Page 95 of Before Dawn

“You look beautiful,” he said, his tone thick with something that made my stomach dip.

I should’ve answered immediately, but his eyes—heated, unflinching, like he wanted to memorize me—made my thoughts scatter.

“Thank you,” I finally managed, stepping back to let him in.

As he passed, the crisp scent of citrus, linen, and Mikkel enveloped me. The moment settled—heavy, certain.

I watched as he pulled out the flowers, moving with determination. He emptied the vase, rinsed it, filled it with fresh water, added flower food, and swirled it before carefully arranging the blooms.

My chest tightened. Not just at the sight of him standing in my kitchen like he belonged, but at the way he did it—with intention, with care, like keeping my flowers alive was just another way to show he was paying attention.

“You’ve done this before,” I said, my voice quieter than before.

“Can’t let your flowers die too soon.” He adjusted a stem, his focus unwavering. “And no, but I got directions from the florist.”

Something warm and sharp curled in my chest. He’d gone out of his way for this.For me.

The Songs For You playlist played softly in the background, and my mind flickered to the Lana show I’d missed out on. Disappointment stirred, but I forced it down.

“You okay?” Mikkel’s voice was gentle, but his gaze was searching, like he already knew the answer.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

He didn’t look convinced. But after a beat, he turned to the flowers, his expression softening as he took them in.

Then, finally, he looked back at me. “Now they’re perfect.”

My chest tightened, and I had to look away before my smile gave too much away. “Thank you.”

Mikkel’s gaze held me, unwavering, as if engraving this moment into memory. “The pleasure is always mine.”

Before I could respond, he reached for the white box, holding it out like a promise. “For you.”

My fingers brushed his as I took it, a small touch, barely anything, but somehow, too much.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Inside was a rich chocolate cake, perfectly frosted, decadent. A masterpiece of indulgence.

“This looks amazing,” I murmured, already imagining the taste, the way it would melt on my tongue.

“I stopped by the bakery and picked it up for you,” he said, watching me carefully. “Figured you might need a little something sweet.”

I shook my head, trying—and failing—not to be affected. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirked, slow and deliberate. That dangerous kind of smirk.

“Cuando se trata de ti.”46

I didn’t know what he meant, but the quiet certainty in his voice sent warmth curling low in my stomach.

Note to self: download Duolingo.Immediately.

Before I could dwell on it, he reached for the shopping bag. “And this,” he lifted it slightly, “is for your locks.”

“My locks?”

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