Chapter 2 The Hot Girl Committee #3
"Less than yesterday, probably."
She took the photo before I could ask how she knew.
Kit anchored everything without acting like she was running anything.
She moved through the day beside Bella, beside me, beside the other women, always close enough to settle me with a brush of fingers at my wrist or a kiss pressed to my shoulder as she passed.
When Poppy leaned into my side to check a photo, Kit smiled.
When Vina made a joke filthy enough to make a bartender blush, Kit laughed first. When Lucy ordered me into the right patch of shade, Kit gave me a look that said obey the captain.
No jealousy. No speech. No performance.
She didn't need to prove she was first. She didn't need to explain why she trusted me. She just kept moving through the day like this was already ours, like touching me in public and smiling when the others did the same had become as natural as breathing.
By the time the sun started dropping toward gold, the pool lounge looked like a place people would lie about getting invited to.
The bar looked ready to start trouble. The deck lights were waiting for dusk.
The sign at the end of the dock had its warm bulbs framed around the reclaimed wood, not lit yet, but already beautiful.
Poppy came up behind me near the deck stairs and rested her chin briefly between my shoulder blades.
"Almost time," she said.
I looked around at what the six of them had made. Not built. Made. There was a difference, and I was finally starting to understand it.
"You did all this in one afternoon," I said.
"We did." Poppy slipped around to face me, eyes bright. "And Sam and Sally have been watching with absolutely no shame, so brace yourself."
Across the deck, my best friend and my sister sat in two folding chairs near a cooler, wearing matching expressions of delighted cruelty.
"Great," I said.
Poppy patted my chest. "You love being noticed. You're just slow."
I started to deny it.
Then Vina called my name from the bar, Lucy called it from the pool, Kit lifted her hand from beside Bella, Luna waved me toward the dock, and Bristol pointed her camera like she already knew which way I would turn.
I turned toward them.
Poppy smiled like that was the answer she had been waiting for.
***
Sam and Sally had turned the service entrance into a sideline booth.
They had two folding chairs, a cooler, a box of string-light clips, three different kinds of tape, sunscreen, a roll of command hooks, and the smug calm of people who had decided they weren't merely watching the problem. They were improving it.
I was carrying an extension cord toward the dock when Sam lifted one hand.
"Brew. A word."
"Busy."
"It's about your public dignity, so you'll want to hear it."
Sally leaned back in her chair, sunglasses low on her nose. "He has public dignity?"
"Not much," Sam said. "That's why this is quick."
I stopped, which was my first mistake.
Sam gestured toward the deck with his water bottle.
Poppy was bent over Bristol's phone, Kit was beside Bella at the towel station, Vina had two staff guys testing bar stools by pretending to be guests, Lucy was physically moving a pool umbrella into obedience, and Luna was talking to Frank under the dock sign.
"This isn't a resort shot," Sam said. "This is a public claiming ritual."
I stared at him.
Sally nodded solemnly. "He means that with respect. Mostly."
"They're helping with upgrades," I said.
Sam laughed. "Sure. And a wedding is just chair rental with cake."
Sally pointed at me. "You keep trying to treat girlfriend choreography as furniture placement. It's adorable, but no one believes you."
"I'm literally holding an extension cord."
"A prop," Sam said. "Strong choice. Blue collar. Very approachable."
"You're both unemployed emotionally."
Sally brightened. "And yet fully booked for commentary."
Sam tossed me a bottle of water without looking. I caught it against my chest. Sally, also without looking, handed him a strip of light clips at the exact second he reached for them. He took them, passed her the sunscreen, and they kept their eyes on me the entire time.
That should have registered.
It almost did.
Then Sally pointed toward the bar. "Vina needs you."
"Vina always needs something."
"This is urgent."
I looked at the bar. Vina was waving at me with a lime wedge.
"What kind of urgent?"
"Party-pulse emergency," Sam said.
"That's not a thing."
"Poppy says it is," Sally said. "And Poppy has a notebook. Go."
I went.
There was no emergency. There was Vina, a line of glasses, and Bristol aiming her phone at the bar from the side angle.
"Perfect timing, Smoke Show," Vina said. "Taste test."
"Sam and Sally sent me."
"Of course they did. They're learning." She pushed a cold glass into my hand and adjusted my fingers around it, her thumb brushing my wrist. "Hold it lower. You look less scared that way."
"I'm not scared of a drink."
