The kiss tastes better than the cigarette, gives a better kind of high. Richie puts out a hand to pat Carmy's side affectionately before he goes, unable to stop himself touching him as often as possible, then ambles off towards the party. Doesn't look back even though he wants to, because he's trying to stay cool and Carmy would probably just be smug about it if he did.

Back into the fray, it's easier now, more relaxed. Maybe because everyone's a little more drunk and a little more blissed out, or maybe it's just because Richie's feeling good. He fetches drinks and towels and blankets, ferries clean and dirty glasses back and forth from the main house, keeps an eye out for his cousin's return. Bombs out with Grace, but that's okay. The party goes on, breaking up a bit as people pair off or head back to their rooms for privacy. Not everyone needs it -- an hour or so later, when Richie looks up again from cleaning behind the bar, more than a few couples and throuples are getting hot and heavy on the sun loungers and in the pool. There's a lot more casual nudity.

Fireworks bloom and crackle overhead. Richie heads out to the edge of the party and tilts his head to look up at them while he slots a cigarette into his mouth.