Page 77 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“Hey, Ems,” Ben whispers behind me. “That’s a fucking volcano. Like, right there. Erupting right in front of us.” The wonderin his voice roots me to the moment, and suddenly the journey to get to this point feels like a small price to pay for the gift of beinghere, withhim.
“I did it,” I declare, covering my mouth with my hands as giddy laughter oozes out of me like the flowing lava in the distance. What an emotional roller coaster. Tears continue to track down my cheeks, but now they’re formed from a place of pride. “I made it! And that’s a volcano!”
Ben wraps his arms around me from behind, and I lean back against the solid comfort of his chest. Other hikers stand in scattered groups around us, but no one pays any attention to anything other than the miraculous feat of nature across the way.
“You see, Mona Mildred Miller,” Ben whispers against the shell of my ear, “you can do any fucking thing you want to do. You think you don’t shine like your brothers? You think they’re thestarsof your family? Ems, if they’re stars, then you’re the fucking sun. You’re the most incredible person I know, and I’m so lucky I’m the one who gets to love you.”
Openly sobbing now, I twist my head and press a kiss to his mouth. We stand there for a long while, watching lava seep down the side of the volcano, and Ben doesn’t make a move for his camera. At least not yet. For now, we’re just still, enjoying the connection with each other, enjoying the view, enjoyinglife.
Eventually, when the sun is high in the sky above, I let reality slowly creep back in. “Hey, you have a plan, right? I can’t go to the airport this gross.”
Ben laughs softly and kisses my temple. “I booked a hotel room near the airport so we can shower before we leave.”
“I knew I loved you for a reason.”
That shower turns out to be a necessary foresight, because on the way back down the steep mountainside (somehow even trickier to navigate than going up), I manage to fall on my ass not once, but twice.
Despite the rope.
Chapter 23
The flight back home is turbulent and bumpy, and Ben clutches my hand the entire six hours. I can’t help but consider how much has changed over the course of the past ten days, from tentatively holding his hand during takeoff as a favor, to now holding his hand because he’s the man I love and I would do anything in the world to ease his discomfort.
Back in New York, I unlock my apartment door with the urgency of someone who avoids tiny airplane bathrooms at all costs and hasn’t peed in roughly eight hours. Abandoning my luggage at the door, I make a run for it, and only after my bladder is relieved do I throw myself across the sofa with a sigh, exhausted but not willing to crawl into my bed until I’ve showered. It’s only ninep.m.in Brooklyn, but I’m still four hours ahead on Iceland time.
I heave a forearm over my eyes, content to sleep here for the next five days if needed, but I hear the slow creak of Jacklyn’sbedroom door, followed by her footsteps padding across the living room.
“You’re home!” she declares, shoving my legs off the sofa to make room for herself.
I groan in agony as the sore, stiff muscles in my legs contract painfully.
“Jesus. Are you dying?”
“It’s entirely possible.”
Her throaty laugh makes me smile, and I slide my arm away to look up at her. Of course, she’s dressed to go out. Tight black skirt and equally tight racerback tank. Dangly silver earrings and perfectly wavy curls throughout her auburn hair.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m supposed to grab a drink with a guy I met at yoga last week.”
“Is this even a real yoga class or just a place to hook up?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Two birds and all that. I wouldn’t have made plans, but I didn’t know if you’d be coming home. Anyway, I can be late. I need to hearall the thingsabout Iceland. And again, by Iceland, I mean Ben.”
“Why wouldn’t I come home?”
“Well, you know.” She arches a brow. “I thought you might be going home with photographer Benjamin Carter.”
“Oh. Right.”
I’d called Jacklyn from the hotel before we left and given her a brief update on the status of me and Ben, mostly so I could finally deliver my strongly worded monologue regarding so-called swimsuits and her terrible what-happens-in-Iceland advice thatI’d been practicing all week. All to which she’d unapologetically replied,Well, it worked, didn’t it?
The truth of the matter is I very much wish Ben were here. It’s been an hour since we parted ways at baggage claim, and I already miss him like I left a piece of myself behind. We’d made the decision to separate for a few days in the name of our careers, knowing we both have an exorbitant amount of work to get done before our meeting with Calvin on Monday. I’m not sure how we’d fare up against a deadline if we stayed together.
“We decided to focus solely on work until our meeting at the office on Monday.”
“So he’s turned you into a sex fanatic, I see.”
