Chapter 10
“How the hell does this stupid thing work?” I complain, struggling with the television remote control. Technology was Matt’s department. Choosing which rom-com to watch was mine. I press the ‘up’ arrow button, hoping it will rescue me from the monotonous loop of hotel amenities channels, in both Spanish and English.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I land on “Lust on Carnal Cruise Line.” It’s a ‘relationship’ (and I use that term loosely) reality show based on a cruise ship.
“Puh-lease,” I whine in frustration. “These people could give a rat’s ass about each other. They only want camera time.” With an exasperated sigh, I tap the arrow button again, hoping to find something more appealing. “I’ve had my fill of shady people back home. I don’t want to watch it here.”
After an hour of futile channel surfing, I give up and click off the television. The silence in the room brings relief, enabling me to appreciate the stillness of what’s left of today. It’s a beautiful night and there’s a stunning view waiting for me on the balcony. I should enjoy it.
I hop off my plush king-sized bed, the tile cool beneath my bare feet. I tighten the belt on my white terrycloth robe and make my way across the room towards the sliding glass doors.
As I step onto the balcony, the humid air envelopes me. The smell of the ocean lingers in the air. I settle into one of the outdoor chairs and gaze at the view before me.
Reflecting on tonight, I can’t stop grinning at the memory of dinner. Miguel captivated our table with his culinary skills, surpassing any hibachi show at home. Sharing a table with strangers is always a gamble, but the night was surprisingly fun.
Thanks to Daniel.
It’s been an eternity since a man made me smile, and this annoying man I barely know effortlessly draws them out of me.
And I thank him by acting like a bitch.
No wonder he kept walking.
“I’m an idiot,” I mumble under my breath.
I lean my head back, resting it against the wall. I close my eyes, surrendering to the sound of crashing waves in the distance. Each wave rolls in, one after the other, soothing my overactive thoughts. The warm, salty scent of the sea air brings comfort, transporting me back to the carefree summers of my childhood spent at the beach.
My haven.
Before I knew Matt existed. Before I was humiliated and broken. Before he shattered my heart so recklessly. Tears well up, slowly trickling down my cheeks. A heaviness centers in my heart as I think of him and the careless, awful things he did.
I’m sad, yet there’s a part of me that isn’t. I’m all over the place, unable to find solid ground within myself.
What I’d give for a life do-over.
Back when Matt and I were still together, my family would rent a beach house for a week. Matt conveniently made plans with his old college roommates, always overlapping with my plans. After the second year in a row, it became clear that his boys’ trips to Las Vegas were purposely arranged to override spending time with my family.
It should have been a glaring red flag, a warning that he’d lie so easily. Things that were important to me meant nothing to him. But instead of anger… I was relieved. Maybe deep down, I knew he didn’t belong in the world I loved. I was content with keeping this part of my life, this part that held so much meaning to me, separate from him.
What does that say about me? About him? About us?
The fact is—he only belonged to himself. He was never mine. I see that now.
I wish I saw it then.
Matt had no interest in skeeball, mini-golf, or body surfing until the lifeguards blew their whistles and went home. He barely tolerated visiting my parents for an occasional Sunday dinner. I don’t know why I thought he’d spend a few days with them. He didn’t even try.
Besides, he loathed salt water taffy, a clear deal breaker.
But love is blind—and I was sightless.
And as for those boys’ trips…
Sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas?
Brushing away my tears, I open my eyes to the breathtaking sight of the silvery-white moon glowing against the cloudless night sky. Its radiant glow casts delicate ripples of light upon the serene, dark blue water, creating a mesmerizing reflection. A deep sense of peace washes over me.
Through moments of joy and sorrow, the moon has been my constant. My loyal companion. My beacon of hope. The holder of my secrets. The light in my darkness.
“Thanks for coming along,” I say to my celestial friend. “I can always count on you.”
“You’re welcome,” a voice responds, causing me to freeze in disbelief.
What in the what?
Okay. I may be fragile right now, but my sake buzz has dulled enough to know—the moon doesn’t talk back.
Oh, for crying out loud…
“Daniel?” I ask in frustration.
“Tess?” he replies, his voice filled with humor, coming from the other side of the balcony divider.
“Why are you talking to me?” I ask.
“You talked to me first.”
“I did not.”
“Are you alone?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Do you have an imaginary friend sitting next to you?”
