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America has never given much thought to nail polish. Now, laying on her belly with Kate’s softest blanket spread out underneath her and the taste of Cherry Coke on her tongue, it seems vastly more important.
Well, important in the lazy sort of way everything suddenly seems colored with.
Kate doesn’t ask her which one she’d like, just grabs one of her many shades of purple from her overflowing shoebox and takes America’s hand. She paints America’s nails with the same precision America has seen her adopt at archery competitions.
"You’re good at this.” She murmurs sleepily.
Kate winks, pops a pink bubblegum bubble in her direction, and goes back to painting.
America couldn’t care less about paying attention to the songs streaming through Kate’s laptop, although it’s the exact kind of music America would usually give her a hard time for.
There are more important things, like the way nail painting lets her stare at Kate up close without worry of being caught. Really, there’s no where else to look, so what could Kate say?
Their faces are tilted close, Kate focused on America and America focused on Kate, but neither looking at each other. Kate doesn’t lean back when her nails are done. She’s inspecting them, but that sounds like a flimsy excuse even before she makes it.
"We should go swimming.” She says, quietly, still in America’s space.
"After my nails are dry. When we get back in, I’ll do yours.”
"It’s only fair.” Kate says, and it’s teasing but it isn’t. It’s close to the way Kate flirts, which isn’t rare, because Kate flirts with everyone, but not when it’s just her and America. Not when their faces are inches from each other’s.
The radio DJ declares that it’s the hottest day of the year right before Kate cuts him off and plays music off of her phone instead. She’s lounging back on a float and sipping pink lemonade before America is even to the edge. Kate looks at her over the top of her sunglasses. “Get in, slowpoke.”
America doesn’t even have time to feel out if place in her borrowed swimsuit before Kate is tugging at her ankle. She dives into the water sharply, relishes in Kate’s delighted laugh and she shakes the water droplets off of her face and hair.
"Thought you might need to cool down.”
"Thanks for the favor, Chavez.”
"Anything for you, Princess.”
Just like that, the switch is turned back and summer is glorious.
Kate ditches the floaty to swim around America, and both of their hair is ruined but they don’t care.
This Kate Bishop is a different creature than the one America met last year, so concerned about how she looked and how others thought she looked that she had hardly let herself have fun at her own party.
America feels it in her chest, that pride she has over the girl Kate’s become, but it seems misplaced. After all, America’s a girl too, and she’s still becoming.
Kate splashes her as if everything she’s done today hasn’t had weird flirty undertones, so America accepts and splashes back.
It isn’t long before Kate is back in her space, their noses nearly touching, all splashing forgotten.
For a second, America thinks they’re going to kiss.
For a second, she wonders if she’ll be able to taste the lemonade on Kate’s lips.
Then, the speaker rattles with that song she knows Kate is obsessed with, and the other girl lights up.
"This is my song! Come on, let’s dance.”
America lets herself fall into the rhythm of it, Kate’s hands on her elbows and sometimes their skin brushes but America doesn’t let herself think about it too much.
She does, however, think about the club they’d went to with Tommy once, how Kate had been trying to make him jealous so she’d danced with Eli and America remembers how she’d danced, remembers it even better with Kate doing it right in front of her.
This is how Kate dances with someone she wants, and that’s never been America before.
Their little pool party fades with their new want: ice cream. They dry off, feet still in the water and talking about everything under the sun that isn’t important enough to make either of them squeamish.
They both get half dressed, Kate tugging tight jeans over her swimsuit and tying a jacket around her waist, America pulling on some shorts and a crop top that is in Kate’s closet but was hers to begin with. America gets cherry and Kate gets cotton candy, but they steal a little of each other’s here and there.
Kate puts on a romcom when they get back, and America chooses a shade of red out of Kate’s shoebox. They lean their toweled heads close, and America scrunches up her face in concentration. She doesn’t have as much experience with this as Kate does. She finishes off the last nail and admires her work.
America was going to sit up and say something, say that she liked the color, say she thought she’d done alright, but she doesn’t have time before Kate is kissing her. It’s the surprise that makes her tense, not whatever it is that Kate thinks as she sits back and winces. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that, I should have asked-“
America pulls the other girl close and pushes her hand back before Kate can get it in her hair.
"You gotta let those dry.” She reminds her, and Kate pouts.
America kisses that pout away.