Coco spies Bull in the bow talking to Fast Eddie and Addison Wheeler. Andrea, Delilah, and Phoebe are chatting amongst themselves. Sharon and the hot guy from the Steamship are all cozied up. Where is Leslee? Coco wanders the boat until she sees her boss with Benton Coe in the stern, leaning against the back gate. Leslee has opted for a different look tonight: a pair of skinny blue jeans and a tight Budweiser T-shirt with a red bandanna woven through her braid. Bright red lipstick. Coco has to admit, Leslee looks adorable (and far more comfortable than, say, Fast Eddie’s wife, who came in a red silk gown). Benton obviously appreciates Leslee’s look because the two of them are standing hip to hip, and when Leslee reaches up to rub Benton’s neck, he lolls his head back and groans with delight.

Coco feels like she’s spying. This is none of her business, she should be working; with thirty-five people on board, someone will need a drink. Kacy is sitting by herself on the starboard side. Coco should spend a few minutes with her, let Kacy take a selfie of them the way she likes to (knowing Kacy, she’s probably making a Snapfish album that she’ll give to Coco at the end of the summer; she’s thoughtful that way)—but Coco can’t tear her eyes away from Leslee and Benton. Benton sits on the back bench and Leslee moves behind him to give him a full-on back rub. After a moment, she bends down and whispers in his ear.

Is anyone else seeing this? Coco wonders.

The Chief is restless. The Fourth is one of his least favorite days of the year. It starts with all of the antics out at Nobadeer Beach—girls going topless, guys doing flips off the dunes, idiots using empty beer bottles as projectiles, the entire Boston College offensive line getting into a scrap with half the Morgan Stanley trading floor. Every year the Chief’s officers write over a hundred tickets for underage drinking. This segues right into fifteen thousand people cramming onto Jetties Beach with their hibachi grills and open containers. Talk about a public-safety nightmare. Then there are the bozos who have bought fireworks out of state and choose to set them off from their buddy’s widow’s walk. There are noise complaints, people losing fingers, yards catching on fire.

As the Chief, Andrea, and Kacy were driving to Swain’s Wharf to meet the Richardsons’ boat, a car zoomed by, passing them illegally on Washington Street.

“Whoa, buddy,” the Chief said. It was a silver Range Rover with the license plate BEAST. The blond kid driving eyed Ed in his rearview mirror and flipped him off. You again? Ed thought.

“Pull him over, Ed,” Andrea said.

Ed wanted to, very badly, but they were in Andrea’s car, he had no lights or siren, and they were already running late. He didn’t want the boat to leave without them.

Now, Ed regrets his decision to come. What the hell is he doing on this boat? He should be on the ground with the rest of his department. The Fourth is an all-hands-on-deck occasion and here he is, aboard what is essentially a floating nightclub.

He takes a breath. He’s not drinking tonight, Coco was kind enough to bring him a seltzer with lime, and he has his phone in case of emergencies, but it’s been quiet. Will this luck hold? The Chief has been listening to Jeffrey talk about how the dry summer has helped the corn crop while their wives gab away and Addison schmoozes with Bull and Fast Eddie. The Chief pushes himself to his feet.

“Are you getting one of those pies?” Jeffrey asks.

Oh, how he’d love to, but Andrea lectured him about not letting summertime sabotage his healthy routines, so no—no pie. “Just taking a stroll,” he says. The fact is, he can’t sit still. He wants the fireworks to be over, he wants to get back to Swain’s Wharf. He wants to put out an APB for the jackass in the silver Range Rover.

Ed feels better once he’s moving and catches the breeze. He circles to the back of the boat, reminding himself to breathe; the biggest threat to his health isn’t cherry pie, it’s stress.

He should have waited until next summer to attend parties like this—but Andrea is gung ho about the Richardsons. Eric and Avalon managed to wiggle out of this; the Chief should have done the same. Everyone would have understood.

He reaches the stern of the boat, hoping to be alone to reflect, but there’s a couple on the back bench, the woman standing behind the man with her hands on his shoulders.

“Oops, sorry,” Ed says. He’s interrupting—but then the woman turns and he sees it’s Leslee Richardson with Benton Coe. She’s… what? Giving him a back rub? Benton hops to his feet, shakes out his arms, and says, “I feel much better, thanks.” Then he offers Ed a lopsided smile as if to say, This isn’t what it looks like. Ed isn’t there to judge, though he’s made uncomfortable by the memory of Leslee Richardson appearing in his dream. They were dancing together. This thought is enough to propel Ed right back to the front of the boat.

He shouldn’t be here.

During the fireworks, Coco approaches the empty seat next to Lamont. “Mind if I sit?”

Without looking at her he says, “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

He can’t be any clearer than that. What happened on the beach was a fluke, then—except Coco knows it wasn’t. She knows Lamont likes her. So… he’s worried about the rule. As if Leslee isn’t breaking all kinds of rules herself.

