Chapter 9: Hot Tub Under the Midnight Sun
The midnight sun hung over the horizon like a wound that wouldn't close.
Jordan had been watching it for an hour—that pale, relentless disc that refused to sink, that turned the sky into a smear of orange and pink and something that wasn't quite purple. It was three in the morning, or maybe four. Time had stopped meaning anything somewhere around the second day at sea.
The hot tub was empty when he'd climbed in. Now it wasn't.
She surfaced beside him with a gasp, water streaming from her hair, and fixed him with a look that was half challenge, half amusement.
"Fuck me, this is weird," she said. "The sun's just... there. Like a creep."
Jordan blinked at her. "Yeah. It takes some getting used to."
"Tessa." She stuck out a wet hand. "Australian. Before you ask."
"Jordan."
"Jordan." She tested the name like she was trying to decide if she liked it. "You look like a Jordan. All broody and journal-y."
"How do you know I journal?"
"Lucky guess." She settled onto the bench across from him, the water lapping at her collarbone. She was maybe twenty, with sun-bleached hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose and shoulders. A tattoo curled around her left wrist—something in Latin that he couldn't read. "So what's your deal? Running from something or running toward something?"
"Both?"
"Vague. I like it." She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. "I'm running from a guy named Caleb who proposed to me in a McDonald's parking lot. Not a euphemism. He actually proposed. With a ring from a vending machine."
"Did you say yes?"
"I said fuck no and booked a flight to Europe the next morning." She opened one eye. "Your turn."
"I left college to find myself or something equally pretentious."
"Find yourself." She snorted. "You find anything yet?"
"A few things."
"Like what?"
He considered the question. The water bubbled around him, warm and soothing, and the sun stared down like it was waiting for an answer too.
"I found out I'm good at leaving," he said finally. "Not sure if that's a thing to be proud of."
Tessa laughed—a sharp, genuine sound that cut through the hum of the hot tub. "Mate, that's the most honest thing anyone's said to me in weeks. Everyone on this ship is pretending they're having the time of their lives. You're the first person who looks like they actually hate it."
"I don't hate it."
"You look like you're at a funeral."
"I'm just... thinking."
"About what?"
He shrugged. "The people I've met. The people I've left."
"Ah." She nodded sagely. "The leaving. That's the hard part, isn't it? Not the meeting. The walking away."
"Yeah."
They sat in silence for a moment. A couple wandered past on the deck above, laughing about something, their footsteps echoing on the metal. The ship creaked. The water churned.
"So," Tessa said, "what's the wildest thing you've done on this trip?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I'm bored and you're interesting and I want to know if you're actually as sad as you look or if there's something else going on under there."
Jordan laughed. It surprised him—a real laugh, rusty from disuse. "You're blunt."
"I'm Australian. We don't do subtle."
"Fair enough." He thought about it. "I had sex with a Japanese girl in a Dublin hostel while five other people were sleeping in the same room."
Tessa's eyebrows shot up. "That's not bad. Was she good?"
"She was... new. It was her first time."
"First time with you or first time ever?"
"Ever."
"Fuck off." Tessa leaned forward, genuinely interested now. "And you just... what? Showed her the ropes?"
"I guess." He looked down at the water. "She left a note the next morning. Said it was the most beautiful night of her life."
"Did you believe her?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You're a romantic." It wasn't a compliment the way she said it. More like a diagnosis. "That's gonna get you hurt."
"It already has."
Tessa was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I fucked a guy in a train bathroom between Prague and Vienna. Whole thing lasted maybe four minutes. He came on my tits and then asked if I wanted to get a coffee at the next stop."
"Did you?"
"No. I got off at a different station and never saw him again."
They traded stories back and forth for another hour. Tessa had a way of talking about her life like it was a series of anecdotes she was testing out for laughs—but underneath the bravado, Jordan could hear something else. The same thing he heard in his own voice when he talked too much. Loneliness, dressed up as adventure.
"So," she said eventually, "what's your record?"
"Record for what?"
"Making someone come. Fastest."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "That's a weird question."
