𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑂𝑁𝐸 . . .
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 !
— s01,ᴇ01 ᴏғ ᴛsɪᴛᴘ.

❝ Just a summer day
We can't rewind it
I saw her by the lake
I can't deny it  ❞
— 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆, sun room !

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

                      The path from RosePoint to the Fisher house curved through a thicket of coastal pines and sea grass, worn down over the years by the passage of bare feet and golden retrievers chasing sunbeams. The siblings didn't talk much as they walked—Max led the way beside Clem, who looked up through the trees, the sky beginning to soften into that golden hour haze that always made Cousins look like a dream.

As they came around the bend, the Fisher house appeared like a memory—whitewashed siding, wide porches wrapped in honeysuckle, laughter echoing faintly from the back deck. Clem's heart flipped instinctively. She could see them already: Susannah sitting in one of the wicker loungers, her signature sunhat tilted back, a glass of something pink in hand. Strawberry lemonade more than likely, and most definitely home made and hand squeezed. Conrad was stretched out beside her, long limbs, unreadable expression, hair messily perfect as ever. Jeremiah was in motion, bounding up the steps with a pitcher to refill his mother's lemonade, and that bright smile unmistakable even from a distance.

Max whistled low. "It's like no time has past."

"It hasn't," Clem muttered, smoothing her wind-tousled hair and straightening her shoulders.

Jeremiah spotted them first, letting out a shout as he dropped the lemonade on the table and sprinted down the stairs toward them. "Beaumonts!" he called, arms wide.

Max grinned, arms outstretched too. "Jeremiah fucking Fisher."

They crashed into a hug like old teammates reunited. Maggie smiled, already easing into the warmth of the reunion as Susannah waved from the porch and called, "My favorite troublemakers!" She was up next, moving toward them with open arms, immediately pulling Clementine and Magnolia into her sweet perfumed embrace.

And then there was Conrad—still on the porch, watching. His eyes found Clementine's, unreadable, as always. Her breath caught just slightly. A second too long. She told herself she wasn't going to make it complicated.

But then again, this was Cousins.

And he was Conrad Fisher.

So complicated was unavoidable.

She didn't want to remember last summer. But also couldn't forget. It was impossible not to.

— The late-night swims in the ocean when the world felt suspended in saltwater and stars. The way Conrad had looked at her—like he wasn't supposed to, like he wished he didn't—but did anyway. The whispered words on the back deck after everyone else had gone to bed, the brush of his fingers against hers when he handed her a glass of wine.

And the kiss that wasn't supposed to happen.

The way he pulled away afterward like it hadn't meant anything. Like it had never happened.

But it had. It happened in the silence between words, in the glances they both pretended not to notice. It happened in the space between their houses and the stillness of dawn. It happened in every moment after, when he acted like everything was fine, and she had to pretend she was too. It happened in the complete avoidance of texting on another for months.

And now here they were again—same house, same beach, same pull in her chest like gravity, like memory, like something she couldn't unfeel.

Clementine squared her shoulders and forced a smile. 'Chin up, Your a Beaumont' as her grandmother would always say.

They stepped into the Fisher house, the screen door creaking the same way it always had, the scent of sea salt and lemony floor cleaner wrapping around them like a memory. The boys peeled off toward the stairs, Jeremiah calling "Race you!" over his shoulder before disappearing with Max and Conrad close behind, sneakers thudding against the old wooden steps.

In the kitchen, sunlight poured through the tall windows, bathing Susannah in a golden glow as she fussed with a hydrangea arrangement for the dining table. Clementine and Magnolia moved to help her, sliding easily into the rhythm of summer: fluff the blooms, cut the stems at an angle, swap the wilted ones for fresh.

Susannah hummed as she worked, then paused and looked toward the window as a distant horn echoed from the driveway. Her eyes lit up. "They're here!"

There was a clatter upstairs, and Jeremiah and Max bounded down the stairs two at a time, Max shoving Jeremiah with a grin as they raced for the front door. They beat the girls to it—even though Clementine had already half-turned to follow.

Conrad was slower. Of course he was. He came down the steps with the casual reluctance of someone who moved through life like everything already ached a little. Melancholic. Heavy-hearted. Beautiful in that sort of way people pretend not to notice.

Out on the porch, the front yard was now full of voices and car doors and the smell of warm gravel.

"What's up? Hi!" Jeremiah called, his voice bright and easy.

Laurel laughed as she climbed out of the car. "Oh, my go—Hello!" She pulled him into a quick hug as Max stepped up behind him.

"Long time no see," Max said, his grin relaxed.

Laurel gave him a warm smile. "Good to see you trouble."

"Trouble? Me? Laurel you misjudge my character!" Max beamed, his arms opening for a warm embrace as she rolled her eyes at his words.

"Oh he's full of shit." came Steven Conklin's sarcastic tone from the trunk of the car.

"Oh, my God, hi!" Susannah sang as she crossed the threshold, arms open for her best friend. She pulled Laurel into a tight embrace and the two moms quickly made their way inside, already talking a mile a minute.

Steven came around the car, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head. He clocked Jeremiah and gave him a once-over before grinning. "You've been going to the gym, bro?"

Max groaned. "Oh, do not fuel his ego. He still lifts less than me."

"Oh you wish." Jeremiah taunted back.

Conrad finally stepped outside, barefoot and unbothered. Clementine leaned against the porch railing, arms crossed, looking him up and down. "Better late than never, I suppose."

He just shrugged, his eyes glancing to the Cobklins as he lifted his hand for a lazy wave and casual smile. "I don't really run, unless I have to."

Maggie stood next to her sister, scoffing at Conrad's nonchalance. "Men." She muttered, causing a soft snicker from Clem.

"More like boys." Clem corrected, loud enough for Conrad to hear, and not afraid to make eye contact with him at the jab. He rolled his eyes in response.

In the driveway Steven froze, like a wire had snapped tight inside him. His eyes caught on Magnolia, standing a few paces behind her sister. For just a second he didn't move. And then—he did. A grin flickered, shaky but real, and he crossed the porch in two long strides and pulled her into a hug.

