Chapter 3 Fireworks At Rosewater #4
Kit took my right side first, fingers hooking at my belt before she slid her hand into mine.
She didn't look at the crowd to see if they noticed.
She looked up at the sky, then at me, then settled in like she'd been standing there all night.
Her shoulder fit under my arm. Her thumb moved once across my knuckles.
Luna appeared on my left, Rosewater-blue light catching in her hair.
She took my other hand and leaned into me with her cheek near my shoulder.
James and Tina stood farther back on the terrace, close enough to see.
James raised his glass again, smaller this time, almost private. Luna saw it and held on tighter.
Poppy worked through the crowd behind Kit, slid both arms around my waist from the back, and rested her chin near my shoulder.
"Three phones behind us," she whispered. "Two pretending to film fireworks. One absolutely filming your ass."
I almost laughed.
Then she nuzzled my shirt once, quick and real. "I'm glad we're here."
Vina claimed the narrow space beside Luna, her hip pressing against mine, hand low at my back where no one could quite see how deliberately she touched me. Her red hair caught every burst overhead. She smelled like rum, heat, and trouble.
Lucy bounded in on Kit's other side, still glowing from the dock game, one arm looping around Kit's shoulders before she reached across and squeezed my forearm. "This view is insane."
"Lake or crowd?" Kit asked.
"Both."
Bristol arrived last, not late, just precise. She stood half a step behind Poppy at first, phone down, eyes up. Then the crowd shifted, jostling her forward, and she put one cool hand briefly at the back of my neck.
A small touch. A steadying touch.
The pattern closed.
Six women around me. Kit steady. Luna open. Poppy warm and sharp. Vina hot enough to make stillness feel dangerous. Lucy bright and physical. Bristol quiet at the edge with her eyes on everything.
The crowd saw it. They had to. The fireworks lit us in pulses: red, gold, blue, white. Every burst turned the terrace into daylight for half a second, and every half second was enough for another phone to tilt our direction.
I felt the attention change from curiosity into recognition.
There they are.
Not in words yet. In breath. In glances.
In the way a couple of Kappa girls stopped pretending to watch the sky.
In the way a lake guy's smile widened and then faltered when Kit looked directly at him without shame.
In the way one Delta Omega girl lifted her phone, then hesitated until Poppy winked like she'd caught the hesitation and forgiven it.
The third firework bloomed green over the lake.
A woman just in front of us, Kappa Rho, phone raised for a story, laughed at her screen and turned it toward her friend.
"Oh my God, listen to this reply," she said, loud enough to cut through the gap between booms. "Nash's Girls just broke Rosewater."
The phrase hit live.
Not a private screen at Brewster Bay. Not a comment Sally read in the safe glow of our own dock.
Here. In the middle of Rosewater. In a crowd with the six women touching me, standing around me, turning an outside label into something everyone could see before any of us had chosen what to do with it.
For half a second, I froze.
Kit didn't.
Her hand tightened in mine. She didn't look toward the woman with the phone. She looked at the sky, calm as ever, shoulder still pressed to my ribs.
Luna stayed right where she was. In front of her parents. On Rosewater ground. Her fingers locked through mine, warm and unwavering.
Poppy went still behind me, but not with fear. I could feel the calculation run through her. She lifted her head, eyes moving over the nearby crowd, measuring what had landed and where it might spread. She didn't claim it. She didn't correct it. She just held me a little closer.
Vina turned her face toward the Kappa girl and smiled like pressure was foreplay.
"That's one way to describe a fireworks show," she said.
The girl went red, then laughed because Vina had given her permission to survive the moment.
Lucy leaned into Kit, then reached across and kissed my cheek, quick and bright and utterly public. "Don't let the fireworks outdo you, Brewster."
Bristol's hand pressed once at the back of my neck before slipping away. When I glanced back, she was looking at me, not the crowd.
Steady.
I breathed.
Another burst hit the sky, white and gold, bright enough to light every face on the dock.
I saw Sam and Sally near the terrace steps.
Sam had heard it. Of course he had. His mouth had opened around a joke he didn't get to make because Sally touched his wrist, not hard, not obvious, just enough.
He looked down at her hand. She looked out at us.
