Chapter Ten
Mikkel
“The best love is the one that makes you a better person, without changing you into someone other than yourself.”
~Unknown
H ours of delays and turbulence had me gripping the armrest in frustration. By the time we landed, I swore I’d never fly Delta again. The car our parents sent was waiting, but even as we drove through the city, my mind wasn’t on the familiar streets or the frustration of the flight. It was on Abigail.
I caught sight of her while waiting for coffee, and before I knew it, I was walking toward her, drawn by something I couldn’t name. A small, deliberate brush of shoulders—and then she turned, eyes locking onto mine, and suddenly, the world wasn’t so loud anymore.
Her beauty wasn’t just skin deep. It was in the calm confidence she carried, the quiet command in the way she moved. Even the smallest details—like the soft yellow floral accents on her nails—stayed with me. Who was she? What made her tick?
The questions spun in my mind like a song on repeat. She was unlike anyone I’d met, and I couldn’t shake the need to find out why. So, I got her Instagram. Asking for her number felt too bold, too soon, but this? This felt like the perfect way to get to know her without overwhelming her.
Even as the car slowed in front of my parents’ house, her name still echoed in my mind.
Tahoe Park stretched out before us, the house nestled among towering pines and bathed in the afternoon sun. It stood tall and impressive, with elegant details and large bay windows that reflected the light just right.
“ Mamá ,” I called out.
I heard her footsteps approach, familiar and comforting. Valeria Suarez, my mother, appeared, radiating warmth like the Mediterranean sun. Her caramel-toned skin glowed, and her deep brown eyes met mine, offering reassurance.
“ ?Hola, mis amores! ” 16
I leaned in for a hug. “You look radiant as always, Mamá . 17 ”
She smiled and kissed my cheeks. “ Mi hijo 18 , you’re so handsome,” she said, her voice warm, before walking over to my sister. “My beautiful Emilia.”
“Mamá,” Emilia greeted her, her tone flat.
“I wished you brought my grandson,” Mom added, her eyes lingering on Emilia with a hint of disappointment.
Emilia sighed, the sound heavy with annoyance. Here we go. “Hopefully, I’m good enough company,” she said lightly, though the tightness in her voice gave her away.
Mom’s face shifted to one of shock. “Em—”
“Don’t worry, Mamá. I’ll take him next time,” Emilia said, her voice tight, though she tried to stay calm.
I glanced between them, sensing the tension thickening like an approaching storm. Emilia’s clipped tone and Mom’s lingering disappointment were a familiar dance, one I wasn’t about to sit through this weekend.
Wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere, I shifted my attention. “Where’s Papá? 19 ” I asked, scanning the house.
Mom adjusted her apron. “He’s at the restaurant. He’ll be home later.”
Emilia’s shoulders sank slightly, a sign of her frustration, but she didn’t push further. Hoping to keep things from escalating, I reached for our bags. “I’ll take these upstairs.”
She nodded, though her gaze lingered on Emilia, who was already pulling out her phone to call Elijah.
Just as I turned toward the staircase, Mom’s voice followed me. “Mikkel! Be down by eight for dinner. I’m making La Bandera . Su favorito ! 20 ”
It felt like all my prayers were being answered today.
I could already taste the fragrant rice, red beans, and perfectly seasoned chicken, each bite carrying a hint of nostalgia.
“ Te quiero mucho, Mamá ,” 21 I called over my shoulder.
“ ?Yo también te quiero, hijo! 22 ”
Upstairs, I dropped the bags in my old room, took a quick shower, and got settled in. When I checked my phone, the group chat had exploded—Arnoldo, Dillon, and Ronan arguing over something completely pointless as usual.
Then, a message from Alex caught my eye.
Alex: you landed?
Me: Yep. Just got to my parents’ house.
Alex: great. how was the flight?
Me: A bunch of fucking delays.
Alex: why don’t you just buy a jet?
Me: It’s not on my high list of priorities.
Alex: of course, it isn’t.
Me: I saw her at the airport.
Alex: this has to be fucking fate. tell me you got her name.
Me: I got her name and her Instagram.
Alex: keep me updated.
Me: Will do.
Alex: it’s your year of love, brother.
He was right. It was definitely my year of love.
Two hours later, the smell of dinner woke me, and as I headed downstairs, everyone was already seated at the table.
“ Buenas noches a todos , 23 ” I greeted, pulling out my chair. “ Hola, Papá . 24 ”
Manuel Suarez, my father, looked up at me, sharp as ever in a white T-shirt and brown cargo pants. He was an older version of me—same strong features, same presence that commanded attention. It was almost eerie how much I resembled him, like my parents had copy-pasted his face onto mine the moment I was born.
“ Me alegro de verte, hijo , 25 ” he said, rising slightly to clasp my shoulder before pulling me into a brief hug.
I returned it, feeling the familiar weight of his strength. “How are you?”
“I’m good, Papá,” I replied, meeting his gaze with a smile. “Busy as always, but things are going well. I’m headed to Chicago after the party.”
He nodded, approval flashing in his eyes. “Let’s eat.”
