Page 148 of Before Dawn

I exhaled shakily. “I love the way your hands feel on me.”

Mikkel smirked, his fingers tracing lazy circles against my skin. “I don’t think it feels as good as the way your skin does against my palm.”

Jesus.

“You always know what to say,” I muttered, pressing my thighs together.

He grinned, shifting gears without a word. Heknewexactly what he was doing to me.

Desperate for a distraction, I cleared my throat. “So, where are we going?”

He chuckled. “It’s a surprise, but I promise you’ll love it.”

A surprise.Of course.

With a sigh, I leaned back, surrendering myself to whatever he had planned.

The city faded behind us, the skyline softening into quiet calm. I traced patterns on his forearm, the scent of my bouquet and his cologne lingering in the car. Every so often, his thumb brushed absentmindedly over my knee, and each time, my breath hitched just a little.

Eventually, the car slowed, the sound of waves filling the space between us. I blinked, taking in the familiar setting as we pulled into Pier 84.

The docks lay ahead, water reflecting the sunset’s last hues. Boats bobbed in the distance, salt and warmth in the air. Mikkel’s hand found mine as we strolled, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles over my skin.

And then I saw it.

Twinkling lights hung above, casting a soft amber glow over the setup—a beautifully arranged table, candles flickering, the scent of lasagna, warm bread, and herbs filling the air.

I blinked.

What the fuck?

The small details captured me—pictures strung above, each a snapshot of our time together. Moments of joy, laughter, and adventure, frozen in time. Aquarium dates, Coney Island at sunset, Dillon’s gala, lazy days tangled in sheets, FaceTime photos, the beach, the High Line, the Lana concert.

Every single one taken by him. A collection of us.

My throat tightened. “Mikkel,” I whispered, barely audible.

The moment wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and then—soft guitar chords filled the air.

“Can I Be Him” by James Arthur.

The song drifted through the night, mingling with the flickering candlelight and settling deep in my bones. My pulse thrummed as I turned to him, only to find his gaze already on me.

Adoring. Unwavering. Like I was the only thing that mattered.

“I can’t believe you went to all this trouble,” I murmured, my heart a restless flutter.

His lips curled, that dimple peeking through. “It’s never trouble to do anything for you.”

His fingers brushed against mine before he pulled out my chair with an easy, effortless grace. A gentleman. My Hispanic gentleman.

“Let’s sit.”

Dinner was lasagna, barbecue ribs, and fried rice. A strange mix, yes but it was so me. Comforting, rich, indulgent. Every so often, he reached for my hand between bites, his thumb stroking slow, absentminded circlesover my skin.

“I wanted tonight to be special,” he said, his voice low, his eyes locked onto mine. That look—the one that made my stomach somersault.

I swallowed. “It already is.”

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