Then he closed his mouth and raised his drink instead.
"Yeah," he said quietly, too quiet for the crowd but not for Sally. "Okay."
Sally smiled without looking at him. "There you go."
The fireworks built faster, bursts stacking over each other, gold raining into red, blue cracking into white. The lake reflected all of it. Smoke drifted low over the water. The crowd cheered, but a second show had started on the terrace, and I was standing in the middle of it.
I could step back. I could let go of Kit or Luna, shift away from Poppy, make the shape look accidental. I could turn six women into party coincidence with one cowardly inch.
I didn't.
Kit leaned into me. Luna's fingers held. Poppy's arms stayed around my waist. Vina's hip pinned to mine. Lucy's laugh rang against the boom overhead. Bristol watched me stay.
The finale came in a rush of white and gold so bright the whole lake turned into day. Phones lifted all around us. The label hung in the smoke, unstable, not owned, not rejected, not safe.
Nash's Girls.
I didn't know what it meant yet.
I knew what it looked like.
It looked like six women choosing not to move.
So I stayed too.
The last firework faded, and the night dropped back into string lights, dock lamps, smoke, cheers, and the sudden return of music from the terrace. People clapped, yelled, kissed, posted, drank. The crowd began to loosen, but the women around me didn't scatter right away.
Kit released my hand only to wrap her arm around my waist. Luna stayed close enough that her shoulder brushed mine.
Poppy's chin rested against my back for one more second before she stepped around me, eyes still bright with strategy she wasn't ready to say aloud.
Lucy bounced on her toes and started talking about the finale like she'd been personally responsible for the timing.
Bristol lifted her phone once and captured the aftermath, not the fireworks, but us, still gathered in the smoke.
Vina watched me.
That was the part I felt most.
She didn't make a joke. Didn't turn it into a wink for the crowd. She just looked at me through the drifting haze, and every charged second from the bar and dance floor came back with teeth.
The party started moving again.
Vina didn't.
Not yet.
***
The party should have been winding down after the fireworks.
It didn't.
Rosewater kept burning under string lights and smoke.
People drifted back to the bar and dance space, louder now, loosened by fireworks and alcohol and the feeling that something worth telling had happened.
Boats rocked in the slips. Music thudded against the dock boards.
Every few seconds, a phone lit someone's face blue as they checked replies, posted stories, watched the night turn into proof.
I found a pocket of air near the dock stairs, just past the last full wash of terrace light. Not private. Nothing at Rosewater was private tonight. But quieter. The crowd was still close enough that I could hear laughter, glass, bass, and footsteps.
I was looking at the water when Vina touched my arm.
No warning. No performance.
Just her fingers around my wrist, warm and sure.
"Come with me," she said.
I looked back toward the terrace. Kit was with Poppy and Luna near the bar.
Lucy had joined a group arguing about another game.
Bristol stood near the rail, speaking quietly with Grace.
Sam and Sally were at the edge of the terrace steps, Sally holding both their empty cups while Sam talked with his hands like he was making a case he knew he wouldn't win.
Vina tugged once.
I went.
She led me down three dock steps and around the side of a small boathouse where the light thinned and the music blurred. The water lapped against the pilings below. We were still visible if someone cared enough to look. That mattered. The risk stayed in the air between us.
Vina stopped with her back to the wall, then turned and pulled me in by the front of my shirt.
Her face was different here. Still Vina. Still red hair, glossy mouth, wild eyes. But the party mask had slipped enough to show the serious woman underneath it, the one who had been looking at me through every joke, every dance step, every dirty whisper.
"That comment," she said.
"Nash's Girls."
Her mouth curved, but it wasn't playful. "Yeah. That."
I waited.
Vina's fingers stayed twisted in my shirt. "I can handle the crowd. I can handle lake guys drooling like idiots. I can handle girls whispering about whether I'm serious or just having fun. I've been underestimated by people with better hair and worse personalities than anyone here."
"I know."
"No." She pulled me closer. "I need you to know the difference between me enjoying being watched and me being treated like a thing people watch."
The words landed hard.
I put my hands on her waist. Not to pull. Not to push. Just to stay connected while she said what she needed to say.
"I don't think you're a thing."