Page 91 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“Ben. No.” I adamantly shake my head, my body refuting the mere notion. “If you think I’ve even considered that possibility in the slightest, you are so wrong.” I cover his hand with my own, pressing it against my heart. “You’re the boy who stayed with me on the first day of kindergarten so I wouldn’t be alone. You’re the boy who didn’t stop searching for me until you rescued me from that trunk. You’ve saved me from the dark more times than I can count. You’ve kept my secrets and made me feel safer than anyone ever has. I know your heart, Ben, and it’s gentle and kind and good.”
I fall forward until my chest presses against his, drawing him into a long, languid kiss. Then I take my time kissing his wet cheeks, his jaw, his neck. I work my way lower, over his chest anddown his stomach. I want to make him feel good. I want to spend forever making him feel good.
He lifts his hips, allowing me to pull his boxers off. I slide my own underwear off and cast my bra somewhere over my shoulder before settling back on top of him, taking him inside me inch by inch, letting him fill me up in so many ways that go beyond the physicality of the act. We don’t speak, other than sighs of pleasure and moans of need. But we communicate an entire novel with our bodies, our history imprinted on our hearts, the promise of our future spelled out in our eyes.
Chapter 27
Afterward, we shower together while my clothes tumble-dry in Ben’s laundry room. Then I towel-dry my hair as best I can and get dressed. Ben changes into jeans and a sweater—the charcoal gray one he wore the night we made dinner at the suites in Iceland—and we’re heading out of his bedroom when something catches my eye.
“Wait,” I say, making my way over to his desk.
I pick up a black square picture frame and stare down at teenage Ben and teenage me. I don’t remember when the photo was taken exactly, only that it wasn’t long before we got together that summer. It was at some sort of party or get-together, location unknown, and now I recall someone making a snide comment about us spending the whole night talking in a corner.
Someone take a picture of Ben and Mona so we’ll know they were actually here.
And someone had.
In the picture, Ben wears a snarky smirk, one arm slungaround my shoulder, the other extended toward the camera, middle finger raised. As for me, I’m not even looking at the camera. I’m beaming up at Ben like he hung the fucking moon.
Way to not be obvious, young Mona.
“How’d you get this?” I ask.
“Whoever took it texted it to me back then. Logan Fletcher maybe? I don’t remember.” His arms encircle my waist from behind. “It’s only my favorite photograph of all time.”
I place the frame down on his desk, gently, and turn in his arms.
He grins down at me. “What’s that look about?”
I don’t know how I’m looking at him, but I imagine it’s similar to the look teenage Mona is giving him in that photo, the look of someone who is one hundred percent, cannot possibly be in any deeper, head-over-heels in love—even if she didn’t know it yet. I shrug. “I’m just really happy, that’s all.”
Ben smiles, recognizing his own words from our night in Akureyri. “I’m really happy, too, Ems.” He presses a quick kiss to the tip of my nose. “But if you really want to do this, we should go.”
I’ve convinced Ben to come back to the twins’ party with me because I think it’s well past time he made his reappearance in all our lives, not just mine.
Although we could walk, it’s still raining out, so we make the quick drive in his old red pickup that was parked in the garage and somehow still runs. When we pull in the driveway, Ben cuts the engine but doesn’t get out immediately, instead fidgeting with the keys on his old Mets key chain.
“What’s wrong?” I say. “You can’t possibly be nervous.”
He looks over at me, the moonlight casting uneven shadows over his face. “Wouldn’t you be? I haven’t seen your brothers in fourteen years, and I ghosted them, too. I’ll be lucky if they don’t hate me, and that’sbeforethey find out I’m sleeping with their sister.”
“To be honest, it’s probably my father you should be most concerned about.”
His eyes flash wide, and he slumps forward and lays his forehead against the steering wheel with an emphatic groan.
“I’m joking, I swear.” I run my hand soothingly up and down his back. “My family loves you. They’ve always loved you. You have nothing to worry about.”
Ben lifts his head, expression laced with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I’ve always thought they loved you way more than they loved me.”
He kisses my forehead. “Impossible.” Pulling back, he sighs heavily. “All right. Let’s do this.”
We make our way inside, and it’s bustling with noise from every direction. With dinner wrapped up, everyone has scurried off to different parts of the house. I take Ben’s hand and entwine our fingers, pulling him along with me into the kitchen. My father, Marcus, and Carrie stand around the island, still picking at the chip bowl. All three look up as we approach, and Carrie’s mouth tugs into a grin while both my father’s and brother’s fall open.
“You guys remember Ben,” I say, breaking the silence that has fallen over the room, squeezing Ben’s fingers between mine. There’s a rigidity in his forearm, a stiffness in his shoulders andspine, and I don’t think I’ve seen Ben this nervous before. Aside from his fear of transportation.
“Ben Carter,” my father says, pushing his eyeglasses farther up the bridge of his nose as if he needs a better look to believe his eyes. “I’ll be damned. How the hell are you, son?”
