Page 18 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
After perusing this itinerary, I realize it’s entirely possible I’ll be too exhausted to notice Ben is on this trip with me. Suki has included more attachments that further break down each location, but I’ll come back to those later. Right now, I scroll the main body of her email, and I learn several things. For starters, the average temperature for early September in Iceland has highs in the fifties, lows in the thirties. Which sounds completely reasonable until I read that the winds in Iceland can betotally rad.(Suki’s particular wording tells me I’m not likely to find themradat all.)
Continuing on, I read that English is widely spoken throughout the country, and many Icelanders are fluent in several languages. Also, crime is almost nonexistent, with Iceland consistently ranked one of the safest countries in the world. (At least I need not worry about getting muggedandgetting my ass kicked by the elements.) I let my eyes skim the rest of the document until they catch on one specific note at the end.
September is usually the first month the northern lights MIGHT be visible after the summer season. If the weather conditions are right and the solar activity is high, you could be lucky enough to see aurora!
Best of luck!
—Suki
Excitement shimmers in my chest like a confetti cannon exploded.The northern lights! The motherfucking northern lights!!
For the first time since I took this assignment, the noise of allthe uncertainties and distractions quiets, and I feel blessed all the way down to my bones. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And turning this opportunity into a permanent reality is finally within my grasp.
I cast a sidelong glance at Ben—currently alternating between sips of whiskey and small bites of pretzel—and make a silent vow to myself: I willnotlet this guy from my past somehow ruin my future.
Chapter 6
Tip #1 when visiting Iceland:Considering a trip to the Blue Lagoon with an ex you (maybe) still find attractive? HIGHLY INADVISABLE.
Approximately five hours later, I’m jostled awake as the plane touches down on solid ground. Lethargic and confused, it takes a few moments to get my bearings. My mind tells me I need to wake up because I’m on a plane to Iceland and wasn’t supposed to fall asleep in the first place. But my body tells me I’m so, so comfy and finally sleeping soundly for the first time in days and surely a few more minutes of rest won’t hurt. I’m covered up with the snuggliest blanket and the air around me smells like fresh laundry and my head rests on the most comfortable pillow.
Wait…
Barely opening my eyes, I register a few things about my current situation. One—my warm, snuggly blanket is Ben’s jacket,which covers my upper body. Two—that jacket is the source of the alluring fresh-laundry scent that has no doubt helped induce this possible coma. Three—and most horrifying of all—my pillow is no pillow at all! It’s a shoulder.Ben’sshoulder to be precise, and it’s comforting in a way I don’t care to think about.
“Mona.” Ben’s gentle, raspy voice coaxes me further awake as the lights flicker in the cabin. “We landed. You have to wake up now.”
Regretfully, I lift my head off his shoulder, my eyes performing a discreet sweep of his shirtsleeve to check for drool spots. Thank god it’s dry; there’s only so much mortification one can handle at a given time. Yawning, I arch my back and stretch my arms out in front of me as I wonder how it’s possible I slept through most of the landing. I’m not a heavy sleeper, so I’ll attribute this accidental blackout to the weekend of sleepless nights leading up to our departure.
Not Ben. It hadnothingto do with Ben Carter or his oddly comfortable body.
Embarrassment warms my cheeks as I prepare to apologize for using his arm like my own personal body pillow, but when I glimpse his face, now a weird shade of palish green, those thoughts leave me.
“I don’t care for the landings, either,” he says wryly.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked peaceful.” The plane slows to a taxiing speed, and Ben rolls his shoulder—likely sore from supporting my heavy head. “We’re on the ground now. Just give me a minute and I’ll be okay.”
“How long was I…” I gesture at his shoulder.
“Asleep on me?” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Only for the past two hours. Don’t worry, I put your laptop away when you first dozed off.”
Two entire hours? Oh. My. God. “I’m really sorry. You should’ve woken me up. That had to be really uncomfortable for you.”
“No.” The slightest shake of his head. “It was…fine.”
Coming to a stop at the gate, people around us fill the aisle in their overenthusiastic rush to deplane, one person’s oversized backpack even creeping into Ben’s already-small space so that Ben has to lean into my already-small space. When it’s our turn, Ben steps into the aisle and retrieves our carry-ons—this time I accept his help—then makes room for me to lead the way.
Keflavík International is a nondescript airport that upon first impression could be anywhere in the world. But as soon as we make our way through the sliding glass doors, I get my first glimpse of Iceland—orfeel, rather—which comes in the form of a gusty wind that whips through my hair and has me unzipping my duffel bag in hopes Jacklyn packed my coat and wool cap within easy reach. The decision to wear thin leggings and a short-sleeved T-shirt on the plane was not my wisest one, but I wasn’t exactly thinking properly—or at all—at the time. My hand shuffles around until it lands on my new dusty-blue, fleece-lined raincoat and then my gray wool beanie (both courtesy of Mason’s unexpected birthday shopping splurge), and I’m reminded again that I love Jacklyn with my entire being.
Properly armored, I follow Ben to the line for a shuttle that will take us to our car rental dealership.
As we wait, I crane my neck in every direction, trying toglimpse some of the majesty of this place, but so far all I see is airport asphalt and neon car-rental signage in the distance. The only things of note are the gray, overcast sky concealing any trace of the sun and the winds that roar in short, angry bursts. I shiver.
Twenty minutes later, I sit in the passenger side of a Suzuki SUV, our bags loaded in the back, as Ben slides into the driver’s seat with a square gadget in his palm.
“What’s that?” I ask, buckling my seat belt.
