Page 73 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
I don’t realize how sharply the edges of the charm press intomy palm until I relax my grip and hold the necklace up in the air again. “Put it on me?”
A smile curves his mouth, easing a little of the hurt inside me. “Of course.”
Twisting around, I lift my hair so he can fasten the clasp at my nape. When theMhangs at my collarbone, I turn back and say once more, “Tell me why you’re giving this to me again. Why now?”
“Come on, Ems.” He reaches up and runs his fingers over the charm. “You know why.”
“I need you to tell me, Ben,” I persist. “I need to hear it.”
“Because I love you.” The words rush from him in true Ben style—not loud but honest. “I love you now, I loved you then, and I’ve loved you the entire time between. I don’t know if you ever got over us, but I never did. And I know it’s been years. And I know how much I hurt you before. So if this is too much, or it’s too late, or if you just don’t want to go down this path again, I understand.
“But I need you to know that I’ve done the work. I may not have had a good example of what a healthy love looks like growing up, but I started going to therapy after Mom died, when I knew I couldn’t keep running from my past anymore. Getting help was something she always refused to do, and I didn’t want to live like that. So I’ve worked really, really fucking hard to be in a place where I think I can be the kind of partner you deserve. And I know it’s presumptuous of me to assume that’s even something you’d want, but if there’s even a chance that you—”
I’m kissing him so fast that I take us both by surprise, Ben’s cutoff words vibrating against my thundering heart as I climbonto his lap and press myself against him. I’ve waited fourteen years to hear those words from him, and now that I have, it’s as if every single part of me I was trying to hold back, trying to protect, is unleashed all at once. I break our kiss, only so I can finally tell him what I’ve known consciously since yesterday, but probably unconsciously much longer than that. Probably since he first walked into Calvin’s office.
“I love you, too,” I say. “I’ve always loved you, Ben.”
He brings my mouth back to his, kissing me deep as I part my lips and brush my tongue against his. And like every single time I kiss this man, heat whooshes into my belly like an automatic reflex. We stumble upstairs where a tangle of torrid kisses and reverent touches and frantic undressing ensues, until we end up between the crisp white sheets once again. Ben braces himself over me, filling me up again and again while he whispers in my ear all the things I need to hear from him.
Afterward, I hold him close, his face buried against my neck as I run my fingers up and down the planes of his back. Beyond the glass, aurora’s last remnants paint the sky in streaks of faded green and dusty pink, drawing to a close for the night. I exhale the deepest sigh of contentment, something I’ve questioned for fourteen years now as clear as the windowpane I stare through.
Ben Carter loves me.
Chapter 21
Tip #16 when visiting Iceland:Icelandic sand dunes can sure come in handy.
Our last two days in Iceland pass by in a dreamy haze. During the day, I hold Ben’s hand as we explore the sights, laughing at his stupid jokes until my ribs hurt. At night, we explore each other in our hotel room with the window propped open and the cool breeze skating over our flushed skin. We stay at Hótel Búðir on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula, situated on the western coast with sweeping views of the photo-famous Búðir Black Church and some of the most dramatic seascapes Iceland has to offer. The hotel is quaint and upscale, and as soon as we checked in, I knew these two days would be my favorite of the trip. Sure, a lot of that has to do with Ben, but a lot of it has to do with the quiet beauty of the region—something that will certainly be noted as acannot missin my article.
We explore the land bridge at Arnarstapi, Skálasnagaviti lighthouse, and Ytri Tunga beach. We spend quite a bit of time at Kirkjufell mountain—which Ben tells me was featured inGame of Thrones, and I nod like that means anything to me. Then I tell Ben it looks more like a grass-covered Hershey’s Kiss than a mountain to me, which he seems to find baffling.
Kirkjufell is a two-for-one deal because across the street from the mountain is a waterfall (shocking, I know), so if you photograph it right, according to Ben, you get both in the same shot. A third bonus is the herd of horses grazing on the mountainside, so accustomed to people by now that they let us walk right up to them and pose for a picture. I have Ben snap my photo with a dark brown stud with a sand-colored mane who has a look in his eye that’s equal part friendly and equal part I-may-trample-you-with-my-hooves-at-any-moment.
As great as all these experiences are, as much as I’ll cherish each one of them till my dying day, the absolute best part of these last days in Iceland is my time alone with Ben at Hótel Búðir. The countryside is something out of a dream, sheep grazing in the fields in such large numbers that we sometimes have to stop the car on the road to and from the hotel and wait for a herd of them to cross. There’s one sheep in particular that hangs out around the gravel parking lot, and Ben and I name him Joseph. At night, he bleats outside our open window and Ben yells, “Quiet, Joseph!” into the dark, and I laugh every single time.
It’s all so…good. Too good. And as much as I’m loving every minute and trying to relish this time, I can’t quell the sadness slowly sneaking in over our trip coming to a close. It’s the worstcase of the Sunday scaries ever, and I think Ben feels it, too. The real world awaits us with deadlines and Calvin Cramer III and a million other outside influences waiting to pop this bubble we’ve found here in Iceland.
I think it’s why Ben is strangely formal when he asks me to dinner at the hotel’s restaurant on the last night of our trip, insisting we get ready in our separate rooms so he can “pick me up” at seven o’clock for our first real date. He says it’s important to him to do things right, and to get to know the person I am now, not just rely on the history we shared years ago.
His solemnity about the whole thing has my butterflies swarming, my thoughts scattered as I pull on the black lacy dress Jacklyn packed for me. The long-sleeved number has a deep V neckline that runs down my sternum (naturally the one Jacklyn selected out of my entire wardrobe of mostly modest clothing). I finish with my dress and zip my black ankle boots. I’ve already curled my hair and spent an eternity on my makeup, so I spritz on perfume and am adding the last detail to my outfit—the necklace from Ben—when he knocks at my door.
I hurry and pull it open, and Ben stands before me in navy pants and a white dress shirt, sans tie and the top button of his shirt unfastened. His unruly golden brown hair has been mostly tamed into place with some type of product, but the front pieces are still tousled, as if he just couldn’t resist the urge to run his fingers through them right before he knocked on my door.
“Hi,” I say breathlessly. It’s the only word I remember with him standing there looking that good.
“Hi, yourself.” Ben’s bright green eyes skirt up my bare legs,briefly catching on the hemline at my thighs, then continue upward until they come to an abrupt halt when they reach theMcharm dangling at my breastbone. The corner of his mouth pulls upward.
He leans forward to kiss me, but I lean back.
“This red lipstick will get all over you,” I warn.
“And I couldn’t give a single fuck.”
He walks me backward as his mouth covers mine, pressing my back against the open door. The kiss is agonizingly slow and sensual at first, quickly escalating into something heated and passionate. Something that makes me think we’ll be missing that dinner reservation after all. But Ben eventually pulls away, releasing my hips like they’ve burned him.
“I’ve wanted to take you on a real date for as long as I can remember,” he tells me. “I’m doing this the right way.”
His determined expression fills my heart, and I rub away what I can of my lipstick from his mouth, knowing that despite my efforts, everyone in the restaurant is going to know what we were doing as soon as we walk in.