It was no secret, Steven Conklin had always had the biggest crush on Magnolia Beaumont. Ever since they were little kids. And everyone in Cousins seemed to know about it except her.

Steven pulled back just enough to take a better look at Maggie, his brows lifting.
"You changed your hair."

Maggie smiled, tucking a strand behind her ear. "Yeah... figured it was time."

"I like it." He said, his tone soft.

But before she could respond, the car door creaked open again and Isabella Conklin stepped out, squinting into the sunlight. Her long brown hair was wind-tangled, her cheeks flushed from the drive, and for one beat—just one—the world went quiet.

Then, like a foghorn. "Oh my god!" Maggie gasped.

Clementine turned just as Maggie shoved past Steven, nearly knocking him off balance, and the two girls sprinted toward Belly.

Belly barely had time to open her arms before she was tackled from both sides, laughter bursting from her chest as they all crashed into each other like waves.

"You're here!" Clementine laughed. "I thought we'd be stuck in testosterone hell forever!"

Belly laughed at that, "well here I am to rescue you! I take gratitude in candy and money form."

Steven crossed his arms with a mock scowl, watching the girls still wrapped up in each other, laughing and rocking back and forth on the gravel.

"We did not get that greeting," he said indignantly.

Jeremiah nodded, his expression equally betrayed. "Yeah, us either. Right, Conrad?"

Conrad, who had leaned lazily against the porch railing with his hands in his pockets, raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember a hug."

Clem turned around, arm still looped around Belly's shoulders. "You didn't earn one."

Conrad clapped a hand over his heart. "Ouch. Brutal Clemmie Clem."

It didn't take long before someone suggested the pool.

More specifically, it was Max (duh)—shirt halfway over his head already—who said, "Last one in has to take Grandma Esther on a dinner date."

A collective groan went through the group, and then chaos erupted.

Maggie kicked off her sandals. Clementine yanked her dress over her head, left in a tank top and jean shorts. Steven and Jere took off running across the yard, Steven yelling something about Jere cheating. Belly shrieked as she tried to untie her sneakers in time. Even Susannah leaned out the kitchen window with a laugh, shouting, "Don't track water through my house afterward!"

Max cannonballed first, sending a wave of water over the edge. "That's how it's DONE, baby!"

Jeremiah dove in next, smooth as ever. Steven followed with less grace but more noise. Maggie and Clem jumped in together, still holding hands. Belly slipped in off the side with a squeal, the water shocking but exhilarating.

Conrad walked.

He strolled to the edge like he had nowhere to be and no one to impress. He kicked off his shoes, pulled his shirt over his head, and—without any flair—stepped into the water and sank beneath the surface.

When he came up, Clementine splashed him in the face. "Slowest man alive," she teased. "Looks like you're taking Esther out on a date Connie."

Conrad blinked water out of his eyes, unbothered. "And still the coolest," he deadpanned, voice low and lazy. "And your grandma loves me."

Jeremiah swam by and sent a wave straight into his brother's face. "Debatable."

Clementine laughed, eyes shining. "Highly debatable."

"What?" Conrad laughed, his mouth open in shock, "Esther does love me!"

"Stop talking about my grandmother, ew." Max floated on his back, arms spread wide. "On a better note: you guys—we're officially back. This is it. The kickoff to the Summer of No Regrets."

"Summer of No Regrets?" Belly repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's bold. Summer is like meant to be full of things you regret."

"Oh, Belly's right. we're gonna regret so many things," Maggie said, flipping her wet hair off her shoulder.

"But at least we'll have fun doing it," Clem added, glancing at Conrad—who was already looking at her.

They all treaded water together, surrounded by the gentle slosh of the pool and the first pink streaks of twilight stretching across the sky. Somewhere inside, music played from the speakers—the same playlist the Moms always used, as if no time had passed. The screen door creaked open as Susannah came out with a tray of watermelon slices and shouted, "No cannonballs near the snacks!"

They all groaned in unison but obeyed, swimming over to the edge to grab dripping pieces with pruned fingers.

"But Susie, it's literally watermelon. Water-melon." Max emphasized.

"Ha. Ha. Max" Susannah deadpanned before heading back into the house.

Conrad leaned against the wall, arms stretched along the side, eyes tilted up to the fading sky. Clementine noticed the quiet way he moved, the way his gaze lingered just a second too long on moments other people rushed past.

He always had one foot in the present and the other somewhere far away.

Clementine swam closer, her hand trailing just beneath the water's surface. The others were loud and laughing by the snack tray, Maggie trying to convince Max to balance a watermelon slice on his head. But Clem's eyes were on Conrad—calm, closed-off, distant in the way she remembered he always had been.

She rested her arms on the edge of the pool beside him, glancing sidelong. "Where's your dad this summer?"

Conrad didn't answer right away. His jaw tensed slightly before he said, "London."

Just that—flat and final.

And just like that, the window had closed. The moment had passed. He'd tucked whatever truth lingered behind that single word—London—away where no one could reach it.

She watched him, waiting, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he turned toward her with a sudden half-smile, forced and fleeting. "You still make that juice with ginger? The one that nearly killed me?"

Clementine blinked, caught off guard by the pivot, but smiled softly. "Yeah. Thought I'd try again this year. Less ginger, maybe."

He nodded, eyes returning to the sky. "No promises I'll drink it."

"It's healthy." She said matter of factly.

He laughed. "I'm sure it does. Ginger had amazing health benefits: anti inflammatory, aids in digestion, full of antioxidants, and-"

Clementine cut him off with an exaggerated yawn and his brows lifted, "wowwww." He smacked his lips and she couldn't help but laugh.

Suddenly, Clem's phone lit up from the crumpled pile of clothes beside her dress, the screen buzzing insistently against the patio stone. She squinted at the name and sighed.

"It's Mom," she called to her siblings, already pulling herself out of the water.

