Page 49 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“Yeah, Ems.” There was a strained quality to his voice I hadn’t heard before as his arm tightened around my lower back, reeling me in once more. “It’s good for me, too.”
Then it was happening again. Ben’s mouth on mine. Our bodies melding together as he guided me to wrap my arms around his neck, lifting me in the water until my legs floated up to encircle his waist, his hands then settling under my thighs for support.
We didn’t break apart again until the thunderous booms exploded overhead, the dark sky splintering with color as the town’s annual fireworks show kicked off. We watched the whole thing from right there in the water, our bodies tangled together as Ben whispered in my ear his secret to add to our list—that he’d wanted to kiss me since kindergarten.
From that moment on we went from trading whispered secrets as best friends to spending secret nights together as so much more, Ben tossing pebbles at my window and us sneaking down to the lake to eventually sneaking into my bedroom and between my sheets.
Now, a cold burst of wind sends my notebook pages flipping, pulling me from my memories of the warm summer lake and dropping me back into present-day Iceland. Like waking up from a really great dream you don’t want to end, I can’t control the sadness that overtakes me or the desperate desire to go back to a moment in time that no longer exists.
“You ready?” I hear from behind me, and I don’t need to turn to know it’s Ben. I would recognize that voice in every situation, every dream, every lifetime.
“Yeah,” I say. “All set.”
I shove my notebook into my backpack and start off in thedirection of the car. Ben walks ahead of me, glancing back over his shoulder every so often with that same devastating grin of his, that same spark in his green eyes that still undoes me.
I’m not quite sure how, but if I want any chance of being able to focus on my job again, I need to get yesterday’s kiss out of my head. Wipe it from my memory like it never even happened.
What Idon’tneed: the apologetic smile of the clerk as we check into our guesthouse near the town of Höfn an hour and a half later when she informs us there’s a problem with our reservation.
“What kind ofproblemexactly?” I ask, knowing there’s no way I’ll survive an only-one-bed situation in my current state.
“Well,” the young woman drawls, “as I’m sure you already know, our most enticing amenity is each room’s private outdoor hot tub with incredible views of the glacier.”
I did not know this, but I can tell the woman is filled with pride over this feature.
“People love to relax in the tubs after a strenuous day of hiking,” she continues, and this I do understand. Completely. Even my ligaments ache.
“Unfortunately, the hot tub for one of the rooms you have booked is down for maintenance.” She grimaces like this is the most upsetting news she could possibly be delivering to us. “But if you’re traveling together, maybe you won’t mind sharing?”
Oh.
So not one bed, thank god.
Just one hot tub.
That can’t be nearly as tempting.
Right?
Chapter 15
Tip #10 when visiting Iceland:Turning down an outdoor hot tub in Iceland is 100% impossible.
“Would you like another?” The waitress at the hotel’s restaurant bats her eyelashes in the direction of my empty wineglass. From her platinum blonde hair to her rosy cheeks, she’s eerily similar in appearance to the hot tub enthusiast working the front desk, and I get the sense this is a family-run establishment with a bunch of twentysomething siblings manning the place.
“I probably shouldn’t,” I reply. “But thank you.”
She loads my empty plate onto her forearm. “How about dessert then? We have a dark chocolate cheesecake that’s worth writing home about. Or a strawberry shortcake if that’s more your style.”
Across the table Ben’s eyes flash, a knowing grin forming on his lips. “What do you say, Ems? Strawberry is your favorite.”
It’s irritatingly charming that he remembers all these details about me. But not irritating enough that I’m willing to turn down strawberry cake out of spite. “The shortcake sounds great, thank you.”
“Anything for you, sir?” she asks Ben.
Without looking away from me, Ben says, “No, thank you. But do me a favor and bring two spoons. If I’m lucky, I can convince her to share.”
The waitress smiles politely and leaves our table, but not before shooting me a look that any woman knows to interpret as,You lucky bitch.
