Page 88 of Before Dawn

I fidgeted with the box containing the slice of chocolate cake, unable to resist running my fingers over the edges.

“You can eat it, you know,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.

I shook my head. “I’m saving it for when I get home.”

“Red,” he said, his tone playful but firm, “if you want to eat it, eat it. I can always get you another slice.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Alright then.”

I gave in, carefully opening the box and taking a bite. The rich, chocolate flavor melted on my tongue, and I sighed in satisfaction.

I really love chocolate cake.

The car grew quiet, and before I knew it, the cake was done and my eyes grew heavy. I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I knew, we were slowing down, and I opened my eyes to see we were pulling into Chipotle.

“The other two before this were also closed,” Mikkel said, his voice soft. “We’re in Brooklyn.”

I froze, turning to him. “You drove to Brooklyn?”

“You wanted Chipotle,” he said with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Mikkel…”

“It’s what you deserve,” he cut me off, his tone teasing. “Are you coming, or should I pick for you?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m coming.”

After we ordered, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d driven over an hour just so I could have a burrito bowl.Who does that?

Back in the car, he glanced at me as I hesitated to dig into the bag.

“You can eat if you want.”

“Most people freak out about crumbs in their car,” I said, amused.

He grinned, glancing at me. “I’m not most people.”

That silenced me in the best way, and I began eating. The heat of the food, combined with his quiet presence, made me feel at ease.

He pulled into a small parking lot, breaking the silence. “I have to make a quick stop,” he said, stepping out.

I kept eating, a small laugh escaping me. He was so…unpredictable. A moment later, he returned, carrying another small box.

“Is that—”

“Another slice of chocolate cake.” He handed it to me with a wink.

“You are something else,” I said, shaking my head.

“As long as it’s something you want me to be.”

The ride back to my building was quiet but comfortable. We arrived just before midnight, and as he pulled up to the curb, he asked, “How are your cramps?”

“They’re better,” I said, and after a pause, I added, “It’s endometriosis. I don’t think I’ve told you before.”

He glanced at me, his expression shifting to concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I nodded. “It’s… a lot, but it’s irregular, so I don’t get twelve periods like most women. Sometimes it’s less; sometimes it doesn’t come at all. But when it does, I can barely get out of bed. It’s not just the pain—it’s the nausea, exhaustion, bloating, everything. I feel like it controls my life sometimes. But this isn’t so bad, which I’m grateful for.”

---