Coco moves closer to the bow and sits with Kacy. She considers telling Kacy about Leslee and Benton but the whistles, pops, and bangs make conversation impossible. Kacy snaps a selfie of the two of them—their faces are luminous with a rose-gold glow.

After what seems like an interminable wait—one rocket soars and explodes, then the next, at a leisurely pace—the fireworks start to overlap, unfolding one on top of the other.

This, then, is the finale. Coco turns around to sneak a peek at Lamont—and feels like she’s been slapped. Leslee has taken the empty spot next to him; she has her arm snaked around the back of his seat, and one of her blue-jeaned legs is flung across Lamont’s lap.

Kacy turns to look as well. “Jeez, poor Lamont.”

What had he said on Whale Island? When Bull offered me the job, he told me I’m supposed to treat her like the only woman in the world. But sorry, this is beyond inappropriate. Coco checks to see if anyone else has noticed. Bull is up in the bow with his real estate bros, and the other guests’ gazes are all aimed skyward. Those who have noticed are probably turning a blind eye because they’re thrilled to have been invited on this sail and they may even believe that the way Bull and Leslee Richardson conduct their marriage is their own business.

Coco’s rage glows like a hot coal in her chest. Leslee is abusing Lamont, taking advantage of his service and employment. She probably thinks he finds all the touching and flirting harmless, maybe even flattering.

Does he? Coco wonders.

When the sky finally goes dark, everyone on the boat and back on shore cheers.

Yankee Doodle Dandy, Coco thinks. It’s over.

Bull stands in the prow and raises his champagne flute. “Where’s my wife?” he calls. “Leslee?”

Leslee peels herself off Lamont and weaves among her party guests until she reaches Bull. The music starts back up—“American Woman” by Lenny Kravitz. Leslee grabs Bull around the waist and hugs him close, then they do some hokey dance steps to prove what a cute couple they are.

Bull beams. Coco supposes that to the casual observer, he must seem like the luckiest man in the world.

It’s well after ten when Eddie and Grace get back to their car, but Grace says, “I thought the party would go on much longer. I thought maybe we’d be invited back to their house.”

“This is just as well,” Eddie says. “I have a showing at nine tomorrow.”

Grace sniffs. “Did you see? First Leslee was all over Benton Coe, then she threw herself at Lamont.”

“Wow,” Eddie says. “She’s a real firecracker on the Fourth, huh?”

Grace scowls, leaving Eddie to laugh at his own dad joke.

There’s a knock on the door of Coco’s apartment. She sits straight up in bed, though half her brain is still asleep. She’s dreaming? There’s another knock. No, she’s awake, and someone is here. She checks her phone—it’s a quarter past twelve. Nobody has come up to Coco’s apartment since she moved in.

Another knock.

Well, she thinks, it’s either Bull or Leslee. Maybe Bull realized he was being cuckolded at his own party on his own yacht and wants to get even by trying to seduce Coco. Maybe it’s Leslee because she needs someone to listen while she feels herself: Tonight was so fabulous, the best Fourth of July party this island has ever seen! Maybe she thinks Coco didn’t do a thorough job cleaning up (she did a very thorough job and found another barbecued rib stuck inside the Kleenex box in the guest bathroom; someone was out to make a point). Maybe she thinks Coco didn’t separate the trash and recycling correctly (Coco is fastidious about the trash and recycling after being schooled by the women who work at the town dump).

Whatever the reason, Coco doesn’t want to see either of the Richardsons. She will pretend she’s asleep.

Her phone pings with a text. She reads it and then lies back in bed, blowing air at the ceiling. Ignore it, she thinks. But she can’t.

She opens the front door. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Lamont says. He leans against the doorframe like one of the Abercrombie models from Coco’s youth. He’s wearing his crisp white captain’s shirt; Coco’s eyes are drawn to his neck and the pulse visible beneath his smooth brown skin.

“You do realize that showing up here in the middle of the night comes dangerously close to breaking the rule?” she says.

“Yes.” His eyes narrow at her. Has she ever been looked at so intensely? “My attraction to you is more powerful than my fear of breaking the rule.”

“Is it?” she asks. Her nipples harden beneath the white tank she wears to bed. She moves one inch closer to him but does not touch him. She wants him to be the one to cross the line.

“It is.” His voice is husky. He traces a finger along her exposed clavicle, dipping into the hollow at her neck. His touch is featherlight, more a tease than a touch, and it’s working. Coco feels a pulsing between her legs. She wants to undo his brass anchor belt buckle, but she stands perfectly still.

“I don’t want you to treat Leslee like the only woman in the world,” she says. “I want you to treat me that way.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Finally, he bends down. His lips hover over hers for a second, then he kisses her and she pulls him inside.