Page 60 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
With no one else around, it feels like we’ve stumbled upon the edge of the world, and I take a deep breath and try to soak it in.
Ceaseless.
That’s the word I’ll use for Selfoss.
Maybe if I’m lucky, I can harness some of its energy for myself.
Chapter 18
Tip #13 when visiting Iceland:If you need a little comfort food from home, the pizza in Iceland can be life-changing.
When we arrive in Akureyri, twilight is descending upon the brightly lit town, its reflection cast upon the still, dark surface of a fjord as we cross a bridge leading us into the heart of the city. Known as the capital of the north, Akureyri is Iceland’s second-largest city, which is great and all, but I’m excited to spend two nights here for a different reason. This is the northernmost stop on our journey, which means the greatest chance of seeing aurora.
While Ben waits in line for a takeaway pizza from the first local place we googled (because we’re both exhausted and dirty and cannot fathom sitting down somewhere), I use the portable Wi-Fi to download an app that calculates the predicted visibilityof the northern lights based upon location and the weather conditions. Right now, it’s showing the highest chance for the city of Akureyri tonight is six percent…at two forty-fivea.m.Fuck.
I close the app when the door creaks open and Ben climbs back into the car and passes me the square cardboard box, the smell of tomato sauce wafting into my space and making my stomach growl.
Pulling down the gravel drive of our home for the next two nights, a duplex of condos across the fjord from the city, I can’t be anything other than impressed by Suki’s ability to get this place approved by Calvin. Walking into the first condo, my admiration triples. There’s a bedroom with an attached bathroom immediately to my right, followed by a short hallway that leads into an open-concept kitchen and living room area. My eyes skirt around the spacious room, unsure what to take in first, the large granite island with a welcome bottle of sangria chilling in an ice bucket, or the brown suede couch and plush oversize chairs that beg my exhausted body to come have a seat. But I don’t focus on those details for more than an instant, because the far wall of the condo is made up entirely of rectangular panes of glass that stretch high, clean and sparkling and reflecting the inside lights back at me. Along the left wall, there’s a staircase leading up to a loft.
Ignoring my bags—and Ben—I summon a renewed energy and spring up the stairs two at a time. In the loft there’s another bed, faced toward the windows through which Akureyri shines in the distance, twinkling like a string of fairy lights across the fjord. Icelanders really know how to frame a great view.
I don’t notice Ben has joined me until I hear him say, “Not so shabby, huh?”
I turn to the top of the staircase, where he’s placing my suitcase down along the far wall, already knowing this is the bed I’ll choose to sleep in tonight.
“Can you believe this place? And we gettwonights here, Ben. Two!” It’s almost a shame he has his very own condo just next door. This loft would be the perfect spot for a cozy sleepover. For staying up late talking and laughing and trading secrets. But I shouldn’t be thinking like that.
Ben smiles, but there’s exhaustion in his eyes. “I’m glad you like it. You want to eat first or shower first?”
“Definitely eat first. I’m starving.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He disappears back down the steps, and I take another few minutes to wash my face and hands in the en suite bathroom before joining him.
Downstairs, I slide my hiking boots and rain jacket off near the door, then make my way to the kitchen island in my sock feet. Ben’s hunched in one of the barstools, sipping sangria from a crystal wineglass, another full one on the counter waiting for me. Instead of looking for plates, I grab some paper towels and flip open the cardboard box. A sharp twinge in my chest steals my breath. In the box is a thin-crust pizza that’s half cheese and mushroom (my favorite) and half cheese and pineapple (Ben’s favorite).
I’d sent Ben into the pizza shop with the instructions ofJust get whatever you want, it doesn’t matter to me, because that’s who I am and that’s what I do andNo Worries!and all that. And yet…
Wide-eyed, I look up at him across the counter. The goldflecks in his green eyes shimmer underneath the track lights above the island.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks with a shy smile.
“Because you ordered my favorite kind of pizza.” I say it as if this is the grandest gesture one person has ever made for another. But to me, it matters. He didn’t just remember, he also cared about what I wanted even though I told him not to worry about it. And that really fucking matters to me. A lot.
I’m around the counter before I realize I’m moving, my body on autopilot set to the return destination of home. His green eyes stay pinned on mine as he sits up straight and pushes away from the counter, as his thighs spread to make room for me, as his hands come around my waist as soon as I’m within reach.
My mouth crashes over his and my fingers twirl their way into his hair. The kiss instantaneously borders on frantic. No gentle buildup. No pretense of downplaying the pure, unadulterated want.
Ben’s lips part as he curses against my mouth, and I use the opportunity to run my tongue over his lower lip before biting the plump flesh between my teeth. The groan that emerges from his chest may be the best sound I’ve heard in fourteen years. His hands knead my hips as he stands and backs me against the counter, and I rise onto my tiptoes to keep our connection.
“Ems, listen—”
“Please, Ben,” I beg, kissing his mouth again. “I need you.”
“I need you, too,” he tells me, swiping his thumb across my hip bone. “Look, if we’re doing this…I don’t need you to haveall the answers about what’s going on between us. But I do need to know this won’t be meaningless to you.”
I look deep into the familiar eyes staring back at me, a source of comfort and safety for as long as I can remember. “Nothing that occurs betweenuscould ever be meaningless to me, Ben.”
That seems to appease some part of him, because he kisses me again, his mouth soft at first, growing more demanding as I arch my back and lean into him. My legs wrap around his waist as he lifts me, my worn-out thighs quivering as they squeeze onto his hips. All of a sudden, I’m sixteen years old again, kissing Ben in the lake as he held me exactly like this. The only difference: I don’t think even a fireworks show could stop us this time.
