plan.”

“A real one. With details. So she can see it’s not just... a whim. That you’ve thought it through.”

Stella considered this. It was such a Tyler approach — research, preparation, having answers ready. Avoiding the emotional confrontation in favor of logistics.

But maybe that wasn’t wrong. Maybe that was actually smart.

“You’d help me figure all that out?”

“Of course.” He stood, offered her a hand up. “I’ll look into the school stuff. Find out what we’d actually need. And then when you’re ready to talk to her—”

“We’ll have a plan.”

“Exactly.”

She let him pull her to her feet, slinging her camera bag over her shoulder. The morning was warming up, the marine layer retreating, the beach starting to fill with early joggers and dog walkers.

For a moment, she let herself imagine it. Senior year here. Photography with Bea. Shifts at the Shack. More mornings like this one.

Then her phone buzzed again.

“One thing at a time,” Tyler said, noticing her expression. “School stuff first. Fiona later.”

It was good advice. Practical. The kind of thing that sounded like progress but was really just... postponing.

But she’d take it. For now.

“We should head back,” she said. “Joey’s probably stress organizing the entire prep station by now.”

“Still nervous about school?”

“Terrified. You’d think he was shipping off to another continent instead of driving twenty minutes up the coast.” Tyler smiled as they started toward the parking lot. “Yesterday he asked Margo if she wanted him to train his replacement.”

“His replacement?”

“For morning shifts. Which he’s not actually giving up.” Tyler shook his head. “But he’s convinced we’ll all fall apart without his ‘systems.’”

“To be fair, his systems are pretty good.”

“They are. That’s the problem. Now he thinks we’re helpless.”

Stella laughed, and it felt almost normal. Almost easy.

But as they reached the truck, her phone buzzed one more time. She didn’t look.

She knew what she wanted. Tyler was going to help her figure out how to make it happen. The conversation with her mother would come eventually—and it would be awful.

But not today. Today was plans and research and logistics.

The hard part could wait.