Max groaned so loudly it echoed off the trees. "The kraken is calling us home."

"Shut it," Clem snapped, flicking water from her fingers as she snatched up the phone and answered. "Hi, Mom. Mhm. Yep. Yes, Mother, we'll be home. Yes, I know we should've told you we were leaving. It won't happen again. Yes, ma'am."

Her voice was calm but tight, the kind of tone every child reserves for military-level parental debriefings.

Maggie climbed out of the pool next, wringing out her hair and exchanging a look with Max. "Are we in trouble?"

"Oh yeah," Clem said, dragging a towel around her shoulders. "Think DEFCON 3."

Max flopped back on the pool chair dramatically. "Worth it."

Jeremiah tossed a wet towel at him. "You say that now."

Clem just rolled her eyes and slipped her sandals on. "Dry off, children. We've got a walk of shame ahead of us."

Jeremiah ran a hand through his soaked hair and grinned. "But hey—we'll see you at the bonfire tonight, right?"

Max scoffed, already pulling his shirt back over his damp chest. "Is that even a fucking question?"

Clem tossed her towel over her shoulder, smirking. "We'd show up even if we were grounded for a month."

Maggie added, "Which, by the way, we probably are."

"Grounded? Nah you're a Beaumont. Probably just gonna get a stern talking to." Steven noted.

"Like I said, totally worth it," Max said again, flashing a grin at Jeremiah and Steven before turning toward the path. "Come on, Captain Clem. Lead us into battle. The kraken fears you the most."

Clementine glanced back at the Fishers and Conklins, still dripping and sprawled around the pool. She smiled, soft and quick, like she was tucking the moment away.

"We'll see you there," she called back.

Then the Beaumonts were gone, towels slung over shoulders, laughter fading into the trees.

They reached RosePoint as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft oranges and purples. The gravel crunched beneath their damp feet, and before they could even reach the front porch, the golden retrievers burst forward—Olive with her dignified trot, Butch barking wildly, and Bodie bounding after them, tail wagging like a wild flag in the breeze. The dogs leapt up excitedly, sniffing and nuzzling at the siblings as if demanding the whole truth about their pool escapade.

As they stepped inside, the warm glow of the house wrapped around them. The rich scent of herbs, roasted vegetables, and something buttery and decadent wafted through the air—Chef had outdone himself preparing tonight's welcome-back feast. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting fractured light on the polished wood and crisp white linens draped over long banquet tables.

The house was alive with low murmurs and laughter. Familiar faces dotted the rooms: friends of their parents and grandmother—glittering with diamonds, draped in silk, polished smiles perfected over years of gatherings just like this one. The annual 'welcome back' dinner was as much a social event as it was a tradition, a carefully orchestrated pageant of wealth, influence, and old alliances.

Before they could even shed their wet towels, their mother's sharp voice cut through the noise.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, are you seriously dripping water all over these floors?" Lillian's eyes narrowed as she took in their soaked hair and clinging clothes.

Max grinned sheepishly. "It's summer, Mom. The pool called."

Lillian pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're impossible."

Esther sat near the grand fireplace, glass in hand, eyes glittering as she surveyed the room like a queen surveying her court. She raised an eyebrow at the damp trio and muttered loud enough for Clem to hear, "At least they're enthusiastic."

Lillian turned toward Esther with a tight smile, but her eyes flashed. "Please don't encourage them," she said through gritted teeth. "They're already feral."

Esther just sipped her wine, unbothered. "It's summer. Let them be young."

But Lillian had already shifted her focus back to her dripping children, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood as she marched forward, voice lowered but stern. "Upstairs. Now. And try not to ruin the rugs on the way."

"But the rugs are already—" Max started, but Clem elbowed him hard.

"Don't."

Lillian pointed up the grand staircase with a perfectly manicured finger. "Go get changed. Something decent. We're sitting for dinner in twenty minutes, and I will not have you looking like drowned rats in front of the Campbells and the Palmers."

Maggie grabbed her dress off the banister and muttered, "Yikes."

The dogs followed them halfway up the stairs, tails wagging, before deciding the real action was probably downstairs with the hors d'oeuvres and the Palmer's toddlers.

As the siblings filed up, still dripping slightly, still grinning, Clem whispered, "Well, at least she didn't ground us."

"Yet," Max said grimly, shaking his wet hair like a golden retriever, splattering Maggie with droplets.

She yelped and shoved him against the hallway wall. "You're disgusting."

Max only laughed. "See you at dinner, ladies. I'm putting on the ugliest shirt I own."

Clem rolled her eyes. "We are going to get disowned this summer."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Maggie said, already tugging open her bedroom door.

The upstairs hallway filled with the sounds of slamming closet doors, hair dryers, and muffled curses as the siblings scrambled to look respectable in time for dinner. The windows glowed with golden evening light, casting slanted shadows across the old wood floors of Rosepoint.

Clem stood in front of her vanity, rubbing lotion into her arms and pulling on a cream linen dress that fell off one shoulder. Her hair was still damp but now curled softly, haloing her face. She slipped on a pair of gold earrings, then called down the hallway, "Maggie, do you have my sandals?"

"Do I look like your shoe keeper?" Maggie called back from her room. She emerged moments later in a pale green wrap dress and bare feet, scrambling to Clementine's closet for a few seconds and then walking out, holding Clem's sandals in one hand. "You owe me. I swear you're blind."

"Add it to my tab."

Max was last out of his room, wearing a Hawaiian shirt that looked like it belonged in a souvenir shop and tailored beige slacks. "You said ugly. I delivered."

"Mom's gonna kill you," Maggie warned.

"She'll have to catch me first," he grinned, tucking his sunglasses into his collar.

The three of them descended the staircase together, the air cooler now and heavy with the scent of roasted vegetables, lemon zest, and something buttery and expensive. Downstairs, the grand dining room glowed under the soft chandeliers, and the table was already set with crystal, polished silver, and name cards hand-scripted in calligraphy.

