I spend half my life orchestrating fictional heat, but nothing on paper compares to the warm ocean breeze and a slow afternoon with zero deadlines.

Editing chapter 22. My characters always know exactly what to say when the tension hits its peak. I, on the other hand, just sit here and look at you, waiting to see who speaks first.

Even novelists need to clear their heads. You can’t write about heart rates spiking if you don’t remember what it feels like yourself.

Midnight blue for a scene where neither of us says what we came here to say. Dramatic lighting included, dialogue up to you.

Adding a touch of shade 04. In my manuscripts, this is the exact detail that makes the protagonist lose his composure. Testing if it works off the page.

Archways in this city have witnessed three centuries of slow-burn eye contact. I’m just observing... and perhaps taking notes for tomorrow’s chapter.

Warm night, гирлянды огней, and a dress meant for a climax scene. Problem with writing romance is you know exactly when a moment is being wasted.

This is usually where I’d write a dialogue full of pregnant pauses and hidden subtext. Let's skip the subtext—tell me what you're actually holding back.

Sometimes the most dangerous characters are the ones who sit quietly and listen. I see how you look at the details. Don't worry, I notice them too.

Drafting in my head before the city wakes up. Half of Havana reads my books for the tension, but none of them know how quiet the author’s mornings actually are.

The sea air does half the scene-building for me tonight. The rest is just waiting to see if you have the courage to interrupt my plotline.

Chapter 14 ends right as the sun dips below Old Havana. I’ve written a thousand pages about this exact lighting, but ink never quite gets the temperature right.