"No," she said, glancing toward the camera. "You're scared of looking like you enjoy being here."
Bristol clicked the photo.
I made it back to the dock ten minutes later, minus dignity, plus citrus on my hand.
Frank needed clips. I had clips. That should have been simple. Sally intercepted me with a navy towel and a look.
"Lucy needs this."
"That's a towel."
"A critical towel."
"For what?"
Sally's expression turned sweet enough to set off alarms. "Visual balance."
Sam coughed into his water.
I delivered the towel to the pool, where Lucy had arranged three loungers, two umbrellas, and four women into something that looked candid only if you had never met Lucy. She took the towel from me, draped it over my shoulder, then stepped back to study the result.
"Good," she said. "Now you look useful and expensive."
"That's not a category."
"It is when I say it is."
Across the deck, Sally gave Sam a small salute. Sam handed her a phone charger before she even asked for it.
Again, I almost noticed.
Then Poppy called, "Nash, dock rail, please," and her please had orders inside it.
The routing continued for the next hour.
Sam sent me to Luna with a roll of tape she didn't need but used anyway to fix the back of the sign lights.
Sally sent me to Kit with two iced coffees and a warning that Bella was "emotionally close to beige towel violence.
" Kit kissed me in thanks, right there beside the service table, and Sally applauded from twenty feet away.
"Very brave," my sister called. "Minimal flinch."
"Stop grading me."
"B plus," Sam said.
"For kissing my girlfriend?"
"Public follow-through needs work."
Kit sipped her coffee, eyes dancing. "He's right."
"Traitor."
"Anchor," she corrected.
The worst part was that Sam and Sally were helping.
They weren't just heckling from a safe distance.
They carried tools to Frank, moved drinks to the bar, blocked guests from wandering into Bristol's shots, and kept finding ways to put me exactly where Poppy wanted me without letting me pretend I had arrived there by accident.
Under the comedy, their timing got harder to ignore.
Sally would start to reach for a clip, and Sam would already have one between his fingers.
Sam would look toward the cooler, and Sally would pop the lid before his hand got there.
She laughed at his quieter jokes before anyone else heard them.
He shifted her chair into shade without mentioning it.
She slid his water closer when he forgot to drink.
It was smooth. Too smooth.
I stopped beside them, extension cord over one shoulder. "Okay. What's going on with you two?"
They both looked at me with identical innocent faces.
"Operational excellence," Sally said.
"Teamwork," Sam added.
"Suspicious teamwork."
"You're one to talk," Sally said. "Six women spent the afternoon turning you into lakefront propaganda and you just now learned to ask questions?"
Sam nodded toward the dock. "Also, Poppy's waving."
I turned. Poppy stood by the sign, both hands above her head, motioning me in like a runway guide.
"Golden hour," Sam said. "Go be claimed by committee."
"Not a committee," I said automatically.
Sally grinned. "Oh, he knows the term now. Progress."
I started toward the dock.
Behind me, Sam said, "He really is handling it better than I expected."
Sally answered more quietly, "He's trying. That counts."
I heard the warmth under her teasing. I heard Sam's softer laugh in response. For a second, I wanted to turn back and look at them properly.
Poppy called again. "Nash! Light! Now!"
I kept walking.
Whatever was happening at the sideline booth would have to wait. The dock sign was glowing, the women were gathering, and I had the distinct feeling that the day's real trap had only just opened.
***
Golden hour made Brewster Bay look like it had been saving itself for this exact fifteen minutes.
The lake turned molten behind the dock. The new string lights warmed around the reclaimed wood sign, each bulb catching the carved letters until Brewster Bay looked less like a name and more like a promise.
The deck lights glowed behind us even though the sky had not gone dark yet.
The pool lounge held its blue and white shape.
The outdoor bar flashed glass, citrus, and Vina's laughter from the rail.
Poppy stood at the end of the dock with her phone in one hand and her whole body lit by the sun.
"Okay," she said. "This is it. Hero shot. Nobody panic except Nash, and Nash, do it quietly."
"I'm fine."
"That's the spirit. Lie with confidence."
Kit slid her hand into mine. Her Brewster Bay tank was softer now from the day's heat, her hair loose from its ponytail, her skin sun-warm and touched with the kind of tired that came from a day spent working beside people she liked. She squeezed my fingers once.
"Don't make it weird," she said.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because you keep considering it."