Lillian stood near the bar cart, a coupe glass of champagne in hand, looking effortlessly elegant in navy silk. Her eyes landed on Max's shirt first.

"Take it off," she said, without missing a beat.

"Mom," he began.

"Now."

Max sighed, peeling the shirt off and folding it over one arm. "This is a hostile home environment."

"Good. Builds character."

He ran up the stairs and came back down in a clean pressed baby blue linen button down.

Their father was already mingling with the Campbells and the Palmers, offering charming smiles and small talk that sounded straight out of a networking seminar. Esther sat regally at the head of the long table, decked out in pearls and laughter, chatting with someone about the art gallery opening next weekend.

Clem took a deep breath and led the way into the room. She could feel the shift in posture, the way they were expected to be polished versions of themselves. But Maggie slipped her hand into Clem's beneath the table for a second, grounding her. Max winked at a passing server, one not much older than any of them, and stole a roll from the bread basket.

Even in their best clothes, damp hair still smelling faintly of chlorine, the three of them were still very much themselves.

Clem forced on a smile as glasses clinked and someone toasted the start of another beautiful summer.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Dinner had gone as expected—long, formal, and laced with the kind of tension that only existed in rooms full of family history, political chess games, and parents pretending their children hadn't cannonballed into someone else's pool an hour ago.

The Rosepoint dining room gleamed with candlelight bouncing off crystal and polished mahogany, the clinking of silverware occasionally interrupted by forced laughter and wine-fueled toasts.

Their mother sat across from them, all grace and control, fielding compliments on the menu while casting subtle daggers with her eyes across the table toward her soaking-wet children now awkwardly cleaned up in silk and linen. Clem answered questions politely, Maggie smiled sweetly, and Max made exactly two jokes that got him kicked under the table by his sisters.

But as soon as dessert was over and the adults' attention drifted to after-dinner brandy and conversation, the Beaumont siblings slipped away.

Upstairs, the transformation began.

Clem ditched her linen dress for something bolder—low-rise white linen pants and a skimpy powder-blue halter top that glinted subtly under the light, her mom woudlve skinned her if she saw it on her. She added her gold jewelry catching on her collarbone. Her hair was softly curled at its ends, smelling faintly of vanilla from the hair oil she used. She swiped on a touch of lip gloss and dabbed perfume at her wrists—fresh linen and coconut with a hint of vanilla, like always.

Maggie peeled off her dinner dress and pulled on a flowing yellow crochet tank over a white bralette and vintage Levi's cutoff shorts. She added a few antique rings she'd snagged from an old shop in Charleston and slipped a daisy behind her ear. She was barefoot already, of course. She swiped some lip gloss across her lips, and dabbed some liquid blush into her cheeks—before finishing off with a few spritz of Sol De Jainero perfume to her neck and wrists.

Max changed in record time, throwing on a pale blue button-down that stayed unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled, and a pair of sun-faded khaki shorts. His silver chain rested just above his collarbone, and his curls—still damp from the pool—smelled faintly of driftwood and the sea from the salt spray he used mixing with the scent of his cologne.

Their footsteps echoed down the hallway as they crept toward the back door, the coastal night calling.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

                     The drive wasn't a long one, and Maggie agreed to be DD for the three of them.

The bonfire at Cousins Beach felt like the unofficial start to the summer, the kind that buzzed in the air and warmed your skin before you even got close to the flames. Set just off the dunes, it sprawled out across the sand, framed by tiki torches and folding tables loaded with coolers, snacks, and some music. Teens were scattered everywhere—perched on logs, swaying in beach chairs, climbing on lifeguard stands, or barefoot dancing in the sand.

Everyone they knew was there—every year-rounder and summer returnee who mattered. Everyone except Belly, she always stayed home for some reason.

The Beaumont siblings arrived together, effortlessly cool. They were magnets, everyone who was anyone knew exactly who they were. Heads turned as they stepped into the glow of the bonfire, and within seconds Steven and Jeremiah were waving them over.

"There you guys are," Jere grinned, tossing Max a can of beer and pulling Maggie into a one-armed hug.

Steven added, "Took you long enough."

Max rolled his eyes. "We had a whole runway show back at Rosepoint."

Clem's gaze flicked past them, toward the fire, where Conrad sat with a girl—Nicole, if she remembered right. Yeah, Nicole.

Nicole was laughing at something he'd said, legs crossed, face angled toward him in that way girls did when they wanted boys to notice they were paying attention. Clem didn't say anything, just pushed her hair off her shoulder and focused on the heat of the fire instead.

Maggie looked around and frowned. "Where's Belly?"

Steven replied with a shrug, "She's at home with the moms. Movie night."

Maggie blinked. "Why?"

Steven scratched the back of his neck. "Because... she's too young for this kinda thing."

Clem straightened. "What do you mean?"

"Yeah," Maggie chimed in, voice sharp. "Too young? She's literally a month younger than Max. And less than a year younger than me."

Steven stammered, "Yeah, but like... you're you. And Belly's... Belly."

Clem scoffed, folding her arms, eyes narrowing just slightly. "That's real specific, Steven."

Maggie muttered under her breath, "And dumb."

Jeremiah just snorted and held up his drink. "Here's to 'you're you.'"

Clem and Maggie exchanged a look but said nothing more, letting the music and crackle of the fire fill the space instead. It was only the beginning of summer—but already, things felt a little more complicated than they had last year.

The bonfire was the kind of party that shimmered in every teenager's memory for years after.

Music pulsed low and lazy from a Bluetooth speaker stuck in the sand. The scent of salt, sunscreen, and smoke from the fire drifted through the air, mixing with the citrusy tang of someone's White Claw. Laughter echoed along the dunes, and the stars blinked down through a sky that still held a bit of pink near the horizon. The fire crackled tall and hot, its orange glow dancing across tanned skin and glass bottles.