“Funny,” I deadpan.
“Then who were you talking to if not your distinguished balcony neighbor?” he asks.
“The moon,” I confess, aware of how absurd it sounds. “Go ahead.”
“Go ahead and what?”
“Make fun of me.”
“For talking to the moon?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not going to make fun of you, Tess,” Daniel’s voice softens, his tone suddenly sincere.
“Why not? You seem to enjoy busting my balls.”
“First, I’m pretty sure you don’t have any balls to bust,” he says, his playful side returning.
“You know what I mean.”
“And second,” he continues. “The moon is a great listener.”
“Yeah.” A wary smile tugs at the side of my mouth. Not everybody understands this. “It is.”
“And a good friend when you’re down.” There’s a comforting genuineness in his tone that puts me at ease.
“From the time I was a kid, it’s always been there for me.”
“Even at your lowest,” he finishes my thought as though he understands my pain. “It’s incredible when you think about it. The second the world goes dark, the universe flicks on a switch, and moonbeams travel thousands of miles and zeroes in on the tiny fractures in your soul. Then it shoots radiant light inside those cracks, giving you peace when you need it the most. The moon is pretty damn cool.”
“HmmMmm.” I swallow, feeling the knot in my throat.
“And it’s made of cheese,” he adds, a witty tone in his voice.
A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. “That’s what my dad used to say.”
“Sounds like a wise man.”
“He is. And a saint to put up with my mother.”
“She’s a lot, huh?”
“She’s been watching every online webcam in the Riviera Maya to see if she can spot me.”
“Impressive,” he chuckles. “It’s nice to have someone looking out for you.”
“Yeah, literally,” I joke.
“So, what are you and the moon discussing?”
“Nothing.”
“Meaning nothing you want to talk about?” he asks.
“Some things I’m not ready to…,” I trail off, a sigh escaping me as I fight back more tears, “revisit.”
“If the moon doesn’t come through for you—I’m a great listener too. If you ever want to talk to… you know… a human. With a mouth and the ability to have words come out of said mouth.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“Fair point,” he concedes. “What do you want to know about me?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to know anything.”
“That’s impossible. I’m intriguing.”
“You’re insane.”
“How about a few basic facts?” he continues. “Hmm… Unlike the moon, I am not made of cheese.”
“But you speak cheesy fluently,” I tease.
“Don’t knock it. It’s the number one romance language,” he says coyly. “Brie, cheddar, gruyere… feeling sexy yet?”
“Not even a little,” I answer dryly, a smirk playing on my lips.
“Ahh… Camembert,” he says in an exaggerated French accent.
“Nope.” I shake my head, amused.
“You little minx. You’re a gouda girl, aren’t you?”
“Guilty.”
“Good to know. Anyway… let’s get back to me. My name is Daniel Edwards. I’m thirty-one, devilishly handsome, and a former Mr. Nude Olympian. That’s old school Greek Olympics, there.”
Shaking my head again, I chuckle.
“One thing I just listed may have been a lie,” he adds.
“The devilishly handsome line?” I ask cheekily.
“Ouch,” he says. “I know you can’t see this, but I’m clutching my pearls right now.”
My amusement overwhelms me, causing me to erupt in laughter. “You really are crazy.”
“You mispronounced charming.”
“You’re something, alright.”
“Now it’s your turn,” he says. “Tell me something about you.”
“Like what?”
“Anything you want to share.”
Do I want to share anything with this stranger? I guess he’s not so much a total stranger anymore—more like someone I met who’s a little strange.
Oh, what the hell. It’s not like I’m giving him my social security number and date of birth.
“Well… I’m twenty-eight. I live in New Jersey. And I’m a billionaire supermodel.”
“Sorry, Tess. I have to call you out on that blatant lie.”
“What lie?” I feign innocence.
“You’re not really from New Jersey, are you?”
I let out a chuckle. “You got me. I grew up on Staten Island and moved from there when I got my first adult job.”
“First adult job,” he muses. “Hmm, let me guess. You were an actress.”
“Umm, yeah. Sure.”
“Porn, right?”
“Yup.” Amused, I nod toward the wall between us.
“Hardcore or softcore?”
“All the cores,” I say, a smile forming on my lips.
“I knew you looked familiar.”
Tilting my head back, I laugh again.
“By the way,” he says. “I love your body… of work.”
