Chapter Twenty-two
Abigail-Ann
“To love is to recognize yourself in another.”
~ Eckhart Tolle
A fter rescheduling our Coney Island date to cover an extra shift, I thought the night was lost. But Mikkel had other plans.
He showed up after my shift, grinning like he’d been waiting for this all day, and brought me to the High Line. Under the hum of the city, it felt like we existed in our own little world. The scent of burgers drifted in the air as we settled onto the grass, our food between us. The sky wasn’t a perfect, cinematic expanse of stars, but it didn’t have to be.
It was ours.
Lying back, he pulled me close, his arm settling around my shoulders like it belonged there. With effortless precision, he adjusted the telescope, his voice low and sure as he traced constellations above us. I wasn’t looking at the stars, though.
I was looking at him.
At the quiet way he saw me.
At the way he felt like certainty in a world where nothing had ever been guaranteed.
At the way he made me feel safe. Cherished. Happy.
And then there was the way he kissed me.
Not just a kiss—something deeper. Something that made my breath catch and my body hum. His lips pressed against mine with a slow, aching intensity, like he was memorizing me. Like he wanted me to feel what he couldn’t put into words.
For so long, I thought intimacy and sex were inseparable. That touch had to come with expectation. But with Mikkel, it was different.
When he reached for my hand, he didn’t take it—he brushed his fingers against mine, waiting. When I curled my fingers around his, he traced slow, lazy circles on my skin. And I realized then—intimacy wasn’t just about passion.
It was this. The quiet moments. The way he paid attention, how he never asked for more than I was ready to give. His touch spoke its own language—one I was only just beginning to understand.
And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to learn.
In the days that followed, we fell into an easy, intoxicating rhythm of closeness. Every moment with him felt like slipping into something warm and familiar, like my heart had known him long before my mind had caught up.
Then, one afternoon, before heading to an interview, he came over to install the extra locks on my door—something he insisted on doing himself.
I sat nearby, watching him work. His brows furrowed in focus, his hands sure and steady. Shirtless.
And utterly, devastatingly distracting.
Because somewhere along the way, without meaning to, I had fallen into something deeper than I ever expected .
And God, I was in trouble.
“Enjoying the view?” His voice cut through my thoughts, teasing and low, and I felt my face heat as his lips curved into a smirk.
“Just making sure you’re doing it right.”
He chuckled, standing to test the lock. “Am I doing it right?”
I nodded absentmindedly. “You’re doing it perfectly.”
I bit my lip, caught between a sharp reply and the flutter in my stomach. Tattoos had never tempted me before, but on him, they were dangerous, begging to be traced with my fingers. Or my lips. God help me.
Days of staying in, organizing, and Facetiming him soon turned into cozy nights on the couch—movies playing softly, his arm draped over my shoulders, our legs tangled like perfect puzzle pieces. He’d steal featherlight kisses, each touch igniting a slow-burning fire. He knew my quirks—showing up with barbecue Lay’s, Chipotle, or chocolate cake—and cherished even the smallest gestures, like my hand on his back, drawing a contented sigh as the world faded away.
Lost in the comfort of those memories, I barely registered the time. A refreshing shower later, I slipped into my favorite flowy sundress and headed downstairs where he was waiting for me.
I was breathless as his cologne hit me first, my gaze drifting over his linen white shirt and matching pants, the erudite charm of his glasses adding to his rugged appeal.
“Hey,” I greeted, warmth flooding me at the sight of him.
“Morning, Red,” he rumbled, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. “Ready to go?”
I nodded, sliding into the car as nerves fluttered in my stomach.
“You excited?” He shot me a teasing grin.
“I am!” I squealed. “I’ve never been to Coney Island.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll never want to leave once you’re there.”
The drive was full of laughter and easy conversation, our excitement building with each passing mile. As we arrived, the buzz of carnival rides and the salty ocean breeze wrapped around us. Colorful banners fluttered overhead, and the sweet scent of cotton candy and popcorn filled the air, instantly reminding me of Pier 39.
“These lights are beautiful,” I murmured, eyes wide with wonder.
When I turned to him, I caught him staring—not at the lights, but at me. My breath hitched, warmth rushing to my cheeks.
“Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “Beautiful.”
Our first stop was the Wonder Wheel, its towering frame glowing against the night sky.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, flashing a grin as we climbed into one of the swinging gondolas.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, trying to sound brave, though my stomach was already fluttering.
The wheel lifted us higher, the boardwalk stretching beneath us like a sea of neon stars. The city skyline glittered in the distance, and for a moment, everything felt weightless.
