“Yeah?”
“Only if you want. I don’t want to—” Fiona stopped. Started again. “I don’t want to intrude on what you’vebuilt here. But I could... contribute. Maybe. If there’s room.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d really like that.”
Fiona smiled, the first real smile Stella had seen since she arrived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tyler found Fiona on the beach.
Not the main stretch where tourists flocked, but the quieter curve near the tide pools, where locals walked their dogs and kids searched for crabs. She was sitting on a flat rock, shoes beside her, feet buried in the sand.
He almost turned around. Almost decided this could wait, should wait, wasn’t his business anyway.
But Stella had texted him from the festival grounds. Just three words and a photo.
She saw them.
The photo showed Fiona standing in front of “The Shack Breathes,” one hand pressed to her mouth, shoulders shaking.
So here he was. Walking across sand toward thewoman who had controlled his access to his daughter. Not to fight. Not to demand.
Just to talk.
Fiona looked up when his shadow fell across her. Her face went through several expressions—wariness, resignation, and something that might have been relief.
“Tyler.”
“Mind if I sit?”
She gestured at the rock beside her. He sat, keeping space between them, and looked out at the water. The afternoon light was going golden, that particular California quality that made everything look like a photograph.
“Stella sent me a picture,” he said. “From the festival.”
Fiona laughed quietly, wiping her eyes. “Of course she did.”
“You saw her work.”
“I saw her work.” Fiona pulled her feet out of the sand, brushed them off. “I didn’t know she could do that. I didn’t know she had that in her.”
“She’s been working at it all summer. The eye was always there, but the discipline—that’s new.”
“The eye.” Fiona shook her head. “Her potential teacher said the same thing. That she has ‘the eye.’ That it can’t be taught.”
“Mr. Reeves. He taught me too, back in the day.”
“He mentioned that. Said you were hard to pindown.” She glanced at him. “Were you? Hard to pin down?”
Tyler laughed, surprising himself. “I was a nightmare. Skipped class, argued with teachers, thought I knew everything. Mr. Reeves was the only one who didn’t give up on me.”
“What did he do?”
“Gave me a camera and told me to stop talking and start looking.” Tyler picked up a piece of sea glass, turned it over in his fingers. “It worked. Eventually.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Waves rolled in, out, rolled in again. A dog ran past, chasing a tennis ball, its owner jogging behind.
“I owe you an apology,” Tyler said.