“Thanks.”
“You made an exceptionally believable lawyer in Indecent Exposure.”
“It was my excellent oral skills, wasn’t it?”
“Ab-so-lutely,” he draws out the word, his voice low and dripping in sexy.
“Hey! I was referring to my court arguments,” I protest. “I successfully sued the pants off many defendants.”
“Yeah. Literally. If memory serves—you got a few of those guys off—of the charges brought against them, that is.”
“But I had a heart of gold. Don’t forget… I worked for free on many of those cases.”
“That’s right… you were known as the pro-boner attorney.”
I tilt my head to the side and nod. “Yup. That’s me.”
“Didn’t you win an acting award as a nude taxidermist in Mounting Things?”
“I did. Nude taxidermy was a real innovation for straight to streaming on cable TV cinema.”
“But you almost lost to Muffs with Cuffs,” he points out.
“Pffft. Panty-less undercover detectives are soooo yesterday’s porn,” I state unequivocally.
“I’m a big fan of that Regency period piece you did… Nude Prudes.”
“Believe it or not, that masterpiece only cost a few dollars to produce. Not a lot of wardrobe to budget. Other than a corset. And a riding crop.”
“I found it titillating.”
“You were dying to use that word, weren’t you?” I tease.
“Titillating?” He lets out a laugh. “It was begging to be said.”
“You seem well versed in porn. Have you dabbled?”
“Unfortunately, no. I’m but a simple fan with one hand on the remote control and the other hand on…” He pauses briefly and clears his throat. “Elsewhere.”
“You know, this conversation should appall me.” I’m smiling so much, it’s ridiculous.
“Why?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little…”
“Risqué?”
“Yes.”
“Have I offended you?” he asks.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But how did you know you wouldn’t?”
“Calculated risk. You had your eyes glued to a book called Wicked Temptation all day long. It’s a pretty safe bet that a friendly conversation about sex probably won’t phase you. The odds were in my favor.”
“You’re a fascinatingly strange man.”
“Most of us devilishly handsome former Mr. Nude Olympians are.”
“With that”—I stand from my seat—“I think I’m going to turn in for the night.”
“Okay. Have a pleasant evening, Counselor Connie Linguist.”
“God, you’re awful,” I joke.
“You mispronounced amazing.”
“Goodnight, neighbor. And thanks for not lighting up the cigar in your hand while I’m out here,” I say, appreciating the absence of the pungent smoke.
“How do you know I’m holding a cigar?” he asks.
“Are you?”
“I am,” he says, amused. “Good night, Tess.”
As I walk to the sliding glass door, my hand curves around the metal handle, and I pause, looking toward the divider wall. “Hey, Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Taking over for the moon.”
He pauses for a beat and I know he’s smiling. “You’re welcome.”
Occupied by my phone, I scrolled through countless recipes, house projects, and Hollywood gossip. In between swipes, I find myself lost in thoughts of the balcony conversation I shared with Daniel moments ago. He may be a pain in my ass and wildly inappropriate, but he sure knows how to make me smile when I least expect it.
Maybe I should…
No.
Maybe a teeny peek.
Don’t do it.
He gave me his full name. That’s an invitation for a covert investigation, isn’t it?
Absolutely.
“D-a-n-i-e-l E-d-w-a-r-d-s,” I murmur, my fingers tapping the letters into the search bar on Instagram. As the search results appear, I squint at each tiny profile picture. “Oh my God, that’s him.”
My heart flutters. Hovering my finger above his picture, I close my eyes, anticipation coursing through me. With a gentle tap of my index finger, I delve into the unknown, ready to uncover more about my balcony neighbor.
“Holy crap,” I say in astonishment. “Wow.”
Post after post show mesmerizing photographs of individuals from every walk of life. His camera has captured small, intimate moments that are distinctly human. Candid. Raw.
Wrinkles, scars, laughter, and tears… it’s all here.
Generations co-mingled. Boundless joy, fear, sadness, love. It’s more than seeing it in his posts. Somehow, these images transport me to a different place and make me feel connected to them.
Each photo tells a story… from the jubilant wonder of a grandparent holding a newborn, the tears rolling down the cheek of a widow clutching a folded flag, and a wide-eyed toddler getting his nose licked by a puppy.
All breathtakingly beautiful.
Powerful. Moving. Lighthearted. Solemn.
