Chapter 6
Approximately five hours later, I’m jostled awake as the plane touches down on solid ground.
Lethargic and confused, it takes a few moments to get my bearings.
My mind tells me I need to wake up because I’m on a plane to Iceland and wasn’t supposed to fall asleep in the first place.
But my body tells me I’m so, so comfy and finally sleeping soundly for the first time in days and surely a few more minutes of rest won’t hurt.
I’m covered up with the snuggliest blanket and the air around me smells like fresh laundry and my head rests on the most comfortable pillow.
Wait…
Barely opening my eyes, I register a few things about my current situation.
One—my warm, snuggly blanket is Ben’s jacket, which covers my upper body.
Two—that jacket is the source of the alluring fresh-laundry scent that has no doubt helped induce this possible coma.
Three—and most horrifying of all—my pillow is no pillow at all!
It’s a shoulder. Ben’s shoulder to be precise, and it’s comforting in a way I don’t care to think about.
“Mona.” Ben’s gentle, raspy voice coaxes me further awake as the lights flicker in the cabin. “We landed. You have to wake up now.”
Regretfully, I lift my head off his shoulder, my eyes performing a discreet sweep of his shirtsleeve to check for drool spots.
Thank god it’s dry; there’s only so much mortification one can handle at a given time.
Yawning, I arch my back and stretch my arms out in front of me as I wonder how it’s possible I slept through most of the landing.
I’m not a heavy sleeper, so I’ll attribute this accidental blackout to the weekend of sleepless nights leading up to our departure.
Not Ben. It had nothing to do with Ben Carter or his oddly comfortable body.
Embarrassment warms my cheeks as I prepare to apologize for using his arm like my own personal body pillow, but when I glimpse his face, now a weird shade of palish green, those thoughts leave me.
“I don’t care for the landings, either,” he says wryly.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked peaceful.” The plane slows to a taxiing speed, and Ben rolls his shoulder—likely sore from supporting my heavy head. “We’re on the ground now. Just give me a minute and I’ll be okay.”
“How long was I…” I gesture at his shoulder.
“Asleep on me?” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Only for the past two hours. Don’t worry, I put your laptop away when you first dozed off.”
Two entire hours? Oh. My. God. “I’m really sorry. You should’ve woken me up. That had to be really uncomfortable for you.”
“No.” The slightest shake of his head. “It was…fine.”
Coming to a stop at the gate, people around us fill the aisle in their overenthusiastic rush to deplane, one person’s oversized backpack even creeping into Ben’s already-small space so that Ben has to lean into my already-small space.
When it’s our turn, Ben steps into the aisle and retrieves our carry-ons—this time I accept his help—then makes room for me to lead the way.
Keflavík International is a nondescript airport that upon first impression could be anywhere in the world.
But as soon as we make our way through the sliding glass doors, I get my first glimpse of Iceland—or feel, rather—which comes in the form of a gusty wind that whips through my hair and has me unzipping my duffel bag in hopes Jacklyn packed my coat and wool cap within easy reach.
The decision to wear thin leggings and a short-sleeved T-shirt on the plane was not my wisest one, but I wasn’t exactly thinking properly—or at all—at the time.
My hand shuffles around until it lands on my new dusty-blue, fleece-lined raincoat and then my gray wool beanie (both courtesy of Mason’s unexpected birthday shopping splurge), and I’m reminded again that I love Jacklyn with my entire being.
Properly armored, I follow Ben to the line for a shuttle that will take us to our car rental dealership.
As we wait, I crane my neck in every direction, trying to glimpse some of the majesty of this place, but so far all I see is airport asphalt and neon car-rental signage in the distance.
The only things of note are the gray, overcast sky concealing any trace of the sun and the winds that roar in short, angry bursts. I shiver.
Twenty minutes later, I sit in the passenger side of a Suzuki SUV, our bags loaded in the back, as Ben slides into the driver’s seat with a square gadget in his palm.
“What’s that?” I ask, buckling my seat belt.
“Portable Wi-Fi. It’s so convenient when the rental places have these. Now we’ll be able to use it wherever we go, not just in the car.”
“Oh right,” I say, even though I’ve never seen a gadget like that in my life.
While I should be grateful for Ben’s travel knowledge, I’m mostly just annoyed.
