Page 215 of Before Dawn

What the fuck?

What theactualfuck?

“You went to Ulta?” My voice came out small, almost disbelieving.

“Of course,” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Even that curly hair quiz they made me take was worth it.”

My eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

And suddenly, I was sobbing.

I covered my mouth, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you went shopping at Ulta.”

He chuckled, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “And I’d do it again.”

I watched, speechless, as he rolled up his sleeves, slipped on gloves, and mixed the dye with precision. His hands moved with practiced ease, sectioning my hair effortlessly.

“You know what you’re doing, huh?”

“Yeah. I have a sheet right here with steps from Aurora.” He pointed to the laminated sheet I hadn’t even realized was propped up in the shower. He called my sister? And wait, he fuckinglaminatedit? “Then I watched about four YouTube videos for reinforcement.”

I huffed a soft laugh, shaking my head. “You never fail to amaze me.”

He bent down, pressing a kiss to my lips before murmuring, “Let’s get started, Red.”

And he did.

Mikkel worked methodically, ensuring the dye coated every strand. He even went over it twice, something I never had the patience for. When it was time to rinse, he guided me to the sink, his hands steady and sure.

Then came the real care.

He started with a pre-shampoo treatment, gently working it through my curls before detangling with slow, deliberate movements. Next came the shampoo—twice, to make sure the dye was completely out, he explained. His fingers massaged my scalp repeatedly, his touch firm but careful, lulling me into complete relaxation.

When he applied the hair mask, the scent of vanilla and honey filled the air, warm and familiar. He took his time, making sure every inch of my hair was coated before moving on to the conditioner with the same thoughtful attention.

“How does that feel? Am I doing it right?” he asked, his voice softer now.

I let out a slow breath, eyes closed. “You’re doing it even better. And so much gentler.”

His lips brushed the top of my head before he applied a rich moisturizer, his fingers gliding through my curls with unhurried care. I tilted my head, meeting his gaze as he continued, his touch both gentle and sure.

“You know,” I murmured, “if you ever get tired of your billion-dollar company… you might have a future in this.”

He smiled, amusement flickering in his eyes, before tucking a damp curl behind my ear. His knuckles brushed my cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind, baby.”

After helping me up from the shower bench, he stepped outside while I took a quick shower.

When I stepped out, steam curling around me, the soft hum of the heater was the first thing I noticed—a relief, given the cold outside. Then my eyes landed on the neatly folded clothes waiting for me, already picked out, as if he knew I’d be too tired to choose them myself.

Just then, he walked in from the living room, holding a hairdryer and a few other hair tools.

“You didnotbuy a four-hundred-dollar hair dryer!” I stared at him, half in disbelief and the other in amazement.

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t paying attention to the price tag.” His eyes met mine, amusement flickering. “The sales rep said it’s best for your hair type, so I didn’t hesitate. Also grabbed some heat protectant.”

I blinked, torn between wanting to scream at him for spending almost five hundred dollars on a hairdryer or crying because he cared enough to buy it.

“Sit down,” he said gently, guiding me to the vanity chair. “Let’s dry your hair.”

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