"It's a dare." She grinned. "I'm bored, you're hot, and there's nobody else out here. Let's make it interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"Whoever makes the other come first wins. Right here. Right now. Other passengers be damned."
He should have said no. He knew that. There were at least three people within fifty meters—he could hear them laughing on the deck above, could see the glowing tip of someone's cigarette in the darkness. But something about Tessa's challenge made the rest of the world fall away. The midnight sun. The endless horizon. The way she was looking at him like he was a puzzle she wanted to solve.
"Fine," he said. "But I'm not going easy on you."
"Wouldn't want you to."
She moved first.
Before he could prepare, her hand was under the water, finding him with the kind of precision that spoke to experience. Her fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezed—just this side of too hard—and he inhaled sharply through his nose.
"Problem?" she asked.
"No."
"Good."
She worked him slowly at first, a deliberate rhythm that kept him half-hard and aching. Her thumb swiped over the head with every stroke, slick and warm from the water. Jordan bit the inside of his cheek and stared at the sun.
"Looks like you're struggling," Tessa said. "Want me to stop?"
"Fuck you."
"That's not a no."
He closed his eyes. Focused on his breathing. The water bubbled around them, insistent and distracting. Somewhere in the distance, a door opened and closed. A voice—male, drunk, laughing—carried across the deck.
Tessa leaned closer. Her mouth was near his ear, her breath hot against his skin.
"I bet you're easy," she whispered. "I bet you come fast when someone knows what they're doing."
"You're wrong."
"Am I?"
She sped up. Her grip tightened. She knew exactly what she was doing—that perfect pressure, that steady rhythm, the way she twisted her wrist at the top of every stroke. Jordan's jaw clenched. His fingers dug into the edge of the hot tub.
"Come on," she murmured. "Let go. I want to see it."
He lasted another thirty seconds. Maybe forty.
The orgasm hit him like a freight train—sudden and overwhelming, ripping through him with a force that left him gasping. He came in the water, his hips jerking, his teeth biting down so hard on his lip that he tasted copper.
Tessa pulled her hand away and smirked.
"That's one for me."
Jordan breathed through the aftershocks. His heart was pounding. His face was flushed. He felt like he'd just run a marathon.
"Not bad," he managed. "But you haven't won yet."
"Oh?"
"I said whoever makes the other come first. First round doesn't count."
"That's not—"
"You're the one who wanted to make it interesting."
Tessa's eyes narrowed. "Fine. What's the second round?"
He didn't answer with words.
He moved fast—faster than she expected, judging by her startled gasp—and pulled her onto his lap. She straddled him, her hands braced on his shoulders, her bikini-clad cunt pressed against his still-sensitive cock. The water churned around them.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Winning."
His hand slipped between them, finding her through the fabric. She was already wet—not just from the hot tub, he realized. From the game. From the power she thought she had.
He moved the bikini aside and slid two fingers into her cunt.
Tessa's breath hitched. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
"Fuck," she whispered.
"You started this."
He pumped his fingers slowly—in and out, spreading her open, feeling how tight she was. His thumb found her clit and pressed down, circling with just enough pressure to make her hips jerk.
"Jordan—"
"Shh." He smiled. "Other passengers be damned, right?"
She tried to keep her face neutral. He could see the effort it took—the way she bit her lip, the way her eyes went wide as he curled his fingers inside her. She was fighting it. Fighting him. But her body didn't care about the game anymore.
"You're close," he said. "I can feel it."
"I'm not—"
"Yes you are."
He worked her faster. His thumb moved in tight circles. His fingers thrust up, hitting something that made her whole body shudder.
"Shit," she gasped. "Shit, shit—"
"Let go. I want to see it."
She came with a choked cry, her entire body going rigid, her cunt clenching around his fingers. He watched her face—the way her eyes squeezed shut, the way her mouth fell open, the way she looked almost surprised by her own pleasure.
When she finally went limp, Jordan pulled his fingers out and held them up.
"Round two is mine."
