“What’s phlox?”

I point below us. The moon casts a spotlight on the blooms, the illumination turning the petals into glowing jewels. The scent of lavender rises from their broken stems.

“Oh. My bad.”

I don’t know what to do with my hands. He’s too close. I can’t rest them on the ledge.

It’s chilly out, but I don’t want to hug my arms. I don’t want him to think I’m intimidated. Or that my nipples are hard because of him. They are hard, but it’s because of the chill. I’m not wearing a bra, and the cotton of my nightgown is thin.

I don’t know why I care what...