Dear Chloe,
It's the second day in Hveragerdi and I'm waiting for the rain to stop. You've said that you'd wanted to come back here to Iceland one day – to see the Northern Lights again, to finally go for that whale trip in Husavik, and of course for that second helping of lobster soup at Humarhofnin.
Remember how happy you were with that bowl of thick, orangey liquid when it came? Complete with three pieces of cut baguette toasts and all your grouses about the long car ride vanished. You'd even volunteered to take over the steering wheel for a while so that I could enjoy the scenery. If only I'd recalled this earlier – I would have made a whole pot for you whenever you had the craving for something salted, thick and smooth with a pinch of game.
But I didn't.
It was late afternoon when I finally touched down at Keflavík International. The cab driver who was there dropped me off at the Blue Lagoon before heading back to Hotel Flon (you remember this place, don't you?) I still remember the look on your face when you finally saw the baby blue waters and the white steam. You were literally bouncing with glee and I had to chase after you to the pools after you speed-striped your way at the changing area. The sounds you've made led every head turn in our direction. Why wouldn't they? You laughed like an angel.
Like there was heaven on your lips.
Then you settled back into one of those silica-clad walls and you pulled me towards you. The buoyancy of the sodium-rich waters made that an easy task for you. I tried my best to keep still but every single touch of you on my skin sent waves of tingles down my spine. That's when you wrapped your arms around me – your chin digging deep into my shoulder, our breaths mingling with the steam.
"There's a man staring at you, B." You said into my ear, your grip tightening around my waist. I'd smiled and entwined my fingers in yours – which you seemed to grab hold of gratefully. When the said man finally plucked up enough courage and swam over, I'd almost died from your death hold. The sheepish look on his face could not compare with the growing burn from the heat emanating from your body.
Was it anger or was it the heat from the waters around us? Before the poor man could even part his lips to utter a greeting, you silenced him – cut him right off to the hilt.
"She's mine."
Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: The day you'd ask is the day I'd belong to you forever. No question needed.
The rain has finally ceased but the windows have fogged up too much for anyone to take a proper look outside. Remember how bad the snow was when we arrived at Frost and Fire that day? The drive was uneven and we were both so worried we had to pay extra for insurance by the time we return the Ford. When we finally pulled up to a stop in front of the admin office, you immediately turned the engine off and pulled me over, engulfing my body in your arms – arms that I loved so much.
"Sorry," you whispered into my shoulder, "sorry that I took so many wrong turns."
The truth is, you didn't. I was the one with the GPS but you wouldn't let the blame be on me. The sky was already starting to fall to night, and my useless stomach kept rolling its grouses, almost drowning out the Icelandic music playing on the radio. I remember: Of Monsters and Men was playing and it was the one song that somehow had lifted the heavy mood in the car.
"Some had scars and some had scratches. It made me wonder about their past. And as I looked around I began to notice, that we were nothing like the rest."
Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: You did nothing wrong, nothing ever. You're an excellent driver, Chloe. An excellent driver.
Elfa (you'd remember her) just came in with a bunch of terry robes and asked me to head to the baths at the back. I remember how excited we were after getting off from the Ford with all the luggage to be dipping and relaxing in a pool of warm water – especially in such a cold day like that. You could call me a perv but I couldn't keep my eyes off of you when you changed into that slick two-piece of yours while I cowered in my own one-piece. How could I? That two pieces of red lycra hugged your curves as though they belonged to your body and heat pooled instantly at a place where I didn't need it to be. The smirk on your face told me you knew what I was thinking.
Loved it when you knew what I was thinking. Always.
"Hold me." I obliged, throwing my arms around your torso and pulling you closer. I could taste the saltiness from the minerals caught in your hair. I could smell the Earl Grey from your breath as you craned back to kiss me. Your lips tasted like the herring we had that morning before we departed from Vik and I realized, I didn't mind it at all. Not one bit. Not even when we knew I hated preserved fish.
I remember waking up the next morning – it was still dark out even though the clock showed 0830 hours, and I found you lying on top of me with your cheek against mine. I haven't told you before: that was my favorite way to be woken up. Your legs tangled in mine - your left hand grasping my right; we shared our body heat under the thick covers as you snoozed on.
"I keep you warm." You gibbered, still thick in your sleep, totally unaware of the fully awaken person lying below you. Your hold over my hand tightened and you turned your head the other direction – our lips meeting for that split second before you rested your other cheek on my face.
Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: I miss your warmth, Chlo and I need it so much.
Snowcapped mountains and artsy barren trees greeted us as we trudged our way downhill towards the town of Hveragerdi. Hand in hand, we endured the unfeeling wind blowing against our faces. You're determined to bring me to one of the local diners for lunch. You'd found the address online whilst I was bathing and couldn't stop blabbering about their waffles and coffee.
You know how much I love waffles.
To speed up the process, you helped wipe me dry and pulled on my long-johns for me. You'd made sure I was kept warm by pilling up feasible layers upon me before zipping me up in that huge red overcoat. We had matching ones. Aubrey and gang have commented how ugly it was because it made us look like oversized tomatoes and I was so mad because I was the one who bought them for us. But you never complained. You've never paid heed to any of their snarks – instead, you wore it the moment I took it out from its packaging and proudly paraded it in front of our friends.
"Beca bought this for me."
When we reached the place you'd intended, it was closed. The sign that was posted on the door was scribbled in illegible writing, possibly in the local language because it looked very viking-ish. You kicked a stone as you vented your frustration, your face red. The growl that followed reminded me of my promise to you and I tugged you away, possibly by a few lucky seconds before you tore down the doors. I couldn't help but smile along with you as your face lit up at the sight of another eating place.
Cafe Rose.
Turned out the locals preferred this place to the other. As we waited for our waffles, you played the game of tag with our feet. My heart fluttered as you bursted into a fit of giggles every time you managed to catch one of my feet with yours. I love how you'd grab on to my limb with both your feet, not letting go until you decided to start the next round. I love how you'd never let go when our food came and we wolfed them down like we hadn't eaten in days. I love how you'd reach over and wipe off that bit of cream left on the corner of my mouth; I love how you'd lick that cream off your thumb and how you'd smile at me sheepishly as if you've done something embarrassing.
Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: I've never been embarrassed of you, and I never would.
On our third and last day in the small town, you decided that we should tackle that hiking trail behind Frost and Fire. Halfway through the trail, you suddenly threw a ball of snow right at me. Of course I'd retaliated, my ball smaller than yours. I love how you took care not to throw it at my vulnerable point – even though you could have. I love how you'd tease me for my small balls because I couldn't make bigger ones with my small hands. I love how you'd come over to teach me to make a good solid snowball; how you'd even let me throw it at you to test its strength.
When we finally got tired of throwing snow at each other, we found a flat spot and laid down. The sun has almost used up its five hours limit, and the skies above us and the snow-clad mountains around us were painted in its pink glow. I could feel your hot breath against my ear as you snuggled closer to me. It was beautiful.
"Are you cold?" You shook your head, digging your face further into my neck. That's when I knew: you were freezing. But you wouldn't leave.
"I love this." You whispered, gesturing around us. "I love lying down here like this with you."
Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough: I love lying down like that with you too.
Why haven't I told you?
I miss you, Chlo.
And I wish you're here with me.
Love always,
Beca
