You’re still barefoot when your phone buzzes on the car seat beside you. The wind smells like sunscreen and salt, and your skin’s a little sticky from the heat, even though the sun’s already disappeared behind the dunes. You glance at the screen: Brendan 💙.

“Almost there,” you type back, biting a smile.

The music is low, Maddie’s driving with her elbow out the window, her braid messy and tangled from the wind.

“Ten bucks says Brendan’s already shirtless and acting like it’s Baywatch out there,” she says with a laugh, eyes on the road but a smirk tugging at her lips.

You giggle. “I mean, it’s Brendan.”

You know what she means. Your boyfriend has always had this movie-poster thing going for him—tall, golden, abs like a Calvin Klein ad. He walks like he owns every sidewalk he steps on. But you know the other side of him too. The one who sets reminders for your exams, who kisses your forehead like it’s a habit, who always asks if you got home safe even when you’re three towns over.

Maddie parks close to the dunes, and the sound of your old high school friends laughing and yelling hits you before you even get out of the car. A bonfire is already going, music spilling from someone’s speaker, red solo cups clutched in sun-warmed hands.

You spot him instantly. Brendan’s by the fire, hoodie slung low on his hips, red swim trunks hanging just right, and his arm slung around his best friend, Jason—broad, loud, still calling everyone “bro” even though it’s been over a year since graduation.

The second Brendan sees you, his whole face lights up. That ridiculous smile spreads across his cheeks, freckles and all, and he jogs toward you, kicking sand behind him.

“You took forever,” he says, wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up like he always does.

You laugh against his chest. “I had to stop Maddie from running over two squirrels and a cyclist.”

“Oh, please,” Maddie calls from behind you. “You’d miss me if I went to jail.”

The night is warm, like it never really cooled down, and everything smells like firewood and sunscreen and the beach. You all sit in a loose circle around the fire, legs tangled, stories louder than they need to be. Jason’s telling some story about a guy who tried to sneak beer into prom under his suit, and Maddie’s already wheezing.

Someone pulls out sparklers. You chase Brendan down the beach with one, shrieking as he pretends he’s not terrified of fire.

It’s stupid and fun and perfect.

And then it’s time.

The fireworks are about to start. You’re lying on a big beach towel, half on top of Brendan, your head resting on his chest. Maddie and Jason are beside you, passing around a bag of marshmallows even though there’s nothing left to roast them on.

The sky cracks open with color. Red, white, blue—all of it lighting up the ocean in glittering waves.

“God,” you murmur, watching the sky like it’s new. “I missed this.”

Brendan turns his head, looking at you, not the fireworks. “Me too.”

There’s a pause, soft and full.

“I love you, you know,” he adds, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Even if you’re a menace with sparklers.”

You smirk. “You’re lucky I haven’t set you on fire.”

Another firework explodes in gold above you, and for a second, you’re both quiet, just watching. The reflection dances in his eyes. Then he leans in and kisses you—slow, like he has all the time in the world.

Your heart squeezes in that way it always does when he surprises you with gentleness. Even after two years, he still has that effect.

“Happy Fourth,” you whisper.

Brendan leans in again, smiling against your lips. “Happy us.”