“Look at that view,” I murmured, nodding toward the horizon.
He hummed, but when I turned, his gaze wasn’t on the skyline—it was on me.
“Mine’s better.”
“Oh yeah?” I arched my brow. “What’s yours?”
His lips curved, eyes steady. “You.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest, stealing my breath as the world shrank, dimming the carnival lights and crashing waves.
Next was the roller coaster, its neon-lit tracks twisting wildly against the sky.
“Are you sure about this one?” he asked.
“No,” I admitted. “But we do it for the experience.”
The second we dropped, my scream tangled with his laughter, adrenaline thrumming through my veins. By the time we stumbled off, breathless and exhilarated, I couldn’t stop grinning.
We wandered through the carnival, our laughter mingling with the excited shouts around us. Every time I glanced at him, he wasn’t just watching me—he was memorizing me, like he didn’t want to forget a single second .
“This is amazing!” I said, spinning in place when we reached the carousel, its golden lights flickering beneath the moonlight.
“It’s even better with you,” he murmured, squeezing my hand.
We followed the scent of buttery popcorn and sweet funnel cakes, indulging in every bite. I licked powdered sugar off my fingers and sighed, blissful.
“This is so good. I feel like a kid again.”
“That’s the magic of America’s Playground,” he said, amusement dancing in his honey-brown eyes. “It brings out the inner child in everyone.”
The night pulled us forward, until we ended up on the beach, the waves stretching dark and endless ahead of us. He pulled me close, his arm warm around my shoulders, my head resting against his chest.
I should’ve been overthinking—dissecting every touch, every look, every word—but I wasn’t. Not when I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
I lifted my gaze, meeting his. And just like that, all the noise in my head stopped.
Some nights fade into memory. Others settle into your bones, unforgettable.
This was one of them.
“Today was perfect,” I whispered, eyes closed, soaking in the feeling.
“Everyday with you normally is.” His lips brushed the top of my head.
The night had fully settled around us now, the stars flickering to life above the water. The waves rolled in steady, rhythmic pulses, a calming backdrop to the quiet between us.
“You come here a lot?” I asked, tracing slow circles on my thigh.
He hesitated. “Not as much as I used to,” he admitted. “Work keeps me busy. But back in university… yeah. I was here all the time.”
I turned to him, curiosity tugging at my chest. “Why?”
His gaze drifted toward the horizon, his voice quieter now. “It was the only place that felt still.”
Something in the way he said it made me pause. “You needed stillness?”
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah. College was… hard. Not just the workload. But—” He hesitated, as if debating whether to say more. Then, finally, he did. “Moving here was a lot. I was a kid, barely spoke English, and suddenly I had to learn fast. By the time I got to college, I had the language down, but the heavy accent, the cultural gaps… they didn’t just go away.” He let out a small, humorless laugh. “You think you’re doing fine until someone laughs or mocks you when you mispronounce something. Or acts surprised when you’re good at something. You start second-guessing yourself. Wondering if you belong.”
A pang hit my chest, sharp and deep. I knew that feeling well—the exhaustion of constantly proving yourself, of knowing people had already decided who you were before you even opened your mouth.
“I get it,” I murmured. “That feeling of walking into a room and knowing they’ve already made up their minds. Of having to fight to be seen before you even speak.”
His head turned slightly, his gaze locking onto mine. And for a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, finally, he gave a small nod. “Yeah.” His voice was quieter this time. “Exactly that.”
I reached for his hand without thinking, threading my fingers through his. “You never had to prove anything, Mikkel.”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and deliberate. “That’s what my parents used to say. And my friends. They were the ones who kept me from losing myself and constantly defended me.” He paused, then glanced at me, something unreadable in his expression. “I don’t talk about this with people.”
I squeezed his hand. “I know.”
His lips parted slightly, as if he hadn’t expected that answer—as if he was still getting used to the fact that I saw him, really saw him, and wasn’t looking away.
“But with you,” he murmured after a beat, “it doesn’t feel hard.”
Heat stirred in my chest, something deep and real. This was trust. Maybe something even bigger than that.
A sudden streak of light caught my eye, and I looked up just in time to see a shooting star cut across the sky .
“Make a wish,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear.
I turned toward him instead. “I don’t need to.”
His brows lifted slightly, like he was about to argue, but before he could, I just smiled. Then, closing my eyes anyway, I made a wish—one that had nothing to do with the stars and everything to do with the man beside me.
I wished this feeling would never, ever end.