About half an hour later a figure stepped barefoot onto the sand from the wooden walkway, the flickering light catching on her hot pink dress. It clung to her in a way that turned heads—sweet but bold, hugging the waist, flaring just enough at the bottom. Her hair was done, loosely curled and glossy in the firelight, and her lips were shiny with gloss. She looked older. Not like the kid sister everyone remembered tagging along summers before.

Heads turned. Conversations slowed. Clem noticed first, pausing with a Solo cup in her hand, brow raising. Maggie elbowed her gently, nodding toward the arrival.

"Is that Belly?" Maggie whispered.

Clem didn't respond, just tilted her head, trying to figure out when the shift had happened—when Belly turned into this version of herself.

She wasn't alone. A tall boy trailed beside her, probably nineteen or twenty, golden-haired, and wearing a smirk like he owned the whole beach. Belly laughed at something he said, throwing her head back. She looked radiant. Unbothered.

Steven turned just as her laugh carried over the flames.

"Steven." Belly's face paled as he stormed toward her.

Steven's expression shifted immediately. His brow furrowed, as he strode toward her like a storm. "What are you doing here? And I—I'm sorry, wh—what are you wearing?"

The guy beside her bristled, eyes narrowing. "I invited her. Who the fuck are you?"

Steven stepped forward, jaw tight, chest puffed. "I'm her brother. She's fifteen, you pedo."

"Jesus," Clem muttered under her breath, already starting toward them.

"Hey—calm down," Maggie said quickly, stepping in between them, her eyes darting between the tense boys.

"I'm almost sixteen," Belly shot out defensively, voice higher now, a crack of panic beneath the bravado.

The guy beside her held up his hands, taking a step back. "My bad," he muttered, before slinking off into the party, disappearing into the shadows beyond the firelight.

Steven turned back on her. "Jesus Christ. Belly, come on. What are you doing?"

He grabbed her arm, not hard but firm, trying to steer her away. Maggie reached for him again, saying sharply, "Chill, Steven."

"What? You're fine with her showing up here dressed like that, flirting with grown men? That guys like twenty!"

Clem was almost there now, picking up on every raised voice, but Belly snapped first.

"Will you let go of me, please?" she hissed, jerking her arm. "What are you doing? No—you're embarrassing me!"

"I'm embarrassing?" Steven scoffed. "You're embarrassing."

Belly blinked fast, her face flushing, not from the heat this time. "Why am I embarrassing?!"

"Quit embarrassing yourself."

"Are you kidding me?! Stop it! Steven!"

She yanked hard—too hard—and stumbled, her foot catching in the sand. She went down fast, face-first into the warm grit with a loud oof. A chorus of gasps rippled across the party.

"Belly!" Clem called out, immediately dropping her cup and rushing forward.

Maggie was right behind her. "You jerk!" she snapped, shoving Steven hard in the chest.

He barely staggered but looked around, flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. He muttered something—probably 'whatever'—and stormed back toward the fire without another word. Within minutes, he was laughing with a tall, pretty girl with long black hair, acting like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, Clem knelt beside Belly, brushing sand from her hair and dress. "Hey, hey, you okay? It's alright. Just a little fall."

"I'm fine," Belly mumbled, face red, sand sticking to the sheen of her lip gloss.

Maggie offered a hand, linking her arm. "Let's get you some water. You don't need to deal with him."

Belly sniffled once but nodded, lifting her chin.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

                   Later that night—Max was deep into his element—crossfaded, barefoot, shirtless, and completely lost in the humid, pulsing energy of the bonfire. Someone had passed him a joint an hour ago, and he'd chased it with a warm 4 Loko (insane) and a swig of something strong and coconut-flavored that burned like hell and hit like a train.

Now he was sprawled across a tie-dye blanket someone definitely didn't give him permission to use, tangled up with a girl who had cobalt blue streaks in her hair and a lip ring she kept biting when she looked at him. Her name might've been Mia. Or maybe Lux? Or was it Kat? Something short and sharp and probably fake.

They were making out like no one else existed—like the stars and the ocean and the music were all background noise. Max tasted like weed and booze and his watermelon vape, and she didn't seem to mind. Her hand was in his curls, his hand was under her fishnet crop top, and they were both laughing between kisses like this was the best bad idea they'd ever had.

Someone stumbled past and tripped over his leg. Max didn't even flinch. He just blinked up at them and went, "Careful, man. Ground's closer than it looks."

"Max," the girl whispered, tugging him closer by the chain around his neck. "You're, like, really pretty."

"I know," he mumbled, grinning against her lips. "It's exhausting."

Somewhere in the distance, someone shouted his name—maybe Maggie, maybe Clem, maybe Jere—but Max didn't hear it. Or maybe he did and just didn't care. He was floating, high and wild and weightless in the sticky summer air, lost in the chaos of Cousins and the haze in his head.

But after a while (like ten minutes,) Max got bored.

It always happened like this—he'd get really into someone for ten minutes, high off attention and dopamine, thinking this is it, this is the moment, and then suddenly... the spark fizzled. The kissing got repetitive. The girl's lip ring kept bumping his tooth. Her perfume was starting to give him a headache. And worst of all, his buzz was slipping into that tired, heavy-limbed phase where everything slowed down.

He let out a dramatic sigh mid-kiss.

"Everything okay?" the girl asked, blinking at him with glossy eyes.

"You're, like... great," Max said, already sitting up. "I'm just too high to focus on your face right now."

She blinked again, stunned, and Max just gave her a lazy, charming smile and a pat on the knee like they were old friends. Then he stood up, wobbling slightly, brushing sand off his pants (which were unbuttoned and halfway down his hips, which he promptly pulled up), and headed back toward the fire without another word.

The flames cast golden light across the beach, and the party was in full swing—music thumping from someone's speaker, people dancing barefoot in the sand, beer cans littered like confetti. He spotted Jere first, laughing with someone and holding a Solo cup like it was glued to his hand. Steven was nearby, throwing rocks at a beer pyramid someone built, already halfway through tearing it down with perfect aim.

