Page 90 of Without a Clue

His brows pinch together.

He looks around the room, puzzled.

“Oookay. What am I looking at?”

I wave my arms toward the drawn curtains.

I’m grinning despite myself.

I’m bad at surprises, or at least I’ve been told by Michael that I’m bad at surprises.

Shake it off, Pip. You did good.

“Follow me.” I draw the curtains open.

The small balcony overlooks the orb of the full moon.

It glows brightly in the distance.

Stars twinkle.

A white latticework bistro table rests there with two petite chairs on either side.

Two black-and-white-striped cushions sit on the seats, while bundles of glowing votive candles light up the balcony.

They are flickering on the ground; flickering on the table; flickering in every little corner I could possibly and without threat of serious fire arrange them.

A covered silver platter sits at one seat.

A laptop at the other.

The whole landscape consists of two colors: brilliant white and a deep, inky black.

It’s terrifying, quite frankly, and under no circumstance but this one would I be caught dead walking onto a balcony over the ocean in the dead of night.

But . . . the landscape is also beautiful.

The light and dark enriching the other.

Spotlighting the other.

Showing off each other’s beauty, each other’s strengths.

Like Nash and me, maybe.

I hope.

“I read the last chapters of your work in progress while you were in the shower,” I say, carefully (and I mean carefully) tiptoeing onto the balcony and sitting down.

I open the laptop. “You had sent me up to chapter 22 before the cruise. Now I’m up-to-date. Chapter 26. And I see what you mean about being stuck. I’ve made some notes.”

I gesture for him to sit.

“What?”

Nash looks dazed, but he follows.

When he does, I lift the top from the platter.