Chapter Nine
Abigail-Ann
“The best love is the one that makes you a better person, without changing you into someone other than yourself.”
~Unknown
I woke up to an email from Emilia, the payment receipt attached along with a few other documents. After quickly skimming through them, I slid out of bed and dressed in my favorite pair of high-waisted, light-wash blue jeans that hugged my curves just right, pairing them with a crisp white bodysuit blouse. One last glance in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my hair, letting the curls fall loosely around my shoulders.
“Well, Azzy,” I said, stepping forward to hug her, “I’ll see you in about two weeks.”
My Uber was on its way, and though Azzy had wanted to come to the airport with me, work had other plans .
“Be safe, and make sure to call or text me,” she said, pouting as she pulled me into another hug. Then, with far too much volume, she added, “I love you! And don’t forget the goal of this trip!”
“The goal?”
“Abigail-Ann.” Her tone was scolding, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re going there to break it off, not give him a good-bye fuck.”
I scoffed. “I don’t want his penis anywhere near me.”
“Make sure,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “As a matter of fact, sleep with no one. Keep your dry spell going.”
“You’re no fun since you’ve been hooking up with your hot tycoon,” I teased, rolling my eyes.
She grinned, unable to hide her happiness, and launched into a recap of her latest moments with him—awkward office encounters, insane amount of spending, his thoughtful gestures, and a certain turning point in an alleyway.
From the way she spoke, it was clear: he was the one.
“I kissed a guy once, or ten times, and now you think I’m hooking up?” she said, feigning innocence.
She couldn’t fool me.
I laughed. “You should break your dry spell. You want him, and he sure as hell wants you.”
She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about me. This is about you and that bitch boy. Break it off, no sex, and then you can pursue Mikkel.”
I think I stopped breathing.
How the hell did she even know about Mikkel?
What was even there to know ?
I had deliberately never mentioned him because there was nothing to mention—just fleeting, short-lived moments and an undeniable, magnetic pull.
Yeah. No. Big. Deal.
“I’m not going to pursue Mikkel,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even .
“Sure,” she replied, too casually, but skepticism danced in her eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Just please remember the goal.”
I could have argued, but the last thing I wanted was to drag this conversation out.
“Got it. Bye, Azzy,” I said, turning to leave.
“Call me!”
“I will,” I replied, my voice softening as I disappeared through the doorway, my luggage rolling behind me.
But just as I stepped out, something struck me. Without thinking, I ran back inside.
“Azzaria!”
She groaned, rubbing her temple. “You’re gonna miss your flight at this rate.”
“Let magic happen between you and Dillon,” I said, a hopeful smile tugging at my lips before dashing off again.
The ride to the airport felt longer than it was, frustration simmering beneath my skin as Joshua’s relentless texts flooded my screen. If only he was this persistent while we were dating. My fingers stabbed at my phone, muttered curses slipping out as I silenced notifications one by one.
But the unease didn’t fade.
The anxiety of flying pressed in on me, tightening like a fist around my lungs. Every step closer to my gate made my chest heavier. My palms were damp. The overhead announcements buzzed in my ears, blending with the rush of travelers. My mind spun through worst-case scenarios. What if the plane hit turbulence? What if something went wrong midair?
My breaths quickened.
It was always like this before a flight. Always this battle against thoughts that refused to quiet.
Then, out of nowhere—bam.
My shoulder collided with something solid, jolting me backward. My bag slipped from my grasp, items tumbling to the floor .
“Shit,” I muttered, bending down to gather my things, barely sparing a glance at the person I’d crashed into—until a familiar scent wrapped around me.
Clean, masculine, with a crisp hint of something dark and intoxicating.
I knew that scent.
A sinking feeling settled in my stomach.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze.
And there he was.
Towering over me, tousled hair a perfect mess, casual attire that somehow only made him more irresistible. His tattoos—God, those tattoos—snaked down his arms, bold against his tanned skin. Each intricate line dared me to trace them.
Our eyes locked.
Frustration. Surprise. And something else—something unspoken—flashed between us.
I took a slow, steadying breath, my heart hammering as I braced for whatever came next.
“Mikkel,” I said, my voice sharper than intended, the annoyance from Joshua’s texts still lingering. “What are you doing here?”
“You know my name.” His crooked smile was all mischief, eyes tracing over my disheveled state like he was committing it to memory. “I have a flight,” he said easily, though the glint in his gaze told me there was more to it. “Been hoping to see you, Red.”
“Hoping to see me? Why?”
Silence. Thick, charged, full of something unsaid.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he crouched down, reaching for the things I’d dropped. “Let me help you with that.”
His fingers brushed mine, sending a jolt through me, and I cursed how easily he got under my skin. The airport was loud, but somehow, in that moment, the noise dulled, everything shrinking to just him.
“Thank you.”
He studied me, lingering just long enough to make me squirm. “I still don’t know your name. I can’t call you Red forever. ”
He absolutely could.
And before I could stop myself, I muttered, “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
The corner of his lips twitched. “ A mí tampoco me importaría, Red . 15 ”
I had no idea what he just said, but it was quite possibly the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.
“Abigail-Ann,” I mumbled. “But most just call me Abigail.”
“Abigail.” His voice wrapped around my name like it belonged to him. And fuck, I don’t think my name has ever been said that attractively in my life.
“Pretty name for an even prettier face.”
