Page 40 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“It’s fine,” I say, even thoughsorryisn’t at all what I want to hear right now. “No worries.”
“No, really, I am sorry.” He stops pacing and faces me. “You were scared and upset, and I came on to you.”
“No, no,pleasedon’t do that. The last thing I need tonight is you treating me like I’m some damsel in distress you took advantage of. I’m capable of saying no to something I don’t want, and I was touching you just as much as you were touching me.” I lift a shoulder. “And nothing really happened so it doesn’t matter.”
He blows out a gusty sigh. “This is difficult, you know?”
“What is?” I ask, because I’m not sure it’s difficult for him in the same way it’s difficult for me. Maybe we’re both reliving our past, but unlike me, Ben isn’t a complete mess who’s incapable of doing his job.
“This.” He motions a hand back and forth between us. “Being around you again after all this time. It brings back a lot of…memories.”
“Good or bad ones?”
“Honestly? Both.”
He’s definitely not wrong about that. “Look, it’s fine. Really.We got a little carried away tonight, but it’d be impossible to share the history that we have and not get a little nostalgic. That’s all it was.”
Nostalgia does not equal getting handsy in the dark.
Ben lifts a brow as if reading my mind.
“Really,” I say with a smile, voice entirely more assured in my answer than I feel. “Now you should probably go, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I make my way to the door and pull it open. Cold air sweeps in on the breeze and cools my flushed skin.
Ben passes me on his way out, expression indecipherable.
After I close the door behind him, I collapse against it and close my eyes, my confident smile quickly fading.
Chapter 12
Tip #7 when visiting Iceland:There will come a time when you have to put away your fears and just do the damn thing.
Day four starts at sunup, which in early September occurs before sixa.m.We have some making up to do for yesterday—thanks to me and my unnecessary emotional breakdown(s). But I’ve vowed to do better today, so as I finish off a granola bar, I silently repeat the mantra I’ve mentally prepped myself with all morning:Today will be a day of yeses.
From the parking lot we stand in now, a trail leads off into a gorge, and we will climb a fence (according to Suki, there’s a ladder so no need to fret) and embark upon a short hike to the lesser-known gem of Kvernufoss, which I forced us to bail on yesterday.
Ben didn’t mention our inordinate amount of touching or the almost-kiss in the dark on the drive over this morning. Not evenso much as an utterance or slight reference was made to any part of last night. Nothing. Nada. And it doesn’t bother me one bit. Because that’s exactly what I wanted anyway.
I stay lost in thought for most of the hike (not about Ben or the almost-kiss at all!), but when Kvernufoss edges into view, I automatically decide it’s my favorite of the spots we’ve visited so far. There are a few reasons. One—I don’t feel like I’m dying by the time we reach it, a welcome turn of events. Two—the way the waterfall is tucked away amid the twists and turns of the grass-covered gorge makes it feel like a secret hiding place. Three—no one else is around at this early hour other than Ben and me, so we have this magical little spot all to ourselves.
We continue down a gravel path until we reach a small hill centered about a hundred yards away from the falls. Ben drops his backpack and gets to work. To feel less like an impostor, I brought my own backpack along today, even though the only things in it are my notebook and another granola bar. I find a cozy spot nearby and take a seat on a rock (my Icelandic chair of choice) and start writing another description that will never properly convey the charm of this place.
Several minutes later, and at the distinct bleating of three sheep up on the hill, I look up to find Ben watching me stoically, cheeks red and breath forming a puffy cloud with each exhalation. For a split second, I think he’s going to say something about last night. Then something shifts in his expression with the clench of his jaw, and he says, “Come on, let’s get closer,” and slings his camera haphazardly over his shoulder.
We take a narrow trail that leads behind the waterfall, and Ben offers me his gloved hand whenever we encounter slipperyrocks. Each time my fingers curl around his, he gives my hand a little squeeze, and I don’t know if it’s intentional and meaningful or if I’m just overanalyzing things again.
Cold sprinkles sting my cheeks as we reach our destination—a muddy pathway between the hollowed-out canyon wall and the sheet of cascading water forming the underside of the falls.
Looking back through the water, prisms of colorful light float through my vision as the morning sun catches the falls at all the right angles. Farther beyond, the tall grasses on the hills of the gorge sway in the gentle breeze, and my three sheep friends fill their bellies till their hearts’ content. It’s like I’ve been transported into a fairy-tale storybook.
Enchanting, that’s the word I’ll use in my article.
Suddenly I’m jittery and wired, my inhibitions carried away with the breeze. I think I might be travel-high. “Take my picture,” I say to Ben on impulse.
“Really?” His narrowed eyes reflect surprise mixed with uncertainty, as if he, too, is questioning if I’m high.
“Yes, really.” I put on my best faux-haughty voice. “Capture me like an influencer, Ben.”