Tessa exhaled shakily. "The fuck kind of game is this?"
"A tie."
"A tie?"
"We need a tiebreaker."
She looked at him—really looked, the way she had when they first met. Like she was trying to figure out if he was serious.
"My suite," she said. "Now."
They abandoned the hot tub without ceremony, leaving wet footprints across the deck. The ship was quiet—everyone else asleep or pretending to be. They passed a few closed doors, a few dimmed lights. Nobody saw them.
Tessa's suite was on the same deck as his, just a few doors down. She fumbled with the key card, dripping water on the carpet, and then the door swung open and they were inside.
The room was a mirror of his own. Same layout. Same king bed. Same balcony overlooking the endless sea.
But Tessa didn't care about the room.
She pushed him against the wall and kissed him—hard, messy, full of teeth. Her hands were everywhere, pulling at his swim trunks, scratching down his chest.
"You think you won?" she said between kisses. "You think that fucking tiebreaker counts?"
"Seems like it counted for something."
"I'll show you what counts."
She stripped off her bikini top and tossed it aside. Her breasts were small and firm, her nipples hard from the cold air. Jordan reached for them, but she grabbed his wrist and shook her head.
"No," she said. "You did your part. Now it's my turn."
She shoved him toward the balcony doors.
The glass was cold against his back. The sea stretched out behind her, vast and dark, the sun still hanging over the horizon like it had nowhere else to be. Tessa pressed herself against him, her body warm and damp, and her hand found his cock again.
"This time," she murmured, "I'm not stopping until you're begging."
She didn't. She worked him with the same precision as before, but slower—achingly slow, drawing it out until he was trembling. Her mouth found his neck, teeth grazing his skin, and her hand moved in a rhythm that was almost cruel in its patience.
"You want to come?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Say it."
"Fuck—yes. I want to come."
She stopped.
Jordan let out a sound that was half-groan, half-whine.
Tessa laughed. "Not yet."
She turned around and bent over the railing.
The balcony stretched in front of her, maybe ten meters of open air before the edge. Beyond that, the sea—the Barents Sea, or the Norwegian Sea, or some other body of water that Jordan couldn't name. The midnight sun painted everything in shades of gold and rose.
She looked back over her shoulder.
"What are you waiting for?"
He didn't need to be told twice.
He kicked off his trunks and stepped behind her. She was already wet—not from the hot tub, not from the game—from the anticipation, from the power of being wanted. He positioned himself at her entrance and paused.
"Ready?"
"Just fucking do it."
He pushed inside her.
She was tight and hot and slick, and the angle was perfect—bent over like that, her ass pressed against his hips, her hands gripping the railing so hard her knuckles went white. He started slow, letting her adjust, but she wasn't having it.
"Harder," she demanded. "I'm not made of glass."
He gave her what she wanted.
His hips snapped forward, driving into her with a force that made the railing creak. The sound of their bodies—wet and urgent—mixed with the slap of waves against the hull far below. Tessa's head dropped forward, her hair hanging over her face, and she let out a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.
"Fuck—fuck—right there—don't stop—"
He didn't stop. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back to meet every thrust, burying himself in her cunt like he was trying to lose himself. And maybe he was. Maybe that's what this whole trip had been about—losing himself, finding himself, whatever the difference was.
"Harder," she gasped. "Harder, you fuck—"
He fucked her harder.
The balcony railing rattled. Her nails scrabbled for purchase on the metal. The sea stretched out below them, indifferent and eternal, and the sun watched it all with that same unblinking stare.
Tessa came first—a shuddering, gasping orgasm that made her whole body clench around him. Jordan lasted another ten seconds before he followed her over the edge, pulling out just in time to spill across her lower back and ass.
He staggered back against the glass door, breathing hard.
Tessa stayed bent over the railing for a moment, catching her breath. Then she straightened up and turned to face him.
Her face was flushed. Her hair was a mess. There was a red mark on her shoulder where she'd scraped it against the railing.
"That was—" she started.
"Yeah."
"I think we're even."
"I think you're right."