I rolled my eyes, but the warmth spreading through my chest betrayed me. “Smooth as ever, Mikkel.”
He chuckled, the sound rich and unhurried. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” A beat of hesitation, then—“Would it be weird if I asked for your Instagram?”
I blinked.
Not my number. My Instagram.
My fingers curled around the strap of my bag before I even realized it. Men rarely asked for anything other than my number—because they thought they were entitled to it. I’d had a man grab my wrist once, yanking when I refused, slurring insults in my ear as I wrenched myself away. Another had followed me for blocks , shouting how I was stuck-up, ugly, a tease.
So no, it wasn’t weird at all. It was… a relief.
“Not at all,” I said, surprising myself. “It’s abi_asher.”
He nodded, his expression unreadable. Thoughtful.
“Thank you,” he mused. “So, where are you off to, Abigail?”
“San Francisco for a bit,” I said, adjusting the strap of my bag.
He hummed. “I’m headed home, too. My cousin’s engagement party, then business in Chicago.”
“Home as in?”
“Sacramento.” He tilted his head. “And I hope your trip is great, Red.”
“I hope you enjoy yours too, Mikkel.” A soft chuckle escaped me. “Thought you were calling me Abigail now?”
He shrugged. “Depends. How many people call you Red?”
“A couple,” I teased.
He gave an exaggerated pout. “Really?”
“No,” I admitted. “You’re the first.”
Something flickered in his expression—pleased, almost smug—but it softened into something else when he murmured, “I hope to be the last.”
The words were so quiet, I almost convinced myself I imagined them.
“Huh?”
“Nothing at all, Red.” His grin was slow, teasing, and dangerous.
Before I could press him, the intercom crackled to life, announcing my flight’s boarding. I exhaled, a part of me reluctant to leave this conversation unfinished.
“Well,” I sighed, adjusting my bag, “looks like that’s my cue. It was nice seeing you again, Mikkel.”
His smile held something unreadable. “The pleasure is all mine.”
I turned, stepping toward the gate, but the moment I disappeared into the crowd, I knew.
This wasn’t over.
Not even close.
The plane touched down with a jolt, and I exhaled, relieved to be back in San Francisco after that turbulence-filled flight.
Stepping into the arrivals area, I scanned the sea of travelers until my eyes landed on Aurora, her bright smile standing out even in the crowded terminal.
“Abigail!” she called, waving me over.
I rushed to the car and pulled her into a hug. “Aurora, I missed you. ”
The porter loaded my luggage while we climbed into the car, the city lights streaking past as we pulled onto the highway.
“You hungry?” she asked, throwing me a knowing grin.
I groaned theatrically. “I’m starving.”
“Good, because Mom and Dad are cooking dinner.”
I squealed at the thought. Nothing compared to a home-cooked meal, and it was one of the things I’d miss most when I moved.
Pulling out my phone, I quickly texted Azzy.
Me: I landed.
Azzy: Perfect! Be safe and call me if you ever need me!
Me: I will. yellow heart emoji
Aurora glanced over. “How was New York?”
“Exciting,” I admitted, grateful. “And thank you again for setting me up with the realtor.”
She smiled. “You’re moving three thousand miles away. I needed to make sure you’d be comfortable.”
“Still, I appreciate you.”
Her brow creased slightly. “Are you feeling okay about all this? I know it’s a lot to handle.”
I hesitated, then shrugged. “It is, but I think I’m managing just fine.”
“Just take it one step at a time,” she said softly. “And call me if it feels like too much.”
“Thanks. I probably will—more than you think.”
She smirked. “What will you do for work until you graduate?”
“Not sure yet, but I’ll look for something when I get back.”
Her eyes lit up. “My friend works at Book Culture—they’re always hiring. I’ll ask her.”
I gasped. “Seriously, what would I do without you?”
“Suffer,” she teased.
I laughed, the weight of the move momentarily forgotten .
The rest of the drive was quiet, with small moments of sleep in between. But as we pulled into the driveway of our parents’ home in Presidio Heights, familiarity wrapped around me like a warm blanket.
The house, with its tall arched windows, intricate molding, and the glow of a chandelier over polished floors, looked exactly the same. And the comforting scents of wood, fresh flowers, and my mother’s cooking filled the air.
“Parentals!” Aurora shouted as we stepped inside. “We’re home!”
The tap of my mother’s heels and the steady sound of my father’s shoes echoed down the hall before they appeared, arms already open for hugs.
My mom, Alicia Asher, exuded effortless elegance—her gray-streaked curls and warm brown eyes often making people mistake her for my sister instead. My dad, Daniel Asher, with his salt-and-pepper hair and kind smile, still carried the same quiet confidence he always had.
And just like that, the stress of the past few weeks melted away. I was home.
Before I could take another step, she was already fussing over me.
“How are you? How was the flight? Are you hungry? You look flushed... Are you tired, Princess?”
I flopped onto the living room sofa, grinning. “Calm down, Mom,” I said. “I’m fine. I’m hungry, and the flight was turbulent, but I made it.”
“Great,” Dad replied. “We’ve got much to discuss, but we’ll talk after you’ve settled. Glad to have you home, Princess.”
The one thing I always loved about being with my family was their love. No matter where we were or what we did, it never wavered. I was beyond grateful to have them.
“Angel,” my mom called out to Aurora.
“Yes, Mom?” Aurora replied, heading toward the kitchen.
And that was the last thing I heard before sleep pulled me under.