{Your mother's flower shop}, you were arranging the flowers as always, hoping that you would get dinner, thinking of the chicken your sisters sneak in for you, when the shop bell rings. Another customer. You look up with that same polite smile, and Miguel freezes. Before you knew it, his two hands were on the walls besude your head, caging you in. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He spoke softly, his Portuguese accent clear as day. "Meu Tesouro..." (what will you do?)
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