Clearly I’m the only one woefully unprepared for this trip while expert Ben is fine and fucking dandy and on top of his game. I bet he even packed his own bags.
Ben starts the engine, and I scramble for the notebook I already tucked into the glove compartment to make a quick note of this Wi-Fi travel tip. Pulling out of the airport lot, the GPS directs us to our first stop, the Blue Lagoon.
Located twenty minutes from Keflavík International, the pools of glacial blue geothermal water are a popular stop for tourists as soon as they arrive.
While I may have snoozed more than intended on the flight, I did read up on today’s excursion before losing consciousness, so I have some idea of what to expect.
Patrons relax in the warm waters enriched with silica, algae, and minerals—said to promote healing—set among some of Iceland’s best scenery.
From the pictures I saw online, this is one of our activities I’m most looking forward to.
Minimal exertion. Hot, healing waters. Breathtaking views. Yes, please.
As I stare out the windshield, more of Iceland rises into view as we make our way farther from the airport.
The paved road we follow cuts through fields of flat, muddy brown earth, broken up on occasion by piles of black volcanic rock, casually stacked in the fields or filling a trench next to the road.
While I know volcanoes are kind of Iceland’s thing, I’m still filled with an overwhelming excitement at the wonder of it all.
It doesn’t look real. It doesn’t feel real. I pinch my arm. It’s fucking real.
“Have you been here before?” I ask Ben, keeping my focus on the landscape in front of me, not wanting to miss a single detail. “To Iceland?”
“No. It’s my first time.”
I’m pleased this is a new experience for both of us; it makes it seem like we’re on more equal footing here.
“It’s incredible already. Look, that’s real lava!
” I point out the windshield to another stack of hardened ash, as if Ben doesn’t already see the same landscape I do.
“La-va!” Exhilaration pumping through my veins, I risk a quick look at him, and he quirks his lips at the unbridled enthusiasm in my voice.
The drive is far shorter than anticipated, and soon we’re pulling into a half-full parking lot as I jot down a few more notes, knowing I’m not doing the descriptions proper justice.
Tucking my notebook away, I hop out of the SUV and make my way to the back of the vehicle to gather the needed items from my luggage.
Once Ben has his personal items together, he opens the door to the back seat to retrieve the camera equipment he’ll need, leaving me to go through my suitcase in private.
Which is a relief because I don’t know where any of my items are specifically, and that’d be hard to explain if Ben were watching.
I can envision it now. Oh, sorry, give me a minute here because, you see, I didn’t pack my own stuff because I was too busy being a goddamn headcase over you for the entire weekend! LOL, right?!
That truth wouldn’t leave my mouth if I were interrogated by the CIA.
After locating my toiletry bag and an extra set of clothing, I pull out a swimsuit and gasp.
Ben glances at me questioningly over the back seat. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Everything. “It’s fine.” It’s not fine.
Earlier, I thought I loved Jacklyn, but now those feelings of fondness have quickly dried up.
Evaporated. Vanished. Because the minuscule amount of material I grasp between my fingers is not my modest, professional, one-piece swimsuit.
Instead, I’m clutching Jacklyn’s entirely immodest, completely unprofessional, two-piece black string bikini.
I toss the stacks of clothing around, searching for another option, but discover the only other swimsuit she packed is a one-piece emerald green number with a deep V cut to the navel, which is somehow more provocative than the bikini.
I will have very, very strong words for her when I get home.
For now, there’s nothing I can do except shove the bikini in my tote bag with the rest of my stuff, rezip my luggage, and slam the back of the SUV closed.
Ben rounds the corner with a complicated, professional-looking camera strapped over his shoulder, and we cross the parking lot to a sidewalk that snakes its way between walls of volcanic rock and vibrant green moss.
While Ben takes several photos of the picturesque entrance, I follow suit with my iPhone, snapping some selfies to rub in Jacklyn’s face before delivering the sternly worded lecture I’m already outlining in my mind.
Ben lowers his camera as I pose in front of the lava rocks with my phone held high to give myself the best angle. “Do you want me to do it?”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ve got it.”
“Of course,” he deadpans. “Why would you want a world-renowned photographer to take your photo when you can take…selfies?” He says the word like it’s an insult to his entire profession.
Scowling, I slip my phone into my bag. “World-renowned?” I roll my eyes. “Don’t be cocky. And I happen to like my selfies.”