Page 59 of Fire and Ice Cruise

And five minutes later, she’s marching Nettie—now wearing some cocktail waitress’ backup apron and zero shame—out of the casino by the elbow while muttering something about common decency and a very specific circle of hell reserved for women who confuse a roulette table for a strip club.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Nettie protests.

“It never is with you,” Bess counters.

“The buttons were decorative.”

“Buttons are not decorative, Nettie.”

“Mine were.”

“Geez.”

It’s almost midnight when Tinsley intercepts the four of us on our way to the Blue Water Café, her eyes bright with the manic energy of a cruise director who’s had too much caffeine and not enough sleep but refuses to acknowledge either.

“Change of plans!” She’s practically pulsating. “You need to head to the Midnight Emerald Experience on the promenade deck. There’s an aurora borealis viewing and you’re all coming.”

“We were going to get food,” Nettie protests, fully clothed now, mind you.

“We have desserts on deck. And hot chocolate. And heated blankets.” Tinsley fixes us with a look that suggests refusal isn’t an option. “It’s the northern lights. You don’t say no to the northern lights.”

She’s not wrong.

The promenade deck smells like sea salt and hot chocolate and that particular brand of excitement that only nature’s greatest hits can generate. Staff members in their crisp uniforms move through the crowd like fairies, distributing blankets that have been heated to the temperature of fresh laundry. Lounge chairs are set up in neat rows, all facing north, and approximately a hundred passengers are already sprawled across them in various states of cozy bliss.

The deck is dark except for the running lights, the ocean black and endless in every direction. But the sky? Now that’s a different story.

The sky puts on a show that makes the theater production look like amateur hour.

“Oh my word,” I breathe, settling into a lounge chair with Ransom.

The aurora borealis ripples across the darkness like someone spilled liquid emerald and violet across black silk. Ribbons of light shimmer and dance, pulsing with an otherworldly glow that makes you believe in magic even when you’ve seen too much to believe in much of anything anymore. The colors shift—green to pink to purple to blue—swirling and twisting in celestial curtains caught in a cosmic breeze.

Around us, passengers gasp and point and actually scream with joy. A woman three chairs down starts crying. A man proposes to his girlfriend, who says yes through happy tears.

“That’s either beautiful or concerning,” Nettie whispers. “They’ve known each other since the Bermuda Triangle excursion this morning.”

“Nettie,” Bess laughs. “We’re not anywhere near the Bermuda Triangle.”

“I’m just saying, we should be. The aurora is doing a number on people’s decision-making.”

I wrap the heated blanket tighter around my shoulders and let myself just be here. In this moment. Watching the universe show off.

A staff member appears at my elbow with a tray of desserts—tiny chocolate mousse cups, miniature fruit tarts with glazed berries, and what appears to be profiteroles dusted with powdered sugar. I take one of each because I’m nothing if not thorough when it comes to caloric intake.

“This is romantic,” Nettie announces through a mouthful of mousse. “Very romantic. In a hypothermic kind of way.”

“It’s not that cold,” Bess says.

“My nose just fell off.”

“Your nose is fine.”

“How would you know? You can’t see in the dark.”

Bess grunts. “Nettie, if your nose had fallen off, I’d know. The scream alone would’ve rearranged the aurora.”

I nod because that sounds accurate.