As dishes of La Bandera were passed around, my mother’s voice carried over the table. “How’s the business, hijo ? I see you making headlines.”
“It’s great,” I said, scooping rice onto my plate. “We’re currently working on expansion.”
He nodded. “I’m proud of you for following your dream.” Then, after a beat, his gaze sharpened. “You’re happy, right?”
I met his eyes, knowing the question ran deeper than just business.
A slow smile stretched across my lips.
“Exceedingly happy.”
“ ?Alguna mujer? 26 ” mom asked, her tone laced with curiosity.
I smirked, spearing a piece of chicken with my fork. “Whenever there is, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I hope so.” She gave me a pointed look before turning to Emilia. “How are things with you, mija ? 27 Are you enjoying it there?”
Emilia nodded, chewing her food carefully before answering. “Things are fine. When Elijah is older and more settled, I’m planning to move into a bigger apartment. ”
Mom’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening around her glass. “Are you sure you can handle moving with a toddler? It’s not easy when you—”
“ Mamá .” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t regret it.
Emilia’s fork clattered against her plate. She exhaled, slow and measured, but I caught the flicker of irritation in her eyes before she turned to me. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mikkel.” Her voice was steady, but the tension in her shoulders told me otherwise. “I got through pregnancy on my own; I’m sure I can handle moving.”
Dad reached across the table, his weathered hand covering hers. “ Mi querida , 28 ” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You don’t have to handle anything on your own. We’ll all be there when you decide to move.”
Emilia swallowed hard. She nodded, her chair scraping softly against the floor as she stood. “I’m going to call Ashley and check on Elijah. Goodnight.”
“Em–” Mamá started, but dad touched her arm, silencing her with a small shake of his head.
“Let her go, Val. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”
I leaned back, gripping the edge of my chair, willing my voice to stay level. “Cut her some slack, Mamá.”
Her frown deepened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue. But instead, she simply pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze to her hands. I knew my mom meant well, but sometimes her words came off a lot more critical than she intended.
The tension stretched between us, thick and suffocating, until my dad shifted the conversation to something safer. “The summer menu is a hit, and we’re busy as usual,” he said, his voice lighter. “The habichuelas con dulce keeps selling out by lunchtime.”
Mamá exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening. “ We’re thinking of adding another dessert to the menu. Something light and fresh, maybe with mango or passion fruit.”
“I already have the chef working on options,” dad added, nodding thoughtfully.
I let their conversation wash over me as they discussed the restaurant they had poured their hearts into for years—El Sabroso Delicia. Their words blended into the background as my mind drifted upstairs. Emilia’s voice, the tightness in it, the way she’d practically fled from the table—it weighed heavy in my chest.
Pushing my chair back, I stood. “I’m going to check on Emilia.”
Mom waved me off, her voice softer now. “Go on. She might talk to you.”
I took the stairs two at a time, stopping in front of Emilia’s door. The light beneath it was dim, flickering slightly.
For a moment, I hesitated, pressing my fingers against the wood.
I knocked lightly. “Emilia?”
Silence.
I waited, listening for movement, for a shift, for any sign that she wanted to let me in.
Nothing.
I knocked again, a little firmer this time.
Still no answer.
I cracked the door open, the dim glow from the bedside lamp casting soft shadows over Emilia’s sleeping form. She was curled up on her side, her breath slow and steady.
Carefully, I grabbed the blanket from the chair and draped it over her. She stirred slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, but didn’t wake. I lingered, watching the way her fingers twitched against the pillow, as if grasping for something just out of reach.
With a quiet exhale, I stepped out and shut the door behind me.
Back in my room, I pulled off my shirt, swapping it for a fresh one before slipping into a pair of joggers. But even as I moved through the motions, my mind was elsewhere .
Abigail.
I sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing my phone without thinking. My fingers moved on their own, typing her username into the search bar.
She’d been on my mind all fucking day.
Her profile popped up instantly, and my thumb hovered over her picture for a beat too long before I clicked.
The first thing I noticed—her smile. Warm. Effortless. The kind that made my chest feel too tight. Her copper curls framed her face perfectly, catching the light in a way that made them look almost golden.
I scrolled.
Each photo was a glimpse into her world. Candid moments frozen in time—laughing with friends, standing against a city backdrop, eyes alight with something unspoken. Then there were the selfies, the ones where she was looking straight into the camera, like she was seeing right through me.
My grip on the phone tightened.
She was gorgeous, yeah. But that wasn’t it. Wasn’t why my stomach twisted every time I saw her face.
She wasn’t just someone you looked at.
She was someone you felt. Someone you couldn’t look away from.
My thumb hovered over a picture, then double-tapped. One like turned into another. And another. Before I knew it, I’d scrolled through every photo—eighty-three to be exact—she’d posted, my pulse quickening with each one.
When I reached the end, I hesitated.
Then I hit Follow .
Setting my phone on the nightstand, I leaned back against the pillows, rubbing a hand over my jaw. The room was quiet, but my thoughts weren’t.
Her laugh. The way her name felt rolling off my tongue.
I closed my eyes.
Sleep came eventually.
But not before she followed me into my dreams.