Real moments, frozen in time.
That crazy man is seriously talented.
“That must have been his camera case he was treating with kid gloves on the plane,” I whisper under my breath.
I continue spying on his life, scrolling through beautiful photograph after photograph. Some captions are light and funny, like Daniel—while others are profound and thoughtful.
There’s more to my nutty balcony neighbor than meets the eye.
Among all the photos, one stands out to me, piquing my interest. Daniel’s arm is wrapped around a blond woman with stunning blue eyes. They’re both laughing, their cheerful expressions genuine, not forced or posed. I have no doubt there’s a connection.
Maybe that’s his girlfriend.
I know that I’m about to cross what’s probably an uncrossable line. But something inside of me needs to know who she is to him.
That something is called nosiness.
And in this case, nosiness surpasses common sense.
By a mile.
Anyway, social media stalking isn’t against the law… if his privacy setting is public.
“Blue eyes and blue skies,” I read the caption out loud. “That tells me nothing.” Frustrated, I tap on the photo to read any additional comments, but nothing happens.
Then I see it.
“Oh no. Shit. Shit. Shit.” The little heart under the photo is red. Oh my God, I liked the photo. I liked the damn photo. “Unlike. Unlike. Unlike,” I repeat in panic as I unclick the heart. The red disappears, and the heart is hollow again.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, I’m about to click out of Instagram when my phone pings and I get a notification.
Dread fills my chest. “No. It’s impossible.” I click on the red arrow at the top corner of the page and my stomach flips.
There’s a notification waiting for me.
From Daniel Edwards.
“Crap,” I mumble. My stomach twists in knots as I open the message.
Daniel Edwards
Snooping?
My eyes slam shut and I wince. Caught red-handed.
Ignore him. It’ll be like it never happened.
Daniel Edwards
If you want to know more about me—you just had to ask.
This isn’t happening.
Daniel Edwards
I know you liked my picture. I got the notification before you unliked it. You’re the only Tess I know.
A surge of adrenaline courses through me, and I take a breath to center myself. I shrug my shoulders and try to curl my body inward, as if I could physically disappear from the situation I so stupidly put myself in.
Daniel Edwards
Were you trying to screenshot my Mr. Nude Olympian pictures?
I wasn’t… mostly because they don’t exist.
Daniel Edwards
I knew you were admiring my wet, glistening body while we were at the pool today.
Do not engage. Do not engage.
Daniel Edwards
Hey… Were you checking out my sultans too?
Oh. My. God.
Daniel Edwards
I feel so violated.
Oh. My. God.
Daniel Edwards
They don’t swing, but they do occasionally sway.
I keep my lips pressed tightly, trying to suppress the giggle rising from within me. Are we actually having a one-sided conversation about his balls? This is nuts.
Literally.
Nuts.
Daniel Edwards
That made you laugh. Didn’t it?
Yes.
Daniel Edwards
You have a nice laugh.
So do you.
Daniel Edwards
I know you’re reading this. The app tells me when the messages were read.
Dammit. I forgot about that.
Daniel Edwards
Ah…I get it. You’re holding out for a dick pic. Give me a sec… I’ll send one.
No. No. No. Gross.
He’s ventured into creeper territory. This is seriously not okay. And disgusting. What’s with guys thinking women want to see their junk without asking? That won’t win you over and it definitely won’t get me into your bed.
My phone pings. I close my eyes, and cringe.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
Slowly, I crack one eye open because… nosey.
Daniel Edwards
Enjoy!
The picture loads slowly. Damn Wi-Fi. Finally, the full photo in all its glory loads. I smack my cheek and laugh out loud.
It’s a book cover.
He sent me a picture of Moby Dick.
Daniel Edwards
Now, that’s a BIG dick. Impressed?
Tapping into the reply bar, I type, “Very.” My index finger hovers over the send button, then I shake my head. “No,” I tell myself, and delete the four letters.
Daniel Edwards
I know you’re there. I saw you typing.
Ah, crap! I forgot he can see when someone’s typing a reply. This guy doesn’t miss a damn thing.
Daniel Edwards
It’s okay. You don’t have to answer.
Good, because I’m not going to.
Daniel Edwards
But I hope I made you smile.
You did. A lot.
Daniel Edwards
Until tomorrow… Sweet dreams, Tess.
“Good night, Daniel,” I whisper to my phone and smile.