Page 87 of Before Dawn

His smile softened, and the overthinking thoughts that usually plagued me faded into the background.

As he started the car, he glanced at me. “Have you eaten?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I was thinking of ordering Chipotle when I get home.”

“Alright,” he said with a nod.

As we drove, music began to play softly through the speakers. It didn’t take long to recognize the playlist—it was theSongs for Youplaylist he’dmade for me. I smiled, the ache in my body melting away, replaced by something softer, more comforting.

Out of nowhere, I blurted, “What’s your middle name?”

He chuckled, glancing at me briefly before focusing back on the road. “Andrés.”

My eyebrows shot up. “That’s…hot.”

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the car. “What’s yours?”

“Charlotte,” I said, feeling shy for some reason.

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s beautiful.”

I smiled back, a comforting sensation spreading through my chest. For once, I didn’t overthink it; I just let myself feel. With that thought in mind, I kept asking him random questions, and he answered without hesitation.

Favorite color? White.

Favorite hobby? The gym.

Favorite song?Video Gamesby Lana Del Rey.

Favorite season? Fall.

Biggest pet peeve? “No offense” after an insult or dirty dishes in the sink.

Fun fact? He speaks four languages fluently: English, Spanish, Italian, and Mandarin.

I glanced out the window and realized the car was pulling into a Chipotle parking lot. I turned to him, surprised.

“You didn’t think I’d actually let you order in, did you?”

I laughed, unsure of what to say.

We both stepped out, and I walked eagerly toward the door—only to find it locked. My shoulders slumped.

“It’s closed,” I muttered, disappointed.

Mikkel stood beside me, unfazed. “I know of another one if you’re up for the drive.”

“Are you sure?” I met his gaze.

He shrugged with a small smile. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” I said, following him back to the car.

As he started driving again, the conversation shifted. I asked him how Chicago was, and he told me about the meetings, mentioning his assistant’s antics and how he was ready to be back. He turned the questions back on me, asking about my day at the bookstore. It felt natural, the ebb and flow of our exchange.

“For once, there’s no traffic,” I commented, staring out at the unusually clear streets.

“It’s usually smooth sailing around these times,” he replied, adjusting the playlist.

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