Page 58 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“Hmm?” My body is heavy now, sleep only a few breaths away.
“Why are you so afraid to let me be in your life again? If you say you trust me?”
“Because I trust you with my life, Ben. But I’m not sure I trust you with my heart.”
Chapter 17
Tip #12 when visiting Iceland:Sometimes “a hike” is code for rock-climbing.
A sunbeam lands on my cheek, rousing me from sleep. In my slumberous state, I don’t know where I am, only that I’ve never been this comfortable in thirty-one years of life. I snuggle my cheek deep into my pillow, wanting to stay in this bed for the remainder of my years. I see no purpose in moving again. My work here is done.
It’s not until I nearly tip back over the edge of consciousness once more that the pressing weight around my waist shifts. Which is silly because my weighted blanket cannot move on its own. Another silly thing: I don’t hear the traffic in the streets, or my neighbors’ rambunctious kids thundering down the hallway on their way to school, or Jacklyn walking last night’s hookup to the door. I hear…quiet.
The weight around my waist shifts once more, and I squint against the morning light.
Iceland.
Seyðisfjörður.
Historic schoolhouse.
Ben!
Glancing down, my eyes confirm what my brain is catching up to—Ben’s forearm around my waist, my back pressed to his front as we lie on our sides facing the window that overlooks the tiny, picturesque town.
No wonder I’m so goddamn cozy; we’re cuddling!
Eyes wide open now, a dull ache starts at my temples, spreading toward the center of my forehead as visions of last night reappear one by one. Todd Jr. (I think that’s his name). Four (!!!) vodka sodas. My pathetic attempt to make Ben jealous, and then subsequently begging him to stay with me after I fucked it all up. Jesus. I, Mona Miller, have unlocked a newly discovered portal into a brand-new world of mortification. Population: one.
Ben must awaken as I stiffen against him, because his hand slides between my rib cage and the mattress, holding me even closer as if he’s afraid I’m going to bolt. “Ems,” he whispers, “don’t freak out about this.”
“I’m not.”I am!“I wouldn’t.”I would!
“Nothing happened between us,” he continues, pleading his case. “We’re both fully clothed. You didn’t feel great and asked me to stay. I did. That’s all.”
He thinks I don’t remember last night. In the inebriated state I was in, that’s not surprising or entirely inaccurate. While Irecall the overall (humiliating) picture, the details remain fuzzy. However, he’s wrong about nothing happening between us. Something very real did happen. At least it did for me. Because whether or not it’s going to cost me my career, or worse, my heart, I have very, very strong feelings for Ben Carter. Again.
“I hate that you think you need to explain. I know you wouldn’t take advantage of me.” I say it to the square window across from me because I don’t have the courage to look at him yet. Or maybe I don’t want to risk moving from this exact spot and losing the comfort of his embrace. “You know I trust you.”
“Yeah. I know you do.” His forearm flexes around my waist, and damn it, he feels so fucking good. I want to lie here for hours, days, years. “Withsome thingsanyway.”
My heart stutters.
I roll to my back, losing the cocoon of comfort he’s woven me into. Ben rests his head in his open palm and peers down at me. If waking up with my body tangled with his was confirmation of my feelings for him again, the visual of him in bed with me in the early-morning light, hair sticking out in every direction and eyes still hooded with sleep, well, that makes those feelings dangerously potent. I long to pull him down to me, to have his mouth cover mine, to strip off last night’s clothes and feel his warm skin bare against mine. But my mind sticks on his words, and I replay the broken clips from last night again, wondering what all I’m not recalling.
“What does ‘withsome thingsanyway’ mean?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, but the weary look in his eyes tells a different story. “We should get going.”
Ben rolls out of bed and disappears through the bedroomdoor while I scramble to piece together everything Drunk Mona said last night.
* * *
A good thing about day seven is that our schedule is light—comparatively speaking. After journeying farther northwest, we’ll have only a couple hours of hiking today, which at this point my thighs are counting as a win. As we drive down a seemingly never-ending gravel road, tires kicking up a cloud of dust in our wake, the scenery around us is unsettling at best. Gone are the moss-covered mountains and fields of bleating sheep, replaced by long stretches of dry, cracked dirt.
Even the name of our destination,Dettifoss, has an ominous ring to it.
We eventually make our way to a parking lot—with a restroom, thank god, because I was getting the impression civilization might be a thing of the past, and the very last thing I want to ask of Ben is to be my lookout while I pee behind a rock. In the elements.
