"You're a better liar than I was my first year."
Brittany laughed. "Okay. It's pretty bad."
"The members are the worst. Some of them, anyway. They forget that we're people."
"There was a woman today—" She trailed off. But they were all looking at her, and the fire and the beer and how quickly everyone had welcomed her in, and she started talking. The cabana came out. The demand. Pam's quiet talk in the office.
"Campbell?" Miguel said. "I worked the club last summer. She's legendary. Got a bartender fired for putting one too many ice cubes in her gin and tonic."
"One ice cube?"
"She has a system."
"That's insane," Brittany said.
"That's the club." Dana picked at the label on her bottle. "You learn who to avoid. You learn who tips well and who complains no matter what. It's a game. Play it right and you make decent money. Play it wrong and you're doing double shifts until Labor Day."
The conversation shifted. Other stories, other members, a mythology of the beach club that Brittany was only beginning to understand. She listened more than she talked, nursing her beer, letting the fire heat her face while her back stayed cool.
At some point, the group broke apart. People wandered to other blankets, other conversations. The music changed to something with a little more bass. Another log landed on the fire.
Ryan dropped onto the blanket next to her.
"Thanks," she said. "For inviting me."
"Sure." He stretched out, propping himself on one elbow. "Having fun?"
"More than I expected." She watched the sparks drift upward. "Today was rough."
"The Campbell thing?"
She nodded.
"You fit fine here." He bumped his shoulder against hers. "Better than fine."
She didn't pull away.
The fire had burned lower. People were still talking in clusters, but the energy had shifted, quieter now, more intimate. The waves were louder than the music, and the stars had come out thick and bright in a way they never did back home.
"Can I ask you something?" Brittany said.
"Go for it."
"You mentioned environmental engineering earlier. Is that really what you want?"
Ryan stretched out on the blanket, hands behind his head. "Most people think I'm kidding when I say stuff like that. Like I'm just some guy who works at a beach club."
"I didn't think you were kidding."
He turned his head to look at her. In the firelight, he was all angles and shadows.
"My grandfather used to take me crabbing out on the bay when I was a kid," he said. "Same spots his dad took him. Except half of them don't work anymore. The water's different. The grass beds are disappearing. Last summer we couldn't find blue crabs where they'd always been." He paused. "That's not supposed to happen in one generation."
"That's sad."
"It's motivating." He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I want to understand what's causing it and figure out how to fix it. Water quality, runoff, all the stuff that's changing the ecosystem. That's what environmental engineers do."
She studied his face. Not the side of him she'd assumed, the ease, the confidence. This was different.