Conrad was still over on the edge of the crowd, sitting stiffly beside Nicole, who was talking with her hands and smiling too big. He didn't look like he was having fun—never really did these days. Max squinted at him, considered going over, then immediately decided against it. Conrad didn't need a drunk, half-stoned Max flopping down beside him and asking existential questions about sea turtles or whatever was on his mind.

So Max turned and beelined toward Jere and Steven instead, flopping down in the sand between them like a tired cat, throwing one arm over Steven's shoulders and the other around Jere's.

"Heyyy, my favorite disappointments," he grinned. "What are we destroying next?"

Jere laughed. Steven side-eyed him but didn't shake him off. Max let his head fall back, blinking up at the stars.

"Seriously, man," Jere said, nudging Max with his elbow. "You're a walking disaster."

Max smirked. "That's exactly what makes me so dangerous."

Just then, Maggie appeared, kicking sand near their feet and plopping down beside them. "What're you clowns scheming?"

Steven glanced over, eyebrows raised. "Where's Belly?"

Maggie shrugged. "She's with a guy."

Steven's eyes nearly popped out. "What? A guy?"

Max grinned wide. "Chill, man. It's about time your little sister stopped hanging out with the moms 24/7."

Maggie laughed, nudging him. "And to be fair, the guy seems really sweet."

Before Steven could respond, Clem walked up, glass of something bubbly in hand. "Yeah, it's not like we'd leave her with some creep, ye of little faith."

Max gave Steven a slow back rub, deliberately dragging his fingers along Steven's tense shoulders. "Relaxxxx, Stevie."

Steven shrugged him off by rolling his shoulders exaggeratedly. "Keep your hands to yourself, Beaumont."

Max just laughed, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Fine, fine."

Suddenly, an angry voice rose through the beach.

"What's your problem, man?" Conrad snapped, his voice sharp, unmistakably pissed.

Across the fire, the group's heads turned in unison in recognition.

"It's one beer. It's a party. Relax," the guy said, cocky and smirking, still holding the drink like it was his.

Conrad stepped forward, shoulders tense. "No. Give me my beer back. I paid for this."

Nicole quickly jumped in, putting a hand on his arm. "Stop, stop. You're drunk. Just give him the beer."

"Maybe you should listen to your lady," the guy said with a smirk that made Nicole's eyes flash.

"Stop," she snapped, looking between them. "You're drunk. Both of you."

Conrad's voice cracked slightly. "No. I'm fine. I'm fine. Give me the beer back."

The guy held it up mockingly. "He's fine. He's a real big man."

"Fuck you, bro," Conrad growled, eyes narrowing. "You're not taking my fucking beer, dude."

"Relax," the guy laughed. "It's one beer!"

"Yeah," Conrad said, stepping closer now, "and it's my fucking beer."

The moment stretched like a held breath—everyone frozen in the firelight.

Clem was the first to move, walking fast across the sand toward the bonfire. Her footsteps quickened as she closed in, eyes locked on the confrontation. Behind her, Max, Jere, Steven, and Maggie followed, the tension pulling them along like a current. But they couldn't get through the crowd as fast as Clem managed to.

"Alright, enough," Clem started to say, stepping between the two—

But the drunk guy backed up suddenly, clumsy on the uneven sand, and his elbow swung wide right into Clem's face.

She gasped and stumbled, one hand flying to her mouth, blood already welling on her lower lip. It wasn't bad, not really, it just shocked her more than anything.

Before the guy could register what happened—before even Conrad could react—Max exploded forward.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" he roared, and then it was chaos.

Max's fist connected with the guy's jaw so hard it echoed. The guy went down like a sack of bricks, groaning in the sand as Max went to lunge again, fury lit behind his eyes.

"MAX—HEY—" Jere grabbed him, arms locked around his chest, dragging him back as Max kept shouting. "He didn't mean to!"

But Max didn't care if it was an accident or not, "YOU DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER—" he yelled, trying to get out of Jeremiah's grip.

The guy scrambled up and stumbled away, holding his face, yelling something unintelligible.

Maggie had her arm around Clem now, helping her stay upright, staring in shock at the blood on her hand. "Jesus. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Clem muttered, her voice thick, spitting a bit of blood onto the sand.

Then—suddenly, from somewhere near the road—

"COPS!"

The word cut through the air like gunfire. For a beat, everyone froze. Then all hell broke loose.

"Shit, shit, shit—GO!" Max shouted, shaking off Jere's grip as the unmistakable whoop of a siren flared in the distance.

Red and blue lights lit up the beach like a firework had gone off. The music cut, replaced by screaming and the sudden stampede of a hundred panicked teenagers running like their lives depended on it.

Sand exploded under their feet as bodies scattered in every direction, grabbing phones, shoes, half-finished drinks, anything they could carry—and abandoning everything else.

Steven didn't hesitate. He snatched Maggie's hand. "Run!" he yelled, dragging her across the dunes toward the darker stretch of beach where they'd parked earlier.

Max blinked once, still running on adrenaline, then bolted in the opposite direction, shouting, "Keys! Who the fuck has the keys?!" as he disappeared toward a line of parked cars half-shrouded by trees.

Nicole was already gone, sprinting up the path with her friends, long hair flying, not even bothering to look back.

Back at the bonfire, Clem was still wiping blood off her mouth with the back of her hand when she saw Conrad stumbling in a circle, totally disoriented. "Dude. Dude! We have to GO."

Jeremiah got to him first, throwing Conrad's arm around his shoulder. "Come on, man, come on—move your feet, I got you."

"I'm fine," Conrad slurred, trying to shake Jere off. He didn't struggle with the arm Clem had ahold of.

"No you're not," Clem snapped, grabbing his other side and leading him forward from behind. "Hurry your ass up before we all get arrested."

Together, they half-dragged, half-coaxed Conrad away from the fire, cutting through tall grass and weaving past a fallen log to the hidden spot where the cars were parked—heaving him toward safety as the flashing lights lit up the sky behind them like a warning flare.