She laughed—that sharp, genuine sound he remembered from the hot tub. "You're not so bad, Jordan. For a sad American with a journal."
"You're not so bad yourself. For an Australian who runs away from proposals."
"Fair enough."
She walked past him into the suite, grabbing her discarded bikini top on the way. Jordan watched her go—the sway of her hips, the way she didn't look back.
"Coming inside?" she called from the bathroom.
"In a minute."
He stayed on the balcony for a moment longer, staring out at the sea. The sun hadn't moved. It was still there, hanging over the horizon, as if the night itself had been cancelled.
He should have felt something. Triumph. Satisfaction. Relief. Instead he felt the same hollow ache that had been following him since Dublin. The same quiet voice asking: What are you looking for?
He didn't have an answer.
Not yet.
Jordan turned and walked inside, closing the glass door behind him. Tessa was already sprawled across the bed, naked and unselfconscious, scrolling through her phone.
"You can sleep here," she said. "If you want. I don't care."
"Thanks."
"Don't make it weird."
"I won't."
He climbed into bed beside her. The sheets were cold. The ship hummed beneath them. And somewhere outside, the sun continued its slow, endless vigil over the water.
Jordan closed his eyes.
The last thing he thought before sleep took him was that he'd forgotten to write in his journal. That he'd forgotten to record this moment—the hot tub, the dare, the balcony, the way Tessa had looked at him like he was something worth wanting.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe not everything needed to be documented. Maybe some things were meant to slip away, like water through fingers, like notes on pillows, like connections that dissolved the moment you tried to hold them.
The ship sailed on.
The sun didn't set.
And Jordan dreamed of fjords—cold and dark and silent, waiting at the edge of the world.
The dream dissolved into the hum of the ship's engines and the too-bright light bleeding through the curtains.
Jordan woke with his face pressed into a pillow that smelled like salt and someone else's shampoo. Tessa was still asleep beside him—sprawled on her stomach, one arm dangling off the mattress, her mouth slightly open. She snored. Not loudly, but enough that he noticed.
He lay there for a while, watching the ceiling. The ship rocked gently, a slow rhythm that had become as familiar as his own heartbeat. Somewhere down the corridor, someone was laughing. Someone else was arguing about breakfast.
Tessa stirred.
"Stop staring at me," she mumbled into the pillow. "It's creepy."
"I wasn't staring."
"You were. I could feel it." She rolled onto her side and squinted at him. "What time is it?"
"I don't know. Does it matter?"
"Not really." She yawned, stretching her arms above her head. Her breasts pressed against the sheet, and Jordan felt something stir despite himself. "You want coffee?"
"Sure."
She climbed out of bed without bothering to cover herself. Jordan watched her cross to the small kitchenette—the same one in his suite, with the same tiny espresso machine—and start fiddling with the buttons.
"You know how to use that thing?" he asked.
"I'm Australian. We're practically born with coffee in our veins." She hit a button and the machine hissed to life. "Difference is, ours doesn't taste like arse."
"You've been on this ship for how long? And you're already complaining?"
"Mate, I've been complaining since I stepped on board. It's my natural state." She poured two cups and carried them back to the bed. "Here. Don't say I never gave you anything."
Jordan took the cup. The coffee was bitter and too hot, but it woke him up.
"So," Tessa said, settling back against the headboard, "what's the plan today?"
"The plan?"
"Yeah. You seem like a planner. You've got that look about you—like you're always thinking three steps ahead."
"I'm trying not to."
"Trying and failing?"
He took a sip of coffee. "Something like that."
Tessa studied him over the rim of her cup. Her eyes were hazel, he noticed—not quite brown, not quite green, flecked with gold in the strange perpetual daylight.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"You're going to anyway."
"True." She set her cup down. "What are you actually doing here? Not the surface answer—the real one. Why Norway? Why this ship? Why alone?"
Jordan considered lying. It would have been easy—a joke, a deflection, something to change the subject. But something about the way she was looking at him made him want to tell the truth.