Tires spun in sand. Car doors slammed. Voices shouted. Somewhere behind them, someone tripped and screamed.

Jeremiah yanked open the back door of the Jeep, and he and Clem wrestled Conrad inside, his legs like overcooked noodles, completely useless.

"Head down—watch your head," Clem muttered, guiding him in as he collapsed across the backseat like a dying Victorian woman.

Once he was in, Jeremiah slammed the door shut. "I'm gonna find Belly!" he called, already taking off into the night, sprinting across the dunes with his phone out like a flashlight.

Clem stayed behind, yanking the seatbelt across Conrad's chest and clicking it into place. He was slumped low, staring hazily out the window, hair sticking to his forehead.

As she reached to adjust the strap, Conrad's hand moved—sluggish but deliberate—and brushed her hair out of her face with the back of his fingers.

Clem froze.

Her eyes flicked to his face. He was gazing at her like he couldn't quite focus, blinking slowly, then his hand moved to her busted lip—gently titling it toward him and cocking his head in a drunken haze.

"Jesus, Conrad," she muttered, voice tight. "How many beers did you drink?" She moved his hand away, a bit too quickly.

He paused, thinking about it way too hard. "Uhhh... like... seven?" He squinted. "Ish. Eight. Mmmaybe."

She stared at him, unimpressed.

He smiled lazily. "You're rrrreally pretty when you're ma~d"

"Okay," she said, pulling the seatbelt tighter. "You're definitely at eight."

Conrad let his head loll to the side, eyes half-lidded but fixed on her.

"W~Why didn't you text me all year?" he mumbled, voice rough and low, like it had been sitting in the bottom of a beer bottle.

Clem blinked, thrown.

She straightened up, shutting the car door behind him a little too hard, her face caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion.

"Why didn't you text me?" she shot back.

Conrad didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, like her question was too complicated for his intoxicated brain to process. Or like it had an answer he wasn't ready to say out loud.

He blinked again. "I thought you were mad at me..."

Clem folded her arms over her chest. "You could've found out," she said. "All it takes is one message."

He sighed, resting his head back against the seat, eyes falling shut. "I wanted to. A b~bunch of times." He slurred.

She stared at him for a second, her jaw clenched. Then she got out and sat in the open passenger seat, not saying anything else, just sitting in the silence.

Conrad's voice drifted back up from the back seat, quiet but sure.

"See. You are mad. You aaa~always go nonverbal when you're angryyy."

"I'm not angry," she said, too quickly, too clipped.

Conrad cracked one eye open, head still tilted back lazily against the headrest.

"Yes you areee~," he murmured, like it was a fact of the universe, not up for debate.

Clem exhaled through her nose, her jaw tightening.

"I'm not," she repeated, softer this time. "I'm just tired of being the only one who tries."

That quieted him for a second. He looked at her, really looked, like maybe for the first time all night he wasn't too drunk to see clearly.

"I tried," he said, barely audible. "I just—w~would've messed it u~u~up."

Clem turned her head toward the window, eyes glossing over the stretch of beach and flashing lights in the distance.

"Yeah well," she whispered. "You already did."

Jeremiah jogged back toward the Jeep, Belly trailing behind him with flushed cheeks and windblown hair, a guy walking just beside her—tall, kind-looking, laughing at something she said. Clem recognized him instantly. He was the one they'd left Belly with earlier in the night.

Without missing a beat, Clem popped open the passenger side door and hopped out to make room. "Alright, passenger princess," she said with a small smirk, "in you go."

As Belly reached the Jeep, she turned and kissed the guy quickly—nothing over the top, but enough to make Clem's eyebrows lift in visible approval.

"Well damn," Clem muttered under her breath, straightening with a grin.

She gave the guy a parting nod and waved them both off as Belly climbed in. Then Clem turned back toward the beach, brushing a hand through her hair, eyes scanning the dark for her siblings.

"Don't do anything dumb," she called lightly over her shoulder, flashing a teasing look at the group in the Jeep. "And Jeremiah try not to get caught like last year."

Steven, who was now climbing into the back seat, shot her a salute. "No promises."

Clem just shook her head with a smile and set off to find Maggie and Max, the warm thud of adrenaline still dancing in her chest. She'd by lying if she said the danger didn't excite her.

Clem found Maggie slumped in the driver's seat of her car, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel, eyes darting to the rearview mirror like she was chasing ghosts. Max was sprawled out in the backseat, grinning wildly and laughing like the whole night was one big thrill ride.

Without hesitation, Clem spun around in her seat, voice sharp. "Where the hell have you been?!"

Maggie's eyes widened for a second, then she gave a guilty shrug, biting her lip. "Just... had to help Jere with Conrad."

"Of course you did." She rolled her eyes. It seemed like she wanted to go on a full blown rant but instead, she clicked her seatbelt in with a snap. "Conrad Fucking Fisher."

Before Clem could say anything else, Maggie slammed the gear into drive and peeled out, tires kicking up gravel as they sped down the road.

Clem glanced in the mirror just in time to see a cop—a tall figure in uniform—stepping cautiously toward the spot on the road they'd just abandoned. Maggie's heart hammered in her chest as she stole a glance back, realizing just how close they'd come to getting caught.

Max, still in the backseat, threw his head back and laughed, the sound loud and reckless. "God, I live for this."

"There wouldn't have been much to live for at all if we'd been caught!" she snapped, swerving around a curve a little too fast. "Mom would've skinned us alive. Alive, Max."

Maggie clutched the steering wheel, trying not to picture the wrath of their mother. "You are so lucky I found you when I did Max." she muttered, turning to Clem. "This dumbass back here," she motioned backward to their brother, "was aimlessly wandering the beach looking for keys. The keys I had the whole time. The key I specifically told him earlier that I had."

Max groaned, flopping dramatically across the seat. "Okay, yes, Maggie, we get it. But come on—it was a little bit iconic. You saw me lay that guy out, right? Dude went flying."