"I don't know," he said. "That's the honest answer. I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going or what I'm looking for. I just knew I couldn't stay still anymore."
"That's not nothing."
"It feels like nothing."
"It's not." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "I spent two years doing exactly what everyone expected. Uni, boyfriend, the whole thing. I was good at it. I was happy, or I thought I was. Then Caleb proposed and I realized I'd been sleepwalking through my entire life."
"So you ran."
"So I ran." She shrugged. "Maybe that's not healthy. Maybe I'm just avoiding my problems. But at least I'm awake now, you know? At least I'm making choices."
Jordan nodded slowly. "I think I'm starting to understand that."
"Starting to?"
"I spent the last month meeting people and leaving them. It felt like freedom at first. Like I was collecting experiences, checking boxes. But after a while it just felt... empty."
"Because you weren't actually connecting with anyone. You were just passing through."
"Yeah."
Tessa was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I'm not looking for a boyfriend."
"Neither am I."
"I like you. I think you're interesting, and you're good in bed, and I don't want to stop hanging out with you. But I don't want to pretend this is something it's not."
"What do you want?"
"I want to travel with you. For the rest of the cruise, at least. I want to have fun and not think about the future. And if we meet other people—if we want to fuck other people—I don't want to feel guilty about it."
Jordan blinked. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying we don't own each other. We're two people on a ship, passing through. We can fuck each other when we want. We can fuck other people when we want. No strings. No expectations. Just... this."
He thought about it. The coffee was cooling in his hands. The ship hummed beneath him. And somewhere outside, the sun was still hovering over the horizon, refusing to set.
"That sounds good," he said. "Actually."
"Good." She grinned. "Because I already saw a guy at the bar last night who I wouldn't mind getting to know better."
"You don't waste time."
"Life's short, Jordan. And the world's too big to spend it waiting for permission."
They finished their coffee and got dressed. Tessa borrowed one of his shirts—a faded flannel that hung loose on her frame—and they walked down to the dining room together.
The morning buffet was a chaos of passengers and plates and the smell of bacon that had been sitting under a heat lamp for too long. Jordan loaded up on eggs and toast while Tessa made a beeline for the fruit.
"Watch my spot," she said, gesturing at a table by the window.
He sat down and started eating. The food was mediocre—the eggs were rubbery, the toast was cold—but he found he didn't care. The window looked out over the water, and somewhere in the distance, he could see the faint outline of a coastline.
Norway.
They were getting close.
Tessa came back with a plate of pineapple and a coffee she'd stolen from someone else's table.
"So," she said, sliding into the seat across from him, "I've been thinking."
"Should I be worried?"
"Probably." She stabbed a piece of pineapple. "We've got six more days on this ship. That's six days of ports, excursions, restaurants, and bars. Plus the ship itself—there's a casino, a spa, a nightclub."
"Your point?"
"My point is that we should make the most of it."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Meaning I want to explore. Not just the ship—the whole experience. And if that means we end up in bed with other people sometimes, I'm fine with that. But I also want to do the touristy stuff. The museums. The fjord tours. The hikes."
"You want to be a tourist."
"I want to be present." She pointed her fork at him. "You said you've been going through the motions. Passing through. I'm saying we should actually experience this. Together, or separately, or whatever. Just... no more sleepwalking."
Jordan thought about Yuki. About Dublin. About the note she'd left on his pillow.
Thank you for the most beautiful night of my life.
He'd been running from something that whole time—running so fast he hadn't even realized he was doing it. But Tessa was right. Running wasn't the same as living.
"Okay," he said. "No more sleepwalking."
"Good." She smiled and stole a piece of his toast. "Now finish your breakfast. I want to check out that observation deck before the afternoon crowd gets there."
They spent the rest of the morning exploring the ship. The observation deck was at the very top, a glass-walled room with panoramic views of the sea and the approaching coastline. There were binoculars mounted on the railings, and a few other passengers were already there—an elderly couple who looked like they'd been traveling together for fifty years, a young family with a toddler who kept pressing his face against the glass.