"You're insane," Maggie said flatly, knuckles white on the wheel.

Clem turned to him, unimpressed. "You're also banned from fighting for the rest of the summer."

Max shrugged, grinning. "Pfff okay." He remarked, sarcasm dripping through his words.

The car screeched to a gravelly stop just outside the darkened stretch of Rosepoint. All the lights were out, the house asleep—or pretending to be. Maggie killed the engine, and for a second, all three of them just sat there in the quiet, breathing.

Max broke the silence. "Alright, raccoons. Time to scurry."

Maggie groaned. "God, I hate this part."

Clem was already unbuckling her seatbelt. "Come on, before the motion light catches us."

They crept through the side yard, dodging the front porch like it was booby-trapped. The old birch tree stood tall against the side of the house, branches like crooked arms stretching toward the second-floor window.

Maggie muttered, "One of these days I'm going to fall and die and it'll be your fault."

Max, already halfway up the tree, grinned down at her. "Then I'll make sure they carve 'died doing something mildly illegal' on your tombstone."

Clem climbed right behind him, nimble and silent. Maggie, grumbling under her breath, followed with less grace but more panic.

One by one, they pulled themselves up onto the roof ledge and shoved the bedroom window open—thankfully still unlocked from a week ago. Clem slipped through first, then Max tumbled in dramatically, landing on the carpet with a muffled "oof." Maggie dragged herself in last, immediately collapsing face-first onto the rug.

They laid there for a second, catching their breath in the dark, heartbeats still racing from the adrenaline.

Max, muffled against the floor: "We are... so good at crime."

The warm glow of the lamp snapped on, flooding the room with soft golden light—and revealing their grandmother perched like royalty in an antique armchair, legs crossed, one eyebrow elegantly arched. A half-empty martini glass dangled from her perfectly manicured fingers.

"Darling," she said dryly, her voice cutting through the silence like silk laced with steel. "It's not crime when it's your own estate."

All three of them froze mid-sprawl, blinking at her like deer caught in headlights. Max was still flat on the floor, Clem half-kneeling, and Maggie had rolled to her side in utter defeat.

"Jesus Christ," Maggie muttered, hand over her heart. "You scared me to death."

Esther simply sipped her martini, utterly unfazed. "That's what happens when you try to break into a home with the grace of drunk raccoons."

Max sat up, wide-eyed. "Were you just... sitting there in the dark waiting for us?"

"I had a feeling you three wouldn't take the front door." Her lips curved. "So I poured a drink and settled in."

Clem recovered first, brushing herself off with a sheepish grin. "We weren't sure who was awake."

"I'm always awake when you're up to no good," she said matter-of-factly. "And judging by the smell of weed and booze and the sand in your shoes, I'd say tonight was especially... spirited?"

Max laughed nervously. "Only a little illegal. Minor misdemeanor stuff."

Their grandmother rose gracefully from the armchair, smoothing the silk of her robe with one hand and picking up her martini with the other. As she made her way toward the door, Maggie called after her, voice tight with concern.

"Will you be telling Mom?"

She paused in the doorway, turning just enough for the dim light to catch the amused curve of her lips. "That depends."

Max sat up straighter. "On what?"

"Did the cops spot you?" she asked, a single brow arched.

All three of them shook their heads quickly.

"No," Clem said. "We got out in time."

Their grandmother nodded, satisfied. "Good. A Beaumont never gets caught. Our family's too important for that." She gave them all a pointed look. "Do remember that."

And with that, she slipped out of the room, her heels tapping softly down the hall, leaving behind the lingering scent of expensive perfume and the unshakable sense that she knew far more than she let on.

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the adrenaline still wearing off, the thrill of near-disaster giving way to relief—and something else entirely.

Max let out a low whistle. "I missed her crazy ass."

Maggie sighed, rubbing her temples. "We are so screwed if she ever does decide to snitch."

Clem just grinned, sinking into the plush couch. "But she won't."

Because somehow, in that moment, it was clear: the real queen of the Beaumont estate had no intention of letting anyone mess with her grandkids—even their own mother or father. The only one allowed to badger and judge them was her.

After a few more quiet moments, Clem, Maggie, and Max exchanged tired looks and wordless goodnights before retreating to their separate rooms.

Maggie closed her door behind her and collapsed onto her bed. Her phone buzzed almost immediately—a call from Steven. She stared at it for a moment but didn't answer. Instead, she switched the phone to silent and rolled over, letting the exhaustion pull her under.

Meanwhile, Clem stood by her window, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Conrad's name in her contacts. She bit her lip, then shook her head, sliding the phone back onto the nightstand. Some calls were harder than others to make—or to receive. She turned off her bedside lamp and slipped under the covers.

But Max? Max wasn't going to bed yet.

As soon as the house fell quiet, he slipped out of bed, quietly padding across the hall and out the door, careful not to wake anyone.

Why? Well, it was a secret no one else knew.

This wasn't some grand romantic escapade—no, far from it. And for two summers now, he and Jeremiah had kept a dirty little secret: a casual, no-strings-attached thing. Just two bisexual people figuring out what they wanted, having fun without labels or pressure.

It wasn't serious. But what it was is messy, chaotic, sometimes complicated—but mostly, it was just fun.

Tonight, like always, the ocean's rhythmic whisper pulled him toward the beach, where Jeremiah waited. And as Max stepped out into the cool night air, he smiled to himself. But it's not like he had caught feelings or anything, he wouldn't let himself.

The second Max's feet hit the sand, Jeremiah was already there—leaning casually against a driftwood log, smirking like he'd been waiting all night.

"Took you long enough," Jere teased, eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

Max grinned back, the tension from the night melting away instantly. Without another word, they closed the distance, lips meeting in a hungry, familiar kiss.

Their hands tangled, pulling each other closer, and before long they tumbled back onto the warm sand, bodies pressing together as the world around them faded.

The salty breeze whispered over them, mixing with soft laughter and breathless whispers—just two people lost in a reckless summer night, discovering each other again after months apart.

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