Jordan stood at the railing and watched the land grow closer. The coastline was rugged—cliffs and fjords and pockets of green that looked like they'd been carved out by giants.
"It's beautiful," he said.
"It's cold," Tessa replied, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders.
"Worth it, though."
"Maybe."
They stayed there until the ship began to slow, approaching the first port of call. The town was tiny—a collection of colorful houses clinging to the edge of a fjord, with a giant cruise ship looming over it like a visitor from another world.
"This is Ålesund," Tessa said, reading from a brochure she'd grabbed in the lobby. "Art nouveau architecture. Fishing history. Horribly underrated."
"You've been researching."
"I've been bored. There's a difference." She folded the brochure and stuffed it in her pocket. "Come on. Let's see what's out there."
They disembarked together, joining the stream of passengers flooding into the tiny town. The air was cold and crisp—a relief after the stale confines of the ship—and smelled like salt and fish and something sweet that Jordan couldn't identify.
"And what about us?" Jordan asked as they walked. "What are we?"
"Fucked if I know." She shrugged, but her smile was genuine. "We're two people who like each other. We're not a couple. We're not not a couple. We're just... whatever this is."
He laughed. "I think I'm getting used to your definitions."
"You should. They're better than yours."
They walked along the harbor, past the fishing boats and the tourists. The town was small enough to explore on foot, and they wandered without direction—stopping at the art nouveau church, the small museum, and the bakery with the warm smell of cinnamon that pulled them in.
When they emerged, Tessa's mouth was dusted with powdered sugar.
"You've got something on your face," Jordan said.
"I know." She didn't wipe it off.
He reached over and brushed it away with his thumb. Her skin was cold under his touch.
"We should go back to the ship," he said. "I need to write."
"Write what?"
"I don't know. Everything."
She nodded. "You go. I'm going to find that bar we passed. The one with the neon sign."
"Sounds seedy."
"Exactly."
They separated at the edge of the harbor. Jordan watched her disappear into the crowd, her blonde hair catching the light like a beacon. Then he turned and walked back toward the ship.
His suite was quiet. He sat at the desk by the window and pulled out his journal.
The page was blank. He stared at it for a long time.
Then he started writing.
I met a girl named Tessa. She's Australian, blunt, and doesn't take any of my shit. We've agreed to travel together for the rest of the cruise. Not a relationship. Not a commitment. Just two people who like each other, passing through.
It sounds simple when I write it down. But nothing ever is.
He stopped. Looked out the window. The port was shrinking as the ship prepared to depart.
What am I looking for? I still don't know. But I think I'm getting closer to the answer.
I wrote around the edges—never naming them, never trying to force them into being. Because I knew, even then, that they weren't meant to be held. They were meant to be experienced. Breathed in and let go.
The words blurred. He closed the journal and put it away.
The ship's horn sounded—low and mournful, echoing off the cliffs. Jordan stood up and walked to the balcony.
The fjord stretched out before him, dark water and steep walls, the sky a pale wash of pink and gold. It was beautiful. It was cold. It was exactly what he'd been looking for.
Behind him, the door opened.
Tessa walked in, her cheeks flushed from the wind.
"Good walk?" he asked.
"Interesting." She pulled off her jacket and tossed it onto a chair. "Met a guy. Norwegian. Works in the casino."
"Oh?"
"Knut. Weird name. Nice hands." She walked over to the balcony and stood beside him, looking out at the fjord. "We made out for a bit. That's all."
"You don't have to tell me."
"I know." She glanced at him. "But I wanted to. Is that weird?"
"No." He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Cold fingers, rough knuckles. "I want to know."
She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. The fjord stretched out before them, endless and ancient, and the sun hung on the horizon like a promise.
"You know," she said, "I think I'm going to like Norway."
"Me too."
The ship sailed on, deeper into the fjords, and Jordan felt something loosen in his chest. The running was over. The searching was over.
Now there was only this.
The cold air. The endless light. The woman beside him who asked for nothing but honesty.
And somewhere ahead, the fjords waited—silent and patient and